Monday, October 10, 2011
Yes I know. I have been MIA for yonks now and I don't mean that nasty-mouthed rapper girl.Though I can be nasty mouthed too. I can't rap, though.
Admit it, you missed me and my digressing.
Aiyo I have so much to tell you... so much to pontificate on... so much to bitch about. Vhere to start, ja? Shall I just blabber at random? Yes, I think I will. Sorting out thoughts and news into different blogposts will take too much time and you know how often I blog.
So I started a new job and all. Methinks it was high time a change happened (I don't think anyone should be surprised, going by the 'woe-is-me' references to my work in the past), but strangely this new shift was not propogated by me. You see dearies, the COO (Chief Operations Oxbrain) of the last office- a baby-faced snake whom I never really liked to begin with - pulled a fast one and made off with the agency network and the utterly fartly client who made up 80% of our business. There are lots of different versions of the story circulating in the ad industry, but those of us who worked in the place know just exactly how the conniving lowlife and his conniving arse-buddy the client manipulated things to suit their purpose. It was quite a trying time for most of us, but one we all saw coming. Wonderfully enough though, 95% of the staff refused to jump ship with him and basically left him hanging with only three groupies that he'd brought in. The rest of us found work elsewhere and moved on after a few tears and the office we worked in closed down. It wasn't all sad, though. Most of us have come to the realisation that things really worked out for the best, given that we're all pretty happy in our new jobs and we no longer have to service that awful, awful client anymore. I also hear that ex-COO was recently almost beaten up by the husband of a woman he'd been having a fling with. Muahahahaha. Karma at its best.
I was fortunate enough to be retained by the old group and transferred to a sister agency, along with a charismatic LD and a couple of other chums. So far, so good. Although I am no longer working in the creative division, the new stint is good fun and I am loving the energy and good vibes going around. It's quite a pleasant change to have actual HUMANS to work for and with. I've realized I've been decidedly happier with the world since I made the switch, so it must be a good thing. Tralala and all that for now. Wish me luck, sweethearts.
I have, out of a the classic glutton-for-punishment-itch, also taken on two new side jobs. It has nothing to do with money and everything to do with the fact that I am in denial about my ageing energy levels. One afore-mentioned side job is actually a bit of a dream come true - I've been commissioned to host my very own travel show on TV! Cue fanfare and general cheers for life's little ups. It's a budget travel show where I get to traipse aimlessly around Sri Lanka and get my hands dirty off the beaten track. Very very exciting stuff. At the mo it's all in planning and production phase, but by God it's thrilling. To top things off I am presenting the show with a long-time buddy which makes it funner, if there be such a word. So far we've shot the pilot episode which was a bit of a sorry disaster but one for the memories nevertheless. I am hoping the actual episodes to come will be slightly more colourful. Once we are officially public about it I will let you all know which channel to watch and when. :D
Side job no.2 is my dibs on grandmotherhood- I have started... wait for it...(drumroll)...baking cakes. This is my small contribution to the health ministry's efforts in population control. It all started off with my very first cake of all time that I baked for my dad's b'day. On realizing it didn't look half bad (actually cake-like),I went and did that whole boastful, gloaty thing of posting up pictures on FB. That made things skyrocket to a whole new level and people started placing orders. Thinking I was cat's whiskers and quite pleased with the new-found skill, I took on the orders to finance what became a hobby of sorts and have now come to a point where I have to turn most of the orders down because I just can't handle the load. One of these days I promise you I will die of exhaustion, but for now I spend my nights and weekends raping my mother's oven. I even managed to attract a magazine review out of it. Martha Stewart will be proud, before she tastes my cakes and dies of food poisoning.
My animal welfare activities are on a new high. I have taken advocacy to near-extremes and can be often seeing parading the streets or abusing social networks priviledges to save the planet. People have stopped talking to me as a result, like most ignorant and stupid humans are wont to do when they're informed that they are not the most important thing in the world. Happily enough, I don't care. I have even attempted to become vegetarian, much to my carnivore boyfriend's dismay. But he is being a good soul about it and even occasionally supports my lunacy by foregoing meat on dinner dates without my telling him to. Bless him. The new diet is working so far, though I have to admit to the odd slip-up here and there. 'Tis a difficult business, getting certain habits out of one's systems, but a meat-less meal certainly has the benefits of a drama-free conscience and I actually sleep easier now.
I am extremely supposrtive of the organised effort to ban ritual animal slaughter at the Munneswaram Temple in Chilaw. Google it if you're not aware of the stories. It is beyond me how fucked up some people can be when it comes to interpretations of religious dictates. Good on Mervyn Silva, as much of an idiot as he is, for creating enough of a public spectacle by barging in there and confiscating those poor animals lined up for merciless hacking up. Religious tolerance and respect is one thing, but choosing to turn your head and spout nonsense about 'to each his own' when there's a life at stake is another. What's fucked up is fucked up and intervention in such circumstances is ok in my books, as unpopular a view as that may be. I can deal with the PROPERLY carried out sacrifices at religious events, such at the Islamic haj rituals. I say 'proper' because according to the laws of Islam, the slaughter is supposed to be carried out with minimum harm or distress to the animal, whereby no trauma has been inflicted. The problem is that more often than not, these mandates are rarely followed due to sheer incompetency or disegard in the name of human convenience. I wish there were more control methods put in place at these rituals, where proper supervision ensures that, if you MUST please your God by killing something, then at least the animal is kept comfortable and knows/feels little to nothing. Munneswaram is a whole different story and I'm not sorry to say I have absolutly no regard for foolish buffoons who think they can invoke luck and prosperity by violently murdering a life in the most callous way imaginable. I pray for a day when I am empowered enough to mete out the same treatment to said violators. May they rot alive.
Now you know why people avoid me.
I have added yet another child to my already festering brood- a puppy named Smurfette. She is overtly active, destructive and consistently happy, which stresses the cats out no end. Smurfette was left in a box at my doorstep by someone who obviously had a bigger heart than the monsters who usually drown or throw away baby animals. After a few weeks of unsuccessfully trying to re-home her, she ended up as a permanent installation and now drives everyone batty. Neighbours are witness to the number of my bras and panties that she insists on dragging out into the garden for exhibition and I am constantly smelling of puppy drool. This is the life.
The good things in life still mingle with the not-so-great. but I am too happy today to get into all that. Maybe someday you'll find out.
And just like that my boredom threshold has been reached and I am lazy to write anymore. Sorry. I have a few more thoughts up my sleeve which I will share with you shortly, but for now I have a Facebook storm to start.
Watch this space.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
- Elephants in this country have no space to live anymore. To make room for the planet, we need to drastically reduce the number of humans. I advocate mass sterilization of women, therefore, and not impregnation.
- There are plenty of children who are brought onto this earth and neglected or thrown away. Why not just parent them instead?
- Neither my body nor I are willing to undergo mind-fucking pain to squeeze something the size of a large watermelon out and thereafter suffer the saggy aftermath for the rest of my life. God knows I’m flabulous enough.
- Global temperatures are in an accelerated rise. The best of scientists have reported that in the next 15 years, the ice caps will melt and raise ocean levels by as much as 20 feet. Much of the world as we know it will drown.
- Have you seen the news? Everybody’s fighting with everybody else. The Gadaffis and Rajapakses of this world are here to stay. If the planet doesn’t destroy itself, then these buggers surely will.
- According to reliable sources, we won’t have enough drinking water by 2020. That’s just 9 years from now.
- The money I earn should be used towards justice for suffering animals, not pampers and exorbitant school fees.
- I’d like to see the world and make a difference before I die and I can’t do it dragging a carry cot around.
- Ragging in schools is the fad of the day. Crimes against children are at an all-time high. Perverts, paedophiles and rapists are commonality in today’s society.
- Drugs and alcohol have a thumbs up from the younger generation everywhere. Already Marijuana usage laws are being passed, it’s only a matter of time before Coke has its day. Have you been to a rave party with teens? If you’re not getting high then you’re weird. Can you imagine how kiddie’s parties will be in a couple of years?
- The arts are dead. Lady GAGA is what kids define as a role model these days.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Calmed down? Ok.
As if my workload and commitments are not enough already, I went and got myself activated over a new obesession last weekend- Women.
Please stop grinning lecherously. I promise I will burst that bubble of yours very soon.
Whilst mulling over what dramatic onslaught to present to my long-suffering boyfriend with on that gloriously commercialized joke called Valentine's Day, it suddenly struck me that not every woman out there would be plotting and planning like I was, because not every woman out there had a boyfriend worthy of plotting about. Given that I anyway have a thing for ball busting, I'd been doing some recent reading on the issues of domestic violence in the country and was pretty horrified to learn that an estimated 60% of the country's females are victims of violence in their homes. I say 'estimated' because there is no national survey conducted yet to assess the real numbers. All they have to go by is the number of reports logged in to the police and charity organisations. So it's safe to say that the ACTUAL number is probably far higher.
60%. SIXTY percent. That's 3 out of every 5 women. Logically, that means it could very well be your own wife, mother,sister,daughter or aunt. Or more than just one of them.
You don't have to be female to be shocked by that statistic. You just have to be human.
What was worse still was finding out that in most cases of domestic violence, all that's done about it is diddly squat. Either the victim is too afraid of the consequences of speaking out or her family is too ashamed to air their dirty laundry. More often than not, reports to the police (those champions of justice and paragons of virtue who do fuck-all for the betterment of society) result in the cops asking the woman what she's done to piss hubby off, and then advice her to go home and sort it out. After that, nobody cares anymore and life goes on. It only creates a minor buzz when her body is found chopped to pieces in a village well, and that too only if anyone feels like they need to alert the media.
Apparently, the most the authorites have done towards punishing a perpetrator of domestic violence is fined him a pittance and 'tsk'ed at his naughtiness.
Needless to say, I was incensed. I may not have had acid thrown at me, but I know what a slap on my face from someone who claims to love me feels like. I know how it all starts with a few derogatory remarks and then propels into full-blown physical acts. I also know how no matter how many people advice a perpetrator or how many apologies he makes, he's going to go back to being the same sorry bastard he always was.
And now I'd found out that 3 out of 5 women in my country are going through the worst kind of hell imaginable at the hands of such insects. I wanted to go out there and crush every testicle in the land into a fine dust and then feed it to the fishes (I would, too, except I don't think the fish are interested). I have always thought of myself as not belonging to this pathetic race called humans, with their apathetic attitudes and selfish ways. I had to do something... anything. But what? If only I had some help in the matter.
And then it struck me. I would get help. I could put out the statistic to everyone I knew and gather up some like-minded souls, and then together we could possibly make a noise loud enough to get the lazy-ass retards in government to put some goddamn justice system into place.
Valentine's plans were speedily forgotten. The boyfriend would understand. I rocked to and fro like a maddened monkey trying to figure out how to get people interested until it hit me... of course... Valentine's Day! What better day on which to shock the public into realizing that, as they traipse about like blithering romantic fools buying roses and gifts, there are women out there who will receive bleeding noses and black eyes instead. Those were THEIR 'gifts of love' from their husbands. If enough people realized this, then maybe enough people would give a shit and speak up about it.
Highly excited about the fact that I coincidentally happened to work in an industry where it's all about communication to the world, I spoke to my superiors about my idea. Could we do some work on this and get it out to the world? Could we make people care? Could we make a difference in the status quo?
My boss thought we could. We gathered arms immediately and put together a cracking team to work out the nittygritties. We contacted an organisation that works in women's welfare and got them excited too. They came on board and gave us the support we needed to put the plan to work. We contacted venues that could host our message and danced in glee when they offered to do it for free. Then we rolled up our sleeves and tried to help women. I spent days and nights living, breathing, shitting and dreaming of any research I could get my hands on. Even though I had a few bumps on the road with certain people exploiting the cause to their advantage, others at office were nothing less than inspiring, with their positivity and kick-ass attitude. People like LD, who weren't involved at the beginning, jumped on board voluntarily and helped with whatever support and advice they could. That in itself was awesome.
Three days afterwards, on the morning of Valentine's Day, we launched. Displays went up in major malls in the city, showcasing the kind of 'gifts' 60% of Sri lankan women receive - knives, acid, iron chains, hammers, poles, etc. We handed out brochures on action that responsible civilians should take when witnessing domestic violence. We directed people to a facebook site that we'd set up with the objective of educating and inspiring more people to speak out against the issue. I stalked out some of the venues that day and nearly pee-ed with thrill when people starting taking notice of the displays and reading the brochures.
That was three days ago. Today, I've got over 300 followers on the FB page. And counting.
This morning, a friend's nephew called me. He wanted to tell me that his dad sometimes beats his mom and he always thought that was ok, because it's all he knew. After reading our brochure and educating himself on the FB page, last night during a particularly violent argument he'd called the police, his extended family, and then stood up to his dad. Although the police never came and his father wasn't taken away and punished, he had nevertheless backed off and for the first time had apologized to his mother. It was a start. The boy now wants to get more involved and be an endorser of the cause in his school.
I have to tell you.... hearing that felt... and still feels... fucking good.
Please do join the page and help us out. Follow 'His gift of love' on FB, or log on to www.facebook.com/hisgiftoflovethisvalentines
I don't have to be the only one bothered about this. You're a blogger... can YOU take it up too?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Regardless, along with the booger came a sparkling new idea for an interesting post that you might want to plagiarize. Feel free.
What with the premenstrual weather patterns these day and Colombo reaching an all time low temparature and all that, I was contemplating on that popular Mayan notion of the end of the world peeking at us from around the corner and waving hello. Even the cynics amongst you have to admit that things are a looking a tad more interesting than pure coincidence, no? Floods, temperatures, droughts... I don't have to spell it out. Even though I think I just did. Oh well.
Anyhoo, that wasn't my point of this post. I'm not about to become yet another doomsday theorist. I was just pondering on the plight-to-be of the human race, should the planet decide on a massive spring cleaning session next year. (Not that it wouldn't be a good thing... we are the be all and end all of negative and useless life on the planet. I've always been of the thought that in order for the earth to have any joy, things need to start over and human existence needs to cease. The sooner the better. I am more than willing to wipe everyone off the face of the earth if Mother Nature wants the extra help.)
And so I wondered, as I dug deeper into the recesses of my nostrils in search of gold, what thoughts and achievements I as an individual would be leaving behind, should I die in 2012.
And that's how we now get on to the actual post of the day:
If I die in 2012, I will go....
...not having gotten the chance to move out and live on my own.
...hoping that only us humans die off and not every other form of life that actually matters
...happy in the knowledge that I saved a few deserving lives in my time.
...with the expectation of being reborn as a cat.
...without telling my parents what I really think.
...with no money to take with me.
...possibly having never cut my hair as short as I always wanted to, for fear of flogging.
...having experienced plenty of love and plenty of heartbreak.
...without having ever visited that psychiatrist.
...knowing I was right all along about 2012.
halfway through this post I suddenly wanted to also write down a bucket list. Thoughts of dying does that to you. Ok here goes...
Before I die, I want to...
- Open up an animal shelter.
- Get a tattoo
- Visit the Lourve on more time
- Move out
- Have 9 cats, named after the planets in the solar system. Yes, yes I KNOW they defamed Pluto but I'm still rooting for it.
- Master some supernatural trick and be famous for it. Mind reading or shit like that.
- Find my passion
- Experience a dramatic, off-the-charts romantic date
- Perform (act) to an international audience
- Be happy with myself
Ok I got a little snotty at the end there. time to dig the nose again. Au Revoir.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Raise your hand if you managed to catch a glimpse of Christmas speeding past you like the Starship Enterprise on turbo mode, leaving your innards vibrating with the aftershock.
The sheer fact that it HAS passed and I'm back to procrastinating behind an office desk after an all-too-short annual leave stint is nothing short of depressing. I see no light at the end of my tunnel. I mean that metaphorically and am not referring to my anus. That's a different post.
This post, on the other hand, is nothing but one big complaint. Leave now if you're feeling happy today. Should you choose the masochistic option of sticking around, don't say I didn't warn you and don't you dare comment with glib attempts at motivation. It's a Monday and I'm entitled to my grouchiness.
I'm not too pleased with the yesteryear, to be honest. It just wasn't speckled with the cheerful madness that my life is usually full of. Sure, there was plenty of travelling around and the odd puppy picked up and rehomed successfully, but seeing the humour in living just seemed such a task. 2010 did not, for once in my life, feature any JOY worth reminiscing about.
I blame my parents. They are Sri Lankan, after all. So am I, and blaming parents is what we children of the soil do best when things are not satisfactory. Although, come to think of it, no one seems to be pointing any fingers at Mommy and Daddy Rajapakse, no? (I have a feeling Mervin's mum is thought about alot, however...).
My two were exceptionally active with the emotional blackmail last year. To say I’m going on 32 and need approval on how my hair looks is a testament to their insanity. Their skills have reached new levels in expertise and absurdity. Mother Dearest has mastered the Quivering Lower Lip to a tee and can now whip it out at the merest 'ahem'. Dad's speciality- Delusional Rants - peaked during the Christmas season and nearly drove me to homicide.
Yes, we're a nice, quiet little family, we are. So quiet, in fact, that when we dine out together you can hear the chef’s hat pin drop into the soup, way back in the kitchens.
If my family is ever at the same restaurant as you, do check your soup for signs of dropped pin.
My resident evil aside, not everything in 2010 has been a complete disaster. I did manage to rescue and rehome 24 furry four-leggeds (I can see RD sniggering at that one), visit two new countries and learn to bake a decent cupcake. The cons outweighed, though. The least of which was my car and I careening into a wall and causing both airbags to pop out. Ah, good times.
I suppose I must now join the merry bandwagon and do my bit of resolutioning, no? Not that it makes a difference. Last year’s list is still waiting. But for what it’s worth, this year, I PLAN to-
- Find my runaway mojo
- Change jobs – by workplace or career, whichever seems more lucrative and comes first
- Outperform last year’s animal rescue stats
- Move out of home
- Get a tattoo – because really, it’s the fashionable way to rebel, innit?
- Write a book
- See a new country
- Learn to cook 10 new dishes and achieve non-toxic rating for at least one of them
Watch this space.