Tuesday, January 25, 2011


It was a hot, sunny Tuesday down Dickman's Road. A crow perched up in leafy shade squinted up at the scorching sun and decided against wasting precious energy crowing. Below, a furiously panting dog drooled noodles of saliva in the hopes that a kind soul would pass him some water, or at the very least a magnanimous cat would offer it's blood. The grass shriveled in the heat as gusts of hot wind blew dust in the face of parked cars that could fry eggs on their windscreens.

Behind the closed doors of a centrally air-conditioned production house, within the arctic womb of an editing room, Dramaqueen had yet another hissyfit with the poor editor who had been punished into helping her put together a mundane AV presentation for a particularly snivelling client she loathed with passion. The editor had no choice but to piss in his underwear because that wretch DQ wouldn't let him so much as think of requesting a bathroom break until she had finished her presentation, which would only be well past midnight. He squirmed in shame as the smell of festered urine filled the room. Her ladyship's one good nostril that had survived sinusitis picked up on the wafting reek and screwed up on it's own accord. Rolling her eyes at the man in disgust she sighed a melodramatic sigh and finally permitted the crimson-faced minion to hastily escape to the bathroom. To while away her time in his absence and to avoid criticizing his clear inaptitude at bladder control, the glorious one decided to blog.

Alright. So the editor didn't really piss in his pant, or may have done so without telling me, but you have to admit it was a good read and you enjoyed the mental image of a male reduced to humiliation. You sadist you.

I don't even know WHY I recently professed to have missed the editing table. It must have been a lack of excuses to leave the office desk, because as dreamy as the memories of AV's gone by are, I am rudely reminded of the actual process that I went through time and time again with each one. Putting together an AV to a client's satisfaction is like taking the outer film of your eyeball off with a safety pin. No that I've tried, but I'm guessing its similar. Especially for the editor working with me. This must be his umpteenth AV with me and it can't be easy to hear my voice approaching his room for yet another go at the experience. Poor man. I will bake him a cake.

Speaking of, I baked my first fondant cake recently in honour of my father's birthday. Don't bother responding with 'aww' and 'you're such a great daughter' like those dimwits who commented on my FB page when I put up the pictures of said cake. I am not. I did it more for me than for him. One of this year's resolutions was to learn a new craft, and google images of whimsical cakes and sugar craft caught my eye. I wanted to try it out, having already explored every other possible craft hobby. Dad's birthday provided me with the ideal opportunity and guinea pig. The bakey types who show off on YouTube made it look easy enough, modeling creative figurines out of sugar without batting an eyelid. I'm not one of them, so the entire enterprise took me a good six and a half hours of spine-aching work, with another two to clean up after myself. Whoever invented buttercream must die painfully at my hands or I won't be happy. The end result however, was not at all bad, if you like clumsy fondant cakes that look like something heavy sat on them. pieces didn't fall off and the little fondant man I'd made to resemble Dad actually looked like a man instead of the baby amoeba I expected it to turn out into. It left me quite pleased with myself like one of those new mothers who talks about their baby for the next sixteen years until it becomes a sulky ungrateful teenager whom she can't wait to disown. Hence the proud FB pictures that got me some positive response from people who I know are not the sort to be nice for the sake of it, along with an actual order for a birthday cake. That got me rather excited. I spent two days in front of the mirror, wearing an apron and wondering if I could be the next Nigella of the cake world. Whether it was to humor me or to give me something to focus my attention on other than himself, my boyfriend fed me with tantalizing thoughts of taking up the culinary world as a profession. By the third day I had named my future cafe and designed it, floor tiles and all.

Then came Monday and here I am, getting on a video editor's last nerve. He's complained to me about the injustice of last-minute AV's so many times now that I am wont to tune out and go back to my sugar modeling dreams. I am seeing myself singing happy Disney songs as the woodland creatures and I dust baking powder at each other's faces and squeal with glee. I am mentally going through my repertoire and visualizing a menu of delicious gobbleables that I could whip up and serve to the world. I am thinking of the delightful t-shirts I could be fabric painting and selling off to gullible souls. There are a million things I could have been doing with myself and yet I chose advertising because it made me happy to let the creative juices flow free, but lately those juices have been canned and set aside and the tin is rusting fast. I am instead finding peace and passion in new creative outlets, culinary and otherwise that give me a bigger sense of satisfaction than producing a 30 second commercial ultimately directed by a client. The workaholic in me has turned into a lazy bitching bum akin to a government clerk, waiting for the clock to strike 6 so I can whiz speedily to my craft supplies. it makes me wonder what the purpose of my existence is.

This begs the question... are my AV days behind me?

Well, the video editor is, anyway... back from a bathroom stint that was suspiciously too long. I shall flog him.

Oh well... back to the rat race.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

We're Gonna Die.

Given that I've earned myself (through sheer hard non-work) a reputation for being elusive, I wasn't planning on blogging for some time. I like it when I make you yearn for me and then surprise you. Like a wife of 40 years who's lost some weight and discovered Victoria's Secret. However, as all unplanned things go, inspiration struck whilst digging my nose in a parked car, waiting for my boyfriend to come out of a Time Management seminar. He was half an hour late, which I think defeats the purpose.

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

Annual Forecast

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.

Me neither.

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.