15 random facts about me.

1. I’m weird and crazy. The more you get to know me, the weirder I become. Just when you think you’ve figured out how crazy I am, you realize that there is another whole level of craziness you didn’t know about. But, my craziness makes me who I am, and I wouldn’t want to change it for the world.

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2. I love being melodramatic, and I’m a fan of hyperboles.

tumblr_nhiyj4D07I1s10ykeo1_12803. Sarcasm. Need I say more?

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4. I’m a caffeine addict. I cannot function without my daily cup of coffee.

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5.  I go through books like money flying out my hands.

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 6. Whenever I eat, I eat my least favourite things first, so that I can get it over with and really savour the rest.

7. The number 8 is my favourite. I also like the number 5. I don’t like odd numbers, except for the ones that add up to 5 or 8.

8. I love making lists, if only for the sheer pleasure of crossing things out when I finish them.

lists9. I’m a grammar Nazi. Bad grammar is a major turn-off for me. I mentally correct people’s grammar all the time. And occasionally, out loud.

1965430_973554255996898_2647310145624765279_o10. I’m very picky about things. It takes hours for me to shop, because it’s hard for me to find one thing that I have no complaints about.

Picky-576x57611. I have an eidetic memory. I can recite entire conversations from years ago, can remember what you wore on which day, and so on.

tumblr_lyc0dvTEwZ1r8p6ylo1_50012. I love Oxford commas. I didn’t, not at first. But, last year, I gave a speech about them in my English class, and I’ve loved them since.

oxford-comma-examples13. I hate the number 13. I don’t know why. (Ha! Such irony.)

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14. I’m a mood reader. The book I choose to read, depends on my mood. More often than not, I start reading a book, and after two or three pages, if I don’t feel like reading that particular book, I start another one instead until I find the perfect one.

15. I actually don’t have anything more to say. I just added this because, I like the number 15 more than the number 14. 14 feels a bit.. Unfinished.

( *in a small voice* I told you I’m weird, please don’t judge me.)

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Oh, wait! I don’t have a dog.

-R

5 types of people you meet in the bus.

  1. The one who comes and stands beside you, and makes all kinds of sad faces in hopes that you will take pity on them and give up your seat.

And you have to pretend to not see them, because you were standing for more than 20 minutes at the bus stop, because you wanted a place to sit on the bus and if they think you are going to give up your seat after THAT, they are very much mistaken. Unless, it is an old person or a pregnant lady, in which case you will give up your seat gladly because you are a nice person.

  1. The one that hogs the seat.

And you have to sit there in the tiny space they provide you, clenching your teeth and cursing to yourself.

  1. The creep who keeps staring at you the whole time and smirking.

You feel like punching his face, or at the very least cursing him, but you can’t. Why? Because you are in public – the place where it’s okay for people to stare at you creepily, but if you do/say something about it, you are a “total bitch.”

  1. The one who comes running from the other end of the bus, as soon as someone gets up from their seat, and pushes you out of the way to sit there even though you were standing RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SEAT.
  1. The one that comes and asks you if the bus is going to a particular place even though it is written very clearly on the board that the bus is, in fact, going to that very same place.

And since you can’t do anything about them, you settle for are-you-kidding-me looks instead.

-R

Don’t be someone who doesn’t look out the window.

They say, in life, the little things are the most important. Like, someone calling you pretty, or someone picking up a book you dropped, or a stranger smiling at you on the road, or a homeless person blessing you when you give them two bucks.

Life is not one grand gesture. It’s a million little things strung together beautifully to make the whole picture.

But, some people are too busy with what they think is important, that they miss what actually is. Yes, you career is important. Making it in life is important. Buying a home, being successful, becoming rich, all of them are important.

But, think about it. Is that all there is to life? What if you were so hell bent on making it in the world, that you lose everyone you love in the process? That you miss out on all the little joys the world has to offer?  Having everything, but having no one to share it with. Is it really worth it?

There is this line from a song by Alicia keys. If I ain’t got you. “Hand me the world on a silver platter, and what good would it be, with no one to share, and no one who truly cares for me?” When you are lying sick on a hospital bed, your career is not going to look after you.

“Don’t be someone who doesn’t look out the window.” I came across this line in a book by Sophie Kinsella, The Undomestic Goddess. The protagonist is a lawyer and she may very well become the youngest partner in her firm. But, it all gets to be too much and one day, she just runs off and lives in a small town working as a maid for some very nice people. There, she realizes what’s really important in life.

But, when the people from her firm find her and come to take her back, she goes with them. But, in the train, on the way back, she spots a very rare bird through the window. She cries out “look out the window, you guys!” But, nobody looks up. Everyone is too busy tapping away in their BlackBerrys. She thinks to herself, that these people are married to their work, and in that process are forgetting to live. She feels ashamed of having been this way. She says to herself, “I don’t wanna be someone who doesn’t look out the window.” She quits, and goes in search of the man she fell in love with.

I fell in love with that line. And since then, I never miss an opportunity to look out the window. Literally, and figuratively.

Wake up at 5 AM and look at the sunrise. Walk barefoot on the grass in the morning, when its fresh with dew. Go on a rollercoaster and scream like a little girl. Never forget to tell the people you love that you love them. Live for the little things. Look out the window.

-R

My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I think this post is pretty much self-explanatory. I have OCD. It’s self-diagnosed, of course!

I had been having doubts for a while about my OCD. So, one day, I decided to look up the symptoms on the internet. I know what you’re thinking. Is she crazy? Everybody knows you never, ever go on the internet for a self-diagnosis! That’s like the first rule of the internet. Wait, is it? Well, if it isn’t, it should be!

So. I looked up the symptoms. And surprise, surprise, I had OCD. I was thinking about how to break this gently to my mother. And, I just blurted it out of course! And, it pretty much went like this:

Me: Mom, I have OCD.

That’s it. Not even an I-have-to-tell-you-something. Just straight out blurting.

Mom: Oh.

Me: That’s it? That’s all you have to say?! Mom: And you know you have OCD because?

Me: I looked it up on the internet, of course!

Mom: *nods head in an understanding way* Ah.

Me: Do you not realize how serious this is? I could become Sheldon. Or worse- horrified expression- Adrian Monk!

(Yes, my mom watches all the TV shows I watch, too. And, for those of you who don’t know who Monk is, he is an extremely brilliant detective who has OCD. That guy has MAJOR issues!)

Mom: If you become Monk, I’m not taking care of you, young lady!

Me: *stands there with hands on hips and an indignant expression*

Well, that’s just amazing!

I may have exaggerated a teeny tiny bit, but let’s not go into that. *sheepish expression*

And then, I proceeded to look into it a bit more. And, turns out, OCD is not psychological, but rather, biological. Well, it’s good to know that at least I’m not crazy. Although, that’s still debatable.

But, seriously guys. I do have OCD. I mean, do you not see the period at the end of each of my titles? But, don’t worry, it’s still self-diagnosed.

-R

Weekend “fun”.

Huh. Weekends are boring. Okay, okay, don’t hit me! *ducks under the bed* Weekends are great! I love weekends! But, as weekends go, this particular one was pretty boring.

So, on Friday, I was doing a little victory dance and shouting TGIF, complete with fist pumps. Or, are they called air pumps? Maybe, fist-air pumps?

By Saturday, I was regretting doing that. I was literally sitting around doing nothing all day and I kept thinking “This is my punishment for jinxing it.” My friends and I have this thing wherein if one day, the weather is suddenly good, we don’t mention it directly since that would jinx it, and the weather would go back to being hot and sucky. Now that I think about it, I think that may be the first time in my entire life that I have used the word ‘wherein’.

And by the time Sunday rolled around, I was beyond bored and frustrated and ready to punch someone in the face. Seems like I wasn’t the only one who was feeling bored.

I was texting my friend and he asked me what I was doing. And then I looked around me, and realized that I was just standing near the door, doing nothing.

Me: Oh! I’m just standing near the door with the fan switched off, thinking what to do, actually.

My friend: You could do that even while you are seated, you know.

Me: Yes, but I was about to leave the room, so I switched off the fan and then I completely forgot I was supposed to be leaving the room and hence I was just standing there until you asked me what I was doing and I realized I was actually just standing there doing nothing.

I have a tendency to keep rambling without a pause and now I have completely deviated from the topic which was supposed to be about how boring my weekend was!

And now, I’m thinking about an awesome title for this, a title so awesome that it would put all the other titles to shame! And my mom is giving me the stink eye because I’ve been lounging around all day, doing nothing and complaining that I have nothing to do, when, in fact, as my mother pointed out, I do have a lot of things to do, namely, helping her in the kitchen. But, I refuse to give in to her silent looks because just because I’m doing nothing does not mean I’m free, it simply means I’m doing “nothing!”

And I just realized that this post contains a lot of “doing nothings” , and that it’s quite long and maybe I should stop.

P.S.  Yes, the title is sarcastic.

-R

Summer in the city.

This happened to me a couple of days ago. It was a Thursday. A particularly hot one. Surprise, surprise! *rolls eyes*  There was some function going on in my college. I told my parents I was bunking, since we wouldn’t have any classes that day, and none of my friends were coming. Somebody we knew was getting engaged that day, and they had invited us. My parents were getting ready to go to the engagement party, and they got this genius idea that I should go with. And I thought, why not. Let me go along, instead of just lazying around at home. (I’m mentally kicking my past self for this grave error in judgement.)

So, off we went. The one hour bus journey was horrible. The function was beyond boring, and I was sweating so much, I looked like I had taken a bath in my sweat. By the time it came to an end, I was ready to get the hell out of there. My dad left for work from there. He gave my mom and I a couple of directions as to how to get to the bus stop. We were exhausted and did not understand a word he said. We just nodded along, and started walking.

Two minutes later when there seemed to be no bus stop in sight:

Mom: Well, where is it? And how do we get there?

Me: What? You’re asking ME?! I thought you knew!

Mom: Well, no. Where ever did you get that idea?

Me: Um, because you are the adult and you were supposed to be listening to the directions?

Mom: Let’s just keep walking. It’s bound to be somewhere around here.

We kept walking and walking. In the scorching hot sun. Let me repeat it again. IN THE SCORCHING HOT SUN. We asked a couple of people who gave us vague directions.

Me, occasionally: It’s so hot I can feel myself melting.

I should’ve just stayed at home.

I could have been sleeping in my oh-so-comfortable bed with the AC on. *sighs*

Finally, FINALLY, we spotted a bus stop only to realize that it had been RIGHT THERE and we could have reached it faster if we had actually followed a more direct route, and instead we had been walking in a roundabout way. Why? Because we’re idiots.

I think it’s safe to say that I won’t be making any trips on sunny days anymore.

-R