Tag: humor

Beautifully irrelevant.

To all the crazies out there, you’re not alone

I’m a very random person. Most of my conversations with my friends don’t start with hello. They are more of an omg-I-just-saw-this-dress-and-I-HAVE-to-buy-it nature.

When something exciting happens, and my friends are not with me, I call them and shriek into their ear before they can even get a word out. *chuckles*

Just today I was telling one of my friends that I have just added her to the list.

Me: I have added you to my call-them-and-randomly-shriek-into-their-ear.

Friend: Hahaha, I think I’m okay with that.

Me: Okay with that? Bitch, please. You are going to love it.

Friend: That’s going on your blog, isn’t it?

Me: Hehehehehe. I’m writing it as we speak.

I also change topics a lot. I would be talking about something with my friends, and then out of the blue I just change the topic. And my friends go all, “woah! When did we start talking about THIS now?”

Me: Um, since now?

Like, for example, I sent this to said friend. This is a continuation of the aforementioned conversation, by the way.

Me: Hold on, let me send it to you.

Friend: *after reading it*

Hahaha, you’re crazy.

Me: But you love me. *flutters eyelashes*

*a second later*

Dude, omg. I have this exam tomorrow, and I’m completely freaking out!!! I can’t talk right now, bye.

Friend: Wait a minute. Where did this come from?

Now, let me tell you how this would have taken place if we had been talking in person, rather than over the text.

Let us assume said friend is sitting somewhere. I come and plop down next to her and start talking before her brain can catch up with my sudden appearance out of seemingly thin air.

Me: I saw this amazing black dress on flipkart yesterday, but my mom wouldn’t let me order it.

Friend: *gets into the conversation since this is very normal behaviour for me*

Why not?

Me: She says I have too many black dresses already, which is absurd because everyone knows there is no such thing as “too many black dresses.”

Friend: Haha, your mom. *shakes head* You should just order it, babe

Me: I have an exam tomorrow that I’m completely freaking out about, so I need to go study. I can’t talk right now, see you later.

*gets up and leaves*

Friend: *baffled expression* Was I not having a conversation with a human being just a second ago?

I realize this is a very random post. I have observed that I often get ideas for my posts when I’m doing the dishes. I wonder what is up with THAT.

-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

Help, I’m high!

To N, my favourite person in the whole world

I had been inhaling paint fumes all day. Wow, I just realized that’s not a very good way to start this post. Hold off on the judgements, please. I’m not some crazy weirdo who spends her days inhaling paint fumes, and getting high off of them.

We were getting our windows painted. They had been at it all day. I was reading a book, which I finished around 11. I was sitting around, thinking of what to do with my life now that my book was finished, when I smelled it.

Me: *sniffs* Is that.. Paint?

Mom: They’ve been at it all day.

Me: How the hell did I miss THAT?

Mom: Well, if you would put down your book for a minute..

Me: *holds up hand* Enough.

I could literally feel the fumes going to my head. By the time midday rolled around, I had a terrible headache from all the paint-inhaling.

I was getting a little cranky, and I was grumbling to my friends.

Friend: What’re you doing?

Me: Inhaling paint fumes.

Friend: Haha, I get high when I inhale paint fumes.

Me: You know that’s going on my blog, right?

I had my exams the next day, and I hadn’t started studying. Due to the paint-fumes-induced headache of course. Oh, don’t you worry. I ended up not going to the exam, after all. Hahaha! Great, now I sound like a deranged psychotic.

Since I wasn’t studying anyway, I was stalking people on WordPress (haha, kidding. I’m not a stalker!), and I decided to check my goodreads. I started shrieking when I saw that an author had contacted me, and asked me if I would be interested in reading an early copy of her book that was going to be released on 30th, since I had put her book on the to-read list.

I said yes, naturally. I believe the exact words I used were “OMG ARE YOU KIDDING ME OF COURSE I WOULD LOVE THAT.” Apparently, I didn’t scare her off after that, because she sent me the book. (I’ll post the review after I’m done.)

Then, I proceeded to call my friends and shriek into their ears.


Friend: What is it? AND WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?



That’s pretty much how my whole day went. *chuckles* Sorry for the long post. Now I’m tempted to add “here’s a potato”, like they do in 9gag, but I realized that would be very weird, and also that I don’t have a potato.

-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore (Yep, I’ve decided that’s going to by my new signature! *proud smile*)

The air-hostess job.

When I was a kid, I was fascinated with air -hostesses. They get to wear these pretty dresses, and they get to fly all the time! For free! And they get to go to different places. How exciting! (In my defence, I was a kid.) I thought their only job was to help the passengers! And enjoying the flight, of course.

The first time I flew, it was an eye-opener. In the airport, I saw so many air hostesses, they were dressed so prettily! They looked like dolls. I was pointing them out to my mother and shrieking “omg if I become one, I get to wear pretty dresses!!” My mom didn’t say anything, she was just smirking.

Then we boarded the plane. There was an air hostess who was escorting people to their seats. After the plane took off, yet another one started giving instructions. So far so good. Then after a while, two of them brought us food. Everything was going fine. But then, after everybody had eaten, they came and started collecting everybody’s trash. Oh, well. Seems like we had a bit of a problem. I’m a very lazy person who, half the time, asks my dad to bring me water from the kitchen which is two steps away. Me, collecting trash? Yeah, that was hilarious. Oh, boy. My mom silently started smirking beside me.

Me: *groans and covers face with hands*

My dreams are shattering before my eyes and you laugh, mother?

Mom: *full-on laughing now*

Me: I can see the pieces of my shattered dream on the floor.

Mom: Oh, stop being so dramatic. *rolls eyes*

Oh, and they were supposed to be nice to all the passengers. Even the ones who were rude and irritating. And we all know I’m not nice. I’m incapable of being nice to people who are rude and irritating! And, it turns out, there’s a minimum height requirement, too.

Oh, well. I guess that career path is put for me. *deep dramatic sigh*

P.S. No offence to any air-hostesses out there.



To R, the only one who has never taken me for granted

Just 20 days into this blog, and I’m already having a panic attack!!! I feel like I’m running out of things to write about! I have a lot of ideas, but when I sit down to put them into words, my mind goes blank. I just sit and stare at the cursor blinking at me, and watch the screen go dark after a while.

I’ve searched far and wide for inspiration. I even searched the internet for some inspiration. *hides face behind hands* I even went so far as to ask one of my friends what I should write about. That idiot, of course, had no ideas.

So, here I was, panicking about what to write. Are my writing days over? So soon??!! Oh, no! How will I face people? *cries* (Too much of an exaggeration? Okay.)

And, then, inspiration struck. It was like a light bulb had gone off in my head! Maybe I should write about having this panic attack instead! But, then came another problem. How do I end the post? I again presented this problem to said friend of mine. And again, said friend had no ideas. No surprise there! (If you are reading this, I’m very sorry!)

And, I just told said friend that I mentioned him in my post, and he got very excited.

Him: Whaaaaat? Really??!! Am I really in your post??!!

Me: Yes, you are.

Him: No kidding?

Me: Absolutely not. *shakes head* You’ll see. *smirks*

I’m pretty sure he is going to murder me and bury my body somewhere no one can find it after he reads this. But, who cares? I feel better already! Hmm. What does that say about me, I wonder. And, if I stop posting after this, know that I was murdered by someone who claimed to be my friend!

And, since I don’t want to die so soon, I dedicated this post to him. Genius, right? *proud expression*


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.


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

tumblr_nhiyj4D07I1s10ykeo1_12803. Sarcasm. Need I say more?


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


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


 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.)


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.)


Oh, wait! I don’t have a dog.


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.


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.


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.