Chez Moi

Ahhh those good ol’ days at Ethi, when getting on a 11-series bus meant you’d get groped for sure. Full frontal assault or a guy poking his hard on into your ass through layers of clothing - take your pick. On one memorable occasion, a kind soul decided to take a lesson in Biology and flash us his gonads. Shocked my non-stop-jabber mate into Mute mode for a whole day - something of a record.

What is it with guys and these sort of animal behaviour? Is it repressed sex, as some bright soul stated on a blog somewhere? They are not getting any and as self service isn’t quite as fulfilling, they decide to let themselves loose on the girls out there - is that it? I do not know the reasoning behind this, if at all there’s any, and chances are the red blooded males that get into the act are clueless as to what they are trying to achieve either.

What do they aim for? A grope? A feel? Ok now you’ve felt a girl up, got a nice buzz going - now what? Jump her? Rape her and get it off your system? What?

As far as I know, there’s no point in even going to the cops as they operate under the typical sentiment of ‘well, you are dressed in such a way I know you have boobs and other female apparatus, so you must’ve asked for it!’ There was even this case of some poor girl in Mumbai getting raped in the police station. So, where do we go from here?

This kind of behaviour is on the rise apparently - guys all over the country have decided the women are easy pickings and they can just cop a feel or worse any time of day or night. Why the hell will it stop, unless something happens to make them stop? These lecherous bastards have been doing it for years and as nothing has been done to stop them, they see no reason to stop at the juvenile level and are just graduating. And why ever not? What is there for them to fear?

I feel that when a day has come when a person has to rethink about indulging in the simplest of pleasures like going to the beach or for a solitary walk or any of the other innocent joys of life, then the time has come for a shake-down. Time for the fat cats in the so-called government to actually do the job they were ‘elected’ for - govern the bloody place and make sure there’s some sort of order. What kind of a country are they running where accompanied women can’t even welcome in the New Year without getting raped in the process?

Who was it that said “until the day a woman can go for a walk at midnight and return safe, we haven’t got true freedom”? Looks like we aren’t free yet.

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I wasn’t doing a post on this but an email from the hubby of one of my mates changed my mind. He had written to me to say his wife, one of my closest friends since college, has given birth to their daughter on Jan 8. The previous day, I had spoken to the dazed husband of a blogging-and-real life buddy who had given birth to their daughter on Jan 8th as well.

So my heart is full of baby girls being born now and as I saw the pix of one of them, looking pink and displaying a very nice pair of lungs, I couldn’t help but go “awww!” and in true blogging style, write about it!

What is it about babies that make us go all soft and mushy inside? So helpless and demanding, they take over everything - most of all, your heart. It is so nice to see my no-nonsense mate become a mum - she has always been one of the most steady souls, with a wickedly cynical side. Even though her daughter took her own sweet time to arrive (she was almost a week late), my mate didn’t dissolved into a puddle of nerves. She was calm and like “hundreds of women go through it everyday - I reckon I shall be alright. No point in getting nervy now.” Oh how I envy you, R!

She’s the third of my closest pals to take the plunge into motherhood and with everyone, I am awed all over again. To see the girls I cavorted about town with babies in their arms is like a jolt! Though I was the first of us to have a child, I was too busy doing other things to look at the bigger picture. But now I see it and I cannot help being amazed at this giant step we are all so casually taking!

So welcome to the world, Baby K and Baby A. I cannot wait to meet you and get to know you.

What a lovely, lovely news to start my day off - I feel like I could do no wrong now. Hopefully that’ll mean I’ll ace the exams tomorrow!

After my half-assed attempts to write random words in the midst of all the studying, I decided to take a peek at Blogstats and was pleasantly surprised. I’d thought it will read like the heart monitor of a mortuary resident. Instead, I have been clocking some serious miles - esp the day before yesterday when an inordinate number of people where interested in what I say.

Smelling something fishy, I dug a bit and the bulb went off - that was the day the lovely MM gave me the Blogging Buddies batch and of course, a few of her faithful fans followed the breadcrumb trail.

That was when I realised - it doesn’t matter if I can’t write shit. As long as my lovely mates keep writing about me, folks will keep wandering in. So I’ve got a proposition for you lot, my mad bloggy mates - write random shit about me on a weekly basis and I will split some AdSense moola with you. I’ll even give you a Best Blogging Buddy badge to sweeten the deal. What say?

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Image credit: photovalve

Let me state at the outset: I love Jeremy Clarkson and his sense of humour. When British television is full of gay comedians pulling everyone’s legs in the hope of getting a few laughs or stand ups mouthing lines well thought out backstage to canned laughter, this guys is rip roaringly funny purely for being himself. One wouldn’t expect to be rolling along the aisles while watching a motoring show but that is what I seem to do most Sunday nights, when Top Gear is aired. Even my son loves his quirky sense of humour!

Jeremy has never been one to shy away from a controversy or air his views, however non-PC they may be. He just shoots from the hip, no holds barred.

But even I was concerned when he rubbished the public’s fears over their monetary and identity safety after the loss of the HMRC discs. He pooh-poohed claims that any nutter could now do away with their money and being Jeremy, went one step further and made his bank details public, in the column he writes for a National daily.

And one bright johnny decided to let Clarkson know what happens when you shoot yourself in the foot. Said johnny set up a direct debit to transfer £500 every month to a charity. When Jeremy found that £500 of his hard earned cash had gone walkies, he looked in and unearthed this. Arguing with the bank, Jeremy-style, didn’t help him a bit.

So he ate a stringy morsel of crow and admitted the error of his ways in his recent column. At least it is for a good cause, Jeremy and not to fund someone who has a penchant for bathing in quality Moet, like they show in that lovely ad on the telly. And next time, please stick to ribbing Hammond about his hairstyle and James May about everything under the sun.

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The Mad Momma showed me just how much of a sweetie she is by giving me this award:

awww, thanks babe! *misty eyed*

and I shall proudly wear it! She says I’ve earned it by proving I am no cool, hep chick that she mistook me for. Hmph! If it makes you happy…

Is this some sort of a rolling badge? If it is, then I shall contemplate on who to roll it to post exam. Till then, I shall preen!

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