Doggy Hunting

Tomorrow we go doggy hunting. No guns. No knives. No woomeras. Just the friendly neighborhood shutterbug and I.

We will be hitting all the canine hot-spots. Hope to catch a good-looking gang of four-leggers for a quick photo shoot.

STRAY DOGS ONLY!

Think you fit the bill? Let us know.

Pretty doggies like the one below will get preference:

Photo Courtesy: Rishi Roy

Bored Out Of His Mind

Thomas has been meowing all week.

"I am bored," he meows. "Bored of lazing, chasing the other cat, sneaking a nap, eating liver-and-rice. Bored bored bored!"

It began last Tuesday:

"I need excitement in my life," meowed Thomas.

"Catch rats," muttered the dog, his housemate.

Thomas was not interested, "Too much work." So saying, he curled up on the sofa for his eighteenth nap of the day.

He woke from the nap with an idea: "The stupid dog was actually on to something."

***

He has been meowing since. Says he wants a rat "to pet and cuddle and play with".

As if. :|

Hate Post

Sympathy seeker, I detest you. I loathe your attention seeking tactics. I can't understand why you walk around with "Poor Me" printed all over your oily forehead. I don't believe in sympathy. I don't dish it. I don't need it. I don't want it.

And I am not alone.

Garfield agrees with me:

  

Must be a Gemini thing.

Course Correction Day

Today was Course Correction Day. The day you take a step back, study the game board and re-plan your strategy. I don't know a lot. But I know what NOT to do.

Sadly, my Chicken Wanton Noodle Soup date might have to be postponed tomorrow. But just you wait CWNS, my greedy eyes are watching you:

Hard Times

"T'is a hard year," I said to him. "Not necessarily an unhappy year, just a hard one."

There's too much work. Too much stress. Too little time for silliness.

Too much loss. Too much growing up. Too much disillusionment.

Neverland seems so far away. So does Costa Rica with its endangered green sea turtles.

So do Candy and Mini and Maxi and Ebby. Strange how you popped off like the ten little Indians one after another.

Candy

Maxi

Mini & Ebby

You will be missed.

Along with Mammam, who is probably instructing celestial chefs on the fine art of rolling the thinnest rotis. The older I get, the more I miss you and your wonderful mangshor jhol.

Being 27

It's tough being 27; more than being 25, maybe less than being 28. It's the now-or-never year - the year you finally stop being a fence-sitter and fall (or maybe are pushed) into grownuphood. Not a nice feeling, especially if you keep looking over your shoulder, "Which idiot pushed me? C'mon! Own up!".

There's nobody there. If there ever was, they've run off long before you scrambled to your feet to dust the mud off your trousers. So what are you now: girl or woman, boy or man? Blur the age difference with, "I'm just one of the guys", but that doesn't change a thing does it? In the newspapers, a 27-year-old no longer qualifies as a youth. You've made the transition into the "young man/woman" category.

Yet, even if you heave an unwilling sigh and accept the final move into adulthood, you'll find others who are not quite ready to let you pass. "Where's your pass?" they'll shout. Where's your award? Where's your money? Where's the recognition? Where's the spouse? We can't let you pass without all that, they'll say. And yet, they are the ones who are secretly wishing you would grow up quicker. Wishing and hoping and waiting and pulling you back into babyhood. Doing this again and again and again, until you get fed up and yell, "I'm all growed up Mom. You stop acting like a child!"

And then Mom (or Dad, for they are one and the same thing really) will look at you hurt, walk away and proceed to act like a hurt baby. So what do you do? Quickly jump back into babyhood to make them feel all growed up again. Then it is back to the struggles of being 27 again. How old are we really?

Anniversary Eve

So tomorrow the otter-llama relationship turns 3. Since we started dating on the cusp of 7-8 July, we hold 2-day celebrations. If you can call it that.


This blurred blue picture is of when we first met. :P

In the meanwhile, I've been trying to harness my culinary skills and falling embarrassingly flat on my face. Made the worst pasta in cream and mushroom sauce ever. Then ate the whole lot, 'cause I didn't want the fridge to sneak a smirk at it.

Today I made mushroom. Not so terrible. But far from good. Sigh. The pressures - be girly, cook well, learn to put eyeliner. Pressure pressure pressure.

On the bright side, got myself a 2-day weekend. Yay!! (It's been a long time coming)