Five Things You Should Know About The High Myope

Five Things You Should Know About The High Myope

When you’re near-sighted, and you’ve been wearing glasses all your life, every visit to the ophthalmologist’s becomes a nail-biting moment. Did my eyesight worsen, am I at wiz again, are my retinas fine, will I go blind is what you’re constantly thinking.

I’ve been blind without glasses for the most part of my life, and people give me hell for that. Dumb questions include: Why are your eyes so 🐸-like? And Did you ever have a brain tumor and why haven’t you gotten LASIK done?

So if you’re someone with a myopic child or if you’re someone that has, at some point, been super curious about nearsightedness – here are some things you need to know about myopia and the people that suffer from it:

• There are three kinds of myopia – pathologic, which is caused by abnormal axial elongation of the eyeball; school-going, which is the commonest and is seen in most kids today, it stabilizes by the time you’ve hit your late teens or early twenties; adult-onset, usually related to near vision work or accommodation* issues.

• People with high minus power (upwards of -5.00 or -6.00 Diopters) are at constant risk of retinal detachment or glaucoma, and completely lose vision. Please don’t ask your near-slighted myope friend about how blind she is, because she knows it and she’s already upset about it. You need not make it ten times worse.

• LASIK has a success rate of about ninety-six percent and results in dry eye or photosensitivity, or both. Again, don’t give your friend unsolicited advice about getting the procedure done because there are risks on top of the ones I already mentioned, and if she’s got high myopia, the LASIK could give her keratoconus* and it would be hella difficult to manage. The eye stretches out into an egg shaped structure when the patient already has high myopia, and the poor retina back there is being squished like heck. Please don’t squish your friend’s soul too.

• No, your friend doesn’t have a brain tumor that’s pushing her eyeballs out of their sockets. They’re that way because either her orbits aren’t deep enough on top of the elongation that’s making her eyes look abnormally large. Myopes don’t need your pity and they don’t need your judgement.

• Finally, if your friend is a myope married to another myope, she knows she’s going to someday produce a tiny myope and she’s aware of that and she’s made sure she’s going to see the ophthalmologist, so thanks very much for your concern.

And now, glossary:

• Accommodation, in ophthalmology, refers to the process by which the vertebrate eye changes optical power to maintain a clear image or focus on an object as its distance changes. Accommodation spasm happens when the ciliary body muscle of the eye stays in a state of perpetual contraction, causing a lot of discomfort and blurry vision.

Keratoconus is the outward bulging of the cornea.

How Meditation Changed My Life

How Meditation Changed My Life

Sometimes I turn into this extremely intelligent sounding person, and that I’ve got life figured out, and we all know that it’s far from the truth. The truth is that I actually have attention deficit hyperactive disorder, you know, ADHD, and awfully bad social anxiety.

It had gotten so bad at one point, I couldn’t make eye contact with people that I actually knew. I ended up creating a bubble around myself and I wouldn’t let anyone penetrate that. I’d come home, shut myself up in my room and never get any sun. Human interaction was basically zero. And I was comfortable that way. As luck would have it, I had to go to the bank one day to hand in a form for a new card and I realized that I was having a black out, and I couldn’t breathe. I felt all alone and I’d never been more scared in my life. I’ve no idea how I managed to get my work done and come home while being painfully aware of everyone staring at me, and the crippling anxiety I felt.

I practically ran to my therapist the next day.

He suggested I take up meditation seriously, and I did. It was hard, at first. I needed tech support. Not kidding. I used this app called Headspace for the first few months. It wasn’t easy. The instant I would close my eyes, I’d automatically start to think weird crap. Every little failure and disappointment I’d gone through would play on loop, like an extremely vivid slideshow, and I couldn’t even meditate for ten minutes. Ah, those days. Eventually, the waking up early and the mediating became a routine. I got so good at it, I didn’t need guided meditation anymore. Now I can actually clear my head completely and go into total zen mode. Easy peasy.

I still struggle with my anxiety and ADHD but it’s a lot better now. I sleep better. I’m healthier and a lot happier. It’s definitely been an excellent lifestyle change. I’ve been loving my mornings lately. Plus, the weather is gorgeous. It feels amazing to get my yoga mat, sit cross legged with my back ramrod-straight and just almost hibernate, in total peace.

Do you mediate? Has it helped?

Are Reboots Better Than The OGs?

Are Reboots Better Than The OGs?

Netflix is doing great lately. It gave us Birdbox. And it gave us Stranger Things. It also gave us the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Dynasty, reboot and Charmed, reboot.

I grew up watching Sabrina the teenage witch. I mean, Melissa Joan Hart was adorable. Take a look at that hair! And aw, that face. She was bubbly and cute and everything rosy. But nobody realized what we were missing out onuntil the CAOS happened. And it was so good. Is so good.

It stars Kiernan Shipka as Sabrina, and boy oh boy, her acting skills are top notch. Although arguably a lot darker, the show is also a whole lot more gripping. While many people detested the show because of how satanic it seemed to be, and quit midway, most of us loved the show and cannot wait for the new season. The trailer that dropped a few days back looks promising and basically, just whoa. The bonus Christmas episode from 2018 was beautiful. Super nice.

Dynasty was a big hit in the eighties. The 2018 reboot is actually more interesting to me. Maybe that’s got something to do with my love for Liz Gillies but the girl can act. And sing. And the clothes are great, and the script is great, the cuts are crisp and Alexis is awesome (spoiler alert: even though she gets thrown into the fireplace in the latest episode of season two.) I’ve rarely loved a TV villain half as much as I’ve loved Nicolette Sheridan’s – remember her from Desperate Housewives? – portrayal of Alexis. The woman is as eye-conic as her eyelashes. Although Dame Joan Collins as Alexis was just as badass:

…I still like the newer cast better. For starters, I love the inclusivity and the tweaks here and there – for example, I love that Sammy Jo is a gay man in the reboot, that the Colbys are black, and that the new location is now Atlanta. Woot woot. Plus, I love the new Fallon. She’s PERFECT.

Which brings me to the last show I want to discuss – Charmed.

Okay, I loved the OG. I was obsessed. I mean, who doesn’t love Prue and Paige? Rose McGowan was a treat to watch.

The new show though, wow. They changed the names and the sexual orientation of one of the sisters. Which made me go, yaaaaaasssss girl, and I adore Macy. She’s brilliant and doesn’t wear over the top clothing and isn’t perfect, and has demon blood in her and oh my goodness, she’s brilliant. Swoon. Also Maggie as the empath is just so effing cute. Kind of don’t like Mel much but I love Jada because she’s so mysterious. Ah. You need to watch the show.

Clearly, all the reboots take the crown. In my opinion. Are you a fan of the OG or the reboots, in case you do watch any of these shows? Meanwhile, I cannot wait for the new episode of Charmed, this Sunday. The only sad part about these shows I watch would be the fact that they only air once a week. Argh.

A Conversation

A Conversation

If I had to summarize what I was feeling right now, it would probably be meh. Yes, that’s actually correct. It’s hard to believe, right? It’s Pujo Season in West Bengal and it’s Halloween soon, and then before we know it, Christmas is going to be upon us but all I feel is… nothing.

I’m getting ancient. There can be no other explanation. Which is crazy to me because my Dad is almost three decades older than I am, and he never feels meh. He’s actually out as we speak, right there with the panditji and everything; getting ready for the big ashtami Pujo. This is such a big deal if you happen to be Bengali, and oh my Lordy, look at me, I’m actually still holed up in my room and the Anjali is about to start and I’m not even moving my butt.

What’s wrong with me?

I’ve been asking myself that over and over and over. I don’t feel anything. Not happiness. Not sorrow. There’s no passion. There’s no nothing. I’m drawing blanks like never before.

I remember being excited about Pujo even last year. I remember going shopping for new clothes. This year? I’ve been wearing my mum’s sarees because I didn’t want to go shopping. I’ve been going out at night, in the car, and avoiding places that needed human interaction. I was never this person before. I think a part of my brains snapped. I think a huge part of me broke, and I don’t even know the reason.

I don’t blog.

It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s not because I’m trying to be cool by going on the hiatus thing that bloggers do. No. It’s just that I get my laptop and stare at the screen and nothing, no words, ever come.

However.

I wanted to come on here and share a few photos that I took from the car because I couldn’t bring myself to get out and admire Durga Maa from a close range because my anxiety is so bad at this point, sometimes I end up having really bad panic attacks. Sometimes I can’t breathe and sometimes I forget to, because the anxiety cripples me. I need to find myself. Again. Find love in doing things I used to love doing. Maybe it’ll happen soon, maybe it’ll never happen ever again, but I am going to start trying again.

So Durga Pujo is a pretty big deal in Bengal. For those of you who happen to be completely unfamiliar with the whole thing,

Durga Puja festival marks the battle of goddess Durga with the shape-shifting, deceptive and powerful buffalo demon Mahishasura, and her emerging victorious. Thus, the festival epitomises the victory of good over evil, but it also is in part a harvest festival that marks the goddess as the motherly power behind all of life and creation. The Durga Puja festival dates coincide with Vijayadashami (Dussehra) observed by other traditions of Hinduism, where the Ram Lila is enacted — the victory of Rama is marked and effigies of demon Ravana are burnt instead.
– from good old Wiki.

People put up lights and make pretty effigies of Maa Durga and there’s an elaborate prayer held. Not to mention, there’s a ton of power and resources being wasted. I don’t mean to be such a Debbie Downer, but it is what it is.

Happy Pujo, everyone.

Why I Go To Pubs

Why I Go To Pubs

Is anyone on here a teetotaler? I am. In fact, I’ve been for as long as I can remember. That one time I had alcohol was when my uncle had stuck some spiked Pepsi in the fridge and I’d chugged it down – it took me a while to realize that the Pepsi hadn’t essentially gone bad, it merely had been mixed in with some booze. The taste of it. Yech.

My other experiences with alcohol include:

• Smelling the vodka my girl S would drink on weekends because let’s be honest, green apple Absolut vodka smells like a potential bestselling summer perfume.

• The time I used this drugstore beer shampoo, desperately wishing for my hair to stop going dead and brittle.

• That time my then boyfriend kissed me all drunk and sloppy. Ew. Jesus, ew. Guys, invest in breath mints of superior quality or some mouthwash, because trust me, many girls don’t like being kissed through a cloud of beer breath.

• Taking a whiff of my boyfriend’s darker-than-usual beer and almost retching because that stuff smelled like death.

While most of my close encounters with alcohol have been of the olfactory kind, I did actually have this weird placebo effect from being around alcohol on my cousin’s birthday. And that resulted in a pseudo drunk dial session involving people I can’t even remember now.

From Wikipedia:

Teetotalism is the practice or promotion of complete personal abstinence from alcoholic beverages. A person who practices (and possibly advocates) teetotalism is called a teetotaler (plural teetotalers) or is simply said to be teetotal. The teetotalism movement was first started in Preston, England, in the early 19th century. The Preston Temperance Society was founded in 1833 by Joseph Livesey, who was to become a leader of the temperance movement and the author of The Pledge: “We agree to abstain from all liquors of an intoxicating quality whether ale, porter, wine or ardent spirits, except as medicine.”

I’m a practising Teetotaler, and I don’t think I’d ever change that.

While I do get tired of people asking me the same set of questions, I secretly tell myself it’s okay because at least that way, my liver won’t die like the rest of me and that’s one less defective organ to worry about. With that being said, I do go into pubs. With dim lighting. Yellow lights make you look younger, and your selfies prettier. So yes, that’s one reason. There’s also the fact that pubs have great beer food. It’s what they serve you, alongside booze, only somehow so much tastier than the regular restaurant food. I can’t explain it okay, but the fries at places like 1522, Bangalore, seem so much better than the regular McD fries. Not just 1522, every pub I’ve been to in Bangalore.

Case in point:

These fries aren’t from 1522, they’re from another pub, but you know what I mean.

There’s also a couple of other reasons why I like pubs – besides the lighting and the food. And why I like the off hours. I know you have happy hours but I hate those things because it gets too crowded – BUT you need to get into a pub when it’s not as crowded and it slowly starts to fill up. At this point the first lot of people have gotten super drunk and are already beginning to entertain you. There’s nothing funnier than drunk people making a fool out of themselves and being so loud, they eventually get thrown out. Have you witnessed that?

And I’m over there, on my stool and eating my fries like…

No offense to all those people that do enjoy booze: you do you, and I do my thing. Let’s all stay happy, shall we?

The Bengali Never Diets

The Bengali Never Diets

We are in the middle of what I call the Fat Season. Actually no, scratch that. We are in the middle of Evil Cholesterol season. Every January, every Bengali family makes it a point to get hold of as much milk as possible – milk, and coconut, and jaggery, and more milk, sugar and more sugar, oil and cardamom and cinnamon and everything else that comes to your mind when you think of food that sticks to your thighs – and produce batches of traditional Bengali saccharine edible sins.

Sorry about that.

There’s nothing more sinful than Bengali food. I’m not even kidding. We are known for the roshogolla, after all. And if that’s not proof enough that the Bengali never diets, I don’t know what is.

This season, we make pithas. According to dear old Wikipedia,

Pitha is a type of rice cake from the eastern regions of the Indian subcontinent; common in Bangladesh and India, especially the eastern states of Odisha, Assam, West Bengal, Jharkhand, Bihar and the northeastern region of India. Pithas are typically made of rice flour, although there are some types of pitha made of wheat flour. Less common types of pitha are made of palm or ol (a local root vegetable).

There are several kinds of Pitha, I’ll talk about four that most people seem to adore.

Doodh Pooli:

Rice dumplings stuffed with coconut and cooked in thick milk sweetened with date palm sugar.

Chitoi Pitha:

Chitoi Pitha are steamed pancakes quite common in east of India. Teeny tiny baby pancakes, again cooked in thick milk.

Patishapta:

This is a traditional Bengali pancake recipe where the pancake are stuffed with Kheer or khowa.

Malpua:

Malpua is a pancake served as a dessert or a snack originating from the Indian subcontinent, popular in India, Nepal and Bangladesh.

If you haven’t noticed, Google seems to describe almost everything listed as a “pancake”. This would offend every Bengali and not just me. Every Pitha IS AN ACTUAL WORK OF ART, made with love, browned to crisp golden perfection and meant to add to your waistline very sneakily, and definitely not just a pancake. No Sir. It takes away from the whole romanticized notion that Bengali Pitha is life. And no self-respecting Bengali would just stick to one Pitha. Uh uh.

The Bengali starts hogging his way through bhog and maach and biriyani with the aloo and egg, right from September. Then comes the Kali Pujo. If I start talking about the number of deities we have, you’d all fall asleep. Actually, I’m not sure myself about how many we do worship. BUT I do know that we are all foodies and we eat like crazy, no matter what. It’s like we eat for six months because we have big celebrations back to back; and then we fantasize about eating more for the other six.

Sigh.

Do you have any Bengali friends? Have you tried Bengali food? THOUGHTS!?

Book Review: Turtles All The Way Down, John Green

Book Review: Turtles All The Way Down, John Green

Text message:

Him: And the thing is, when you lose someone, you realize you’ll eventually lose everyone.

John Green is pure genius. The thing about every story he does is how easily you find yourself being able to relate completely. Everyone does love stories but what makes each book of John Green’s so unique is the fact that besides being a master storyteller, his love stories are unconventional.

The last book he did was The Fault in Our Stars, way back in 2012. Which we all loved. And the movie was great.

Turtles All the Way Down came out in October 2017 and while I’m a lot late to the party, I’m glad I read this book. John Green does some of the most brilliant one liners. Some of the most intense too. In the whole world.

Every protagonist of his, ever, always seem like real people with real issues.

The protagonist in Turtles, Aza Holmes, is no different. She’s rather real and despite the fact that she’s battling some form of obsessive compulsive disorder, she’s also relatable. Just quickly, without giving away too much – Turtles is the story of a sixteen year old who lives with her high school math teacher Mum, drives her late Dad’s car which she’s lovingly christened Harold and sees a therapist called Dr. Karen Singh regularly. Her two friends Daisy and Mychal – a vibrant girl who does Star Wars fanfic, and an artist who looks like a “giant hot baby, if Beyoncé and Drake had a baby” respectively – are beautifully executed characters too. The contrast between Daisy and Aza is so stark and it’s almost like one acts like the Ying to the other’s Yang. Two halves of a whole and that’s some amazing female friendship come alive in fiction.

The plot takes off from the time a local billionaire construction mogul named Russell Pickett goes missing. Daisy who’s drawn to the whole idea of getting rich quick from the $100,000 reward for information leading to the man’s arrest, insists that Aza join in on her investigation. This leads to a rekindling between Aza and Pickett’s older son Davis who she met at “Sad Camp” when they each lost a parent. And just so, a very unconventional romance that I talked about earlier, blossoms. Aza battles with her anxiety and her phobia of the human microbiome, and this makes it difficult for them both to carry on. There’s this line from the book –

Illness is a story told in the past tense.

And I don’t know why, but it spoke to me.

Aza has some of the best lines – she talks of being at peace, however momentary it may be, with Davis and she talks of a “non-sensorial place almost like we were inside the others consciousness a closeness that real life with its real bodies could never match,” after a FaceTime call with Davis.

Davis has some of the cutest moments and it’s super nice when he texts Aza I like us for real. Kind of makes me wish I had someone like that; but whatever.

I kind of feel like I might give away the whole story if I keep at this. But one last thing: where did the turtles bit come from? So Daisy tells Aza a story of a scientist and who is telling a class about the earth. And one old lady at the back corrects the scientist and says that the earth is balanced on the back of a giant turtle. The scientist asks her if she knows what the said turtle is standing on. The lady replies that it’s actually another turtle: and at this point the scientist gets super frustrated but the lady says that it’s turtles standing on one another and it’s turtles all the way down.

And there you have it, folks. I’m gonna end with another quote from the book because Mr. Green’s one liners are something to obsess over completely.

No one ever says goodbye unless they wanna see you again.

Have y’all read this book? Will you watch the movie? Let me know!

The DLG Syndrome

The DLG Syndrome

I know. It doesn’t exist. Why? Because, uh, I just made it up! So Paul did a post on things he keeps (drop everything and go read his post now – right now) and I thought it was such a brilliant idea to write about. Of course, I could have just left a long ass comment on his post but heh heh, I like my two seconds in the limelight like a complete sucker for fame. Who am I kidding again? LilRant isn’t Lil Wayne. I ain’t famous. I might be an ignoramus, but that’s about it.

And enough with the digressing. Why am I like this? I swear I ask myself that a million times a day. Ugh. Moving on.

I keep… things. Besides the usual secrets and stuff. I do keep things. I have what I call the DLG (difficulty letting go) syndrome. I have severe separation anxiety when I have to let go. I just can’t. I agree with Paul when he says we don’t part with books, and I have books from 1994 when I was a toddler learning to draw. I have many, many Enid Blyton books from 1997 – and my first Harry Potter book from ’98. I was so obsessed with it. I don’t remember how long it took me to read that but I remember not letting my dad read it to me because I wanted to read it all on my own. Wow I was bloody innocent back then.

I think my mother has issues letting go too, because she has millions of magazines stacked away in the basement – monthly cooking magazine subscriptions she’s never read or leafed through once (and never tried making any of the dishes listed), old knitting magazines from Jesus knows when, and oh my God, she has a giant cardigan from 1970 when she was a child herself. Surprisingly, no moths have eaten it because it’s hideous and old and ugly. MOM!

My Dad has his textbooks from his residency days. His old journals. His 1986 Vespa. He won’t let go. Okay the problem runs in the family. Although, I understand the attachment to the Vespa. He took a really adorable photo of one year old me, fat cheeks and all, sitting on it. Good times. Good, irritable colicky baby times.

Okay. What else do I keep?

Aha. I have jeans from middle school. When I was obese and basically had no waist. I like to look at them and smirk because I have a waist now. BOO YEAH! I have a windbreaker from 2000 because it’s comfy and I still wear it. Don’t judge me. I have scrapbooks with way too many photos of English soccer player Michael Owen and Australian cricketer Brett Lee. I have journals from the time I was 12 and discovered the joy of writing.

I keep the checks from places I go have lunch or dinner at. I have movie ticket stubs from way back when BookMyShow wasn’t as popular. I have bus tickets from all the times I ran to Bangalore to meet my then boyfriend. 2010, 11, 13. Sigh. I have a dried up rose and chocolate wrappers from the times the said ex boyfriend bought me those. No particular reason. I’m not attached. But maybe I need to throw them out. Hold while I declutter. This is bloody unhealthy.

I have expired makeup. Oh God. I’m looking through my drawers and I have expired mascara. Like, 6 of them. Yikes. I have eyeshadow palettes from 2012 – oh no. I don’t even use them and I still have them. In my defence, no one in India sold makeup from Urban Decay and Stila. There were no Sephoras and I had to beg my best friend to get me makeup when he went home to London. Poor me. Nope, not getting rid of these guys.

I have tickets from the Poets of the Fall concert I went to in August 2015. I even blogged about it and I have the stubs in my wallet. I carry them around like a talisman. *hides face*

I have – erm – a collection of 52 Barbie dolls, showing varying degrees of shabbiness but most of them still have their boxes. Ehehe oh, and I have stuffed animals stuffed away in some corner of the basement because I can’t seem to part with them. I have a box of handwritten letters from the time I had a pen pal. I have old cards – new year and birthdays and stuff. I have, erm, expired perfume. What am I doing with my life!? I have way too much stationery I don’t need and don’t use. I have my broken laptop because I am attached to it. Now I have a new one but I can’t throw away my old one. Sigh. I have a problem.

I could go on.

But I’m gonna go start decluttering now. What do YOU keep?!

This Is Everything

This Is Everything

The tiny town I come from does these book fairs every year. Now, I hadn’t been home since years and my last memory of going to a book fair happens to be from before I graduated high school. Wow. I’m old. That’s besides the point, I know.

I have a competitive test to take in less than forty eight hours. And I had a total meltdown. There’s only so much a normal human being can study. At some point, my brain felt like an overstuffed suitcase teetering dangerously on the edge of a conveyer belt, waiting to burst open. Luckily for me, Dad happened to notice I was super stressed out and told me we were gonna take a walk.

I don’t remember the last time I took a walk. I’m that stressed and that confined to my room. So I grabbed a jacket and we took a walk. And there was this book fair going on and I didn’t know about it! I’d forgotten it was that time of the year in my little town because I’d been away for so long. I nearly squealed. Why? THERE WAS A BOOK FAIR GOING ON AND THERE WAS NO CROWD. WHICH MEANT ZERO PANIC ATTACKS AND THE FREEDOM TO LOOK THROUGH EACH STALL IN PEACE. HAVE YOU EVER FELT SUCH PEACE? It’s been a while for me but today was such a good day.

I think I stayed for two hours before Dad told me he had to head back to his patients and that we should get going.

Now my point is, why was the whole place deserted? Don’t people read anymore? I’m sure there are many others who actually grew up reading Roald Dahl and RL Stine. I mean, doesn’t the very trademark font bring back memories for anyone else anymore? Once in a while it’s really nice to go back to where we started. Know what I’m saying?

This rat race isn’t everything. This – losing yourself in the pages of a story – is everything. I gotta read more this year.

There was this lady who’d come from some super remote – even remoter compared to my tiny town – village with baked goods and she was the sweetest thing ever. I saw her feed this child that didn’t really have any place to go. Faith in humanity, restored right there. Also, why do we still have homeless children in the streets!? It’s kind of sad.

Anybody else been to one of these book fair things lately? I know my post was super random, but my head is all over the place. Stress. Sorry, sorry.

Enough Already

Enough Already

So Virat Kohli got married to Anushka Sharma. Virat Kohli is the captain of the Indian cricket team and Anushka Sharma is one of the many, many,pretty faces in the Hindi film industry. Just in case you were wondering. To be honest, I didn’t see the hype. People get married. People have kids. People have more kids. People also get divorced. People get lip injections. People get boob jobs. I don’t understand why everything has to be dragged in the news for so long. It’s okay to be in the news. No, it’s not okay to take up permanent residence in the damn papers. The event happened, now move on.

SCROLL PAST.

AND NOW THE INTERNET, THE PAPERS AND MY ONCE LOVELY POPXO APP IS FILLED WITH TALK OF SHIP NAMES. AND I CAN NOT FUCKING TAKE IT.

Seriously. As if pre wedding videos and photo shoots weren’t enough, now we’ve managed to come up with more cringeworthy stuff to make my dead grandma squirm. It’s not funny. It’s not. Whoever thought that Virushka would be a great ship name was right. To me it sounds like a ship, all right. Or a missile. Of Russian origin. Aimed straight for the heads of several grooms-to-be. I’ve seen girls publicly whine about wanting their guys to be more like Virat Kohli. Like, really?

Fiancées are going to be demanding ridiculously expensive designer clothing and ridiculously pointless wedding venues because Anushka wore Sabyasachi and got married in Tuscany. Jesus. Enough already.

I kid you not, I’ve seen a million questions on the hangout section of PopXo – all from girls so obsessed with Virushka – asking other girls suggestions for their own ship names. Who does that? What are we, five? I can’t. I can’t. While I do believe in love and everything. And yes I do believe in nice weddings, I don’t believe in getting ahead of ourselves. Just clarifying so y’all don’t think I’m a bitter old Mother Dead Goose.

Celebrity is as celebrity does, yes I know, but people gotta draw the line at some point. Sheesh.