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?!



I get chills you know. 

I’ve changed my phone since but still have his texts. The Whatsapp ones. Every little kiss emoji he sent stills feels so damn fucking real. I keep that beat up old phone around just so you can read them and reassure myself that yes, memories that I have of him from a while ago aren’t something cooked up by my stupid head playing tricks on me. I love him. I’ve loved him. I always will. 

Ever loved anyone so much it ended up consuming you? 

Ever given someone the liberty to hurt you because they know you’d be around no matter what? 

Ever just stood there, loving them more, while they slowly hacked you away, bit by bit? 

Well, I have. 

It always starts the same way. One of you changes. Maybe both of you do. He starts off as the caring, sweet kinds, always checking in on you. Asking if you ate. How you were doing. If he could come see you. He leaves texts if busy just to let you know he’s with friends and he’s okay and he’ll totally call back later. And he totally does call back. But then three months go by and he doesn’t even remember your birthday, he doesn’t text unless he absolutely has no one around. And the downward spiral of your self-doubt starts building up again. 

Always the same old story. 

The same unrequited love. 

While you love him to the point of exhaustion, making excuse after excuse for him, he slowly starts blowing you off and you’re suddenly at the bottom of his list. That is, if you’re on his list anymore. Maybe at some point you’ve given him sex or given him head and he’s realised you’re not even remotely satisfying to be with. Can you put that crushing feeling into words? At this point, I cannot. I don’t think I ever can. So while you’re being scheduled for calls, he goes to try out his new bong with his new junkie friends. He forgets you exist. 

That’s how it ends. Fifty shades of straying away. 

Flashback Friday: Blurred Lines 

Flashback Friday: Blurred Lines 

I guess I’ve overdosed on caffeine. Again. And I won’t be able to sleep tonight. And I’ll wake up at 5 in the morning after like ten minutes of sleep, and carry on with my half assed run. I’ll probably wear one of my socks inside out. I’ll probably trip and fall and people will come running to see if I’m still in one piece… and here I go again, overthinking things. 

Ever get that strong feeling of déjà vu

I’m experiencing one right now and it’s hitting me harder than a couple of punches to the gut. Making me want to throw up. 

See, most people have that one thing they want the most. Even the happiest of people, and when asked if they’re truly happy, they’ll often lie to you. Me? I got everything I need right here. But then I can’t shake off the feelings that latch on to me at times. I am unable to get over the flashbacks. I realise now that I can be a constant nag. A jerk, a pain in the neck. Back then, I didn’t realise any of it. And I kept pushing. And pushing. And I didn’t realise it was me driving people away. Probably still don’t realise it much. 

I met a boy once. And fell in love. And as all of my love stories go, it was one directional. I loved him with the intensity of a thousand bloody metaphorical suns. And he was as repelled by me as two like poles of a magnet repelling each other. So it was a great arrangement, really. He had emotional access. And I had arms to cuddle in. Till the day he told me he didn’t like me very much. That he didn’t like me being the same way with him the way I used to be with my ex boyfriends. Meaning, he found me just bleh and not good enough for a serious relationship; also meaning he though I was just good enough for a fling. And boom, my walls came crashing down. Roles reversed when it came to the next relationship: I was the cold, unforgiving, frigid Medusa. And the new guy was basically the old me. 

Looking back, I realise I haven’t really learned a thing. Not one. I’m still that same old nag. The same old moron and the same old little reject still looking for love and never getting enough. 

How do I stop feeling this way? 

Isn’t this true?

Country Life Disagrees With Me

Country Life Disagrees With Me

I’m currently at my very recently turned Vegan Aunt’s house. This place is basically every horror movie come to life. Remember Twelve, Grimmauld Place? Before the de-Doxy-fication? No wait, that’s actually kind of nice. Think Amityville Horror. Haunting in Connecticut. Boogeyman, even.I think he might be lurking in my room. 

My aunt’s house is pretty much the same. 

There are cows in the shed. And LEECHES. Leeches, you guys. I know leeches are nice, and help in clot-removal. But it’s kind of unnerving to see them walking around like they own the frigging place. (Which they probably do.)

Let’s talk about the cows now, shall we? 

There are three of them. Three and a half. There’s also a calf. Have your ever gotten up close and personal with a cow? Oh, lucky you. They stare at you funny. Their tongues are enormous. They smell… of cow. I find that unsettling. As hell. The calf is only twenty days old, and she broke into the kitchen to steal all the milk (which was rightfully hers) my very non-vegan grandpa drinks. 

There’s also spiders, as big as my face. I have arachnophobia. Like I loathe those eight legged freaks. I can’t stand them! Now imagine having a horror of spiders and you see them inhabiting the ceiling when you’re about to fall asleep. The result? No sleep in a week. 

I’m now sporting the very trendy snapchat filter look. You know, the one that gives you panda eyes and you look like you have had a very sexy smokey eye situation gone awfully, horrendously, wrong. That’s me, right now. 🐼

Also, it’s been raining. Non freaking stop. For a week. There’s mosquitoes to add to my woes. This place is nice, but it makes me wonder how people even live here. I did clean out the bathrooms, and I nearly died, but at least I’m able to detox everyday. Oh lord. This has been an AWFUL, AWFUL MONTH. 


Social Media: The cute, the “meh”, the eww-sy.

Social Media: The cute, the “meh”, the eww-sy.

Keeping with the the theme of Social Media Day, let’s talk about the kind of people you’re like on social media.  

1. The honest to Goodness entrepreneurs: These guys are hardworking and very focused on their start ups. They connect and send out PR packages and hand written notes and hope to expand.  

2. “Instabloggers”: Usually pretty girls with varying stages of sugar daddy and a friend with a DSLR. Funnily enough, the friend never gets any credit.  

3. Tinder hopefuls:
They just make accounts to get laid. These people have the world’s worst sense of grammar and often send in photos of their unmentionables in direct messages.  

4. Ghosts: If you see an account that’s fairly big and gets very few likes, chances are they’ve only got fake accounts following them. These are called ghost accounts. Make sure to spring clean your account from time to time and remove these ghost followers. 

5. Trolls: They ALWAYS have private accounts and make it their mission to bully and spread hate. Block and report immediately. 

6. Giveaway accounts:Almost always girls that slide into your DM with sob stories ranging from being homeless to having cancer,  depending on how much your giveaway prize is worth.

7. The Naked Revolution: Usually girls who can’t afford clothes because they spent a crap ton on a manicure.  

Have y’all ever had creeps slide into you your DMs?

This Generation Doesn’t Read Enough

This Generation Doesn’t Read Enough

…which makes me immensely sad.

When you’re part of a group chat, with about 20 other people, who refer to hair as ‘hairs’ and have no sense of spelling whatsoever, you tend to wonder why you allowed yourself to become friends with those people.

I’m digressing.

So I asked people on the group if they read. They asked what. I said, “Books.” And I got a “Nah 😂” in reply.

Makes me wonder what these girls’ parents are actually doing. Why aren’t they locking away their computers and phones and buying them some shirts that cover the unmentionables rather than expose everything for the world to see?

I’m moving away from the point. Again. Dear holy begonias.

Why don’t most of these girls read? They’re mostly busy being snapchat dogs. And rabbits. And making babies at 12. And then they ask me why I won’t reply to people on group chat and where my “atticats” (etiquette) at. Good Lord.

You, girl, keep on being the Dalmatian with the pout while I’m off to find my “atticats”. I have no “atticats” and I adore Atticus instead of the Atkins diet. No wonder I’m single as a Taylor Swift Jingle.

Shout-out to the lovely Paulo for inventing the phrase.

Gosh I’m so bitter.

WTF Wednesday – I Don’t Need Pity.

WTF Wednesday – I Don’t Need Pity.

I don’t understand why people insist on blaming the person they’ve dated. Nobody asked you or begged you to come date this person. Nobody asked you to character analyze, either.

I don’t understand human emotions.

You don’t like/ want someone, don’t go stalk their blog. Simple. Unless you’re very competitive and/or bitter and bitchy and you want to see what your enemies are up to. Also don’t text them to say, “Everyone that dates you wish they had dated a decent human being.”

Or, “Even the pity has gone down on your blog. Only 24 likes and 17 comments. Remember when you used to be actually popular?”

Or, “You’ve finally come out of the closet, you only want a rich guy and you only think about yourself.”

Blah blah.

Here’s the thing. I don’t want your pity. I don’t need your pity. I don’t care if you read my blog, or support me, I don’t care if you think I’m a bitch. I don’t care if you think I’m playing victim. I’m not gonna justify myself.

One person’s judgment and one person’s opinion about me and one person dissecting my character does not make me who I am. Sorry, what I am. What being a crazy bitch that only plays victim.

Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t blog for the likes?

Has it ever occurred to you that I do this because I like making people laugh?

Has it ever occurred to you that I’ve lost all capability to love because I might be going through a tough time?

Before you judge, and tear me apart like you’d do a cadaver, think from my point of view too.

Thanks and goodbye.

WTF Wednesday – Annoying Relatives

WTF Wednesday – Annoying Relatives

Oh boy. Why is it that I get stuck with unhygienic relatives? I’m the cleanest person I know, I almost have a bit of an OCD when it comes to being a neat freak, and then BAM, the lord almighty gives me un-effing-hygienic relatives.

Now, I hadn’t seen this cousin of mine since about 1992. I was a year old and in diapers, I believe.

Bit of a shocker to see your cousin show up, decades later, wife and kids-in-diapers in tow. This wife of his? I can’t even. Have you ever seen anyone toss diapers all over the place? Needless to say, the guest room smelled like death and probably knocked out my poor old neighbor in his wheelchair for days.

I haven’t seen a more uncivilised human being in my whole entire existence. Who in their right mind, I ask you, leaves um, inappropriate dirt lying around? I haven’t seen parents like this. They never reprimand the kids, ever. Not even when they smashed things, and watched TV all day, and threw things down the drain.

The cleaning lady is in hysterics. Obviously.

I’m never having kids. Bad genes always surface. At some point or the other.

*bangs head against the wall*

Why Group Chats Suck

Why Group Chats Suck

I always refrain from joining in where group chats are concerned, specially on whatsapp, with people you’ve met on the internet. But all of us make mistakes, right?

And some of us – aka yours truly – never learn.

Okay, here’s why you should never join a group chat on whatsapp:

1. There will always be someone with a chip on their shoulder, lording it over the other people in the group. Why? Because they are the greater Gods and you’re maybe a lesser moral.


2. The said Greater God will make conversation a literal pain in the posterior. You can’t approach them for anything.

3. There will be a lead moocher recommending you to other moochers, because you are the least confrontational one and can never say no.

4. God forbid if you’re the oldest in the group, they will remind you everyday that you’re a grandma and you have no business trying to get your point across.

Oh yeah.

5. Soon, you’ll start noticing the emergence of ‘sub groups’. Where all the plotting and scheming takes place.

6. People will start asking you for favors.

7. You will become the odd one out.

8. Last but not the least, you put your phone away for ten seconds, and there will be 104615415151414414141 texts waiting for you.

Take me back to those days!

In other news, the hate comments on my photos are going strong. You’d think women were supposed to empower one another. Nada.

Who else hates group chats with a passion? Also, sorry I’ve been so irregular with my posts lately. I had family over. I will tell you all about it tomorrow!

WTF Wednesday – Pedophiles

WTF Wednesday – Pedophiles

Okay, I know I’m not a child by any means. I’m a grown arse old young woman. Side note: Sorry I’ve been MIA for four days, I’m assuming everyone missed me because I have such a charming personality, like Yoda. But I’ve got creepy old men stalking me.

Thank goodness, not in person.

So yesterday, this guy liked all of my photos. I was naturally super curious to see who liked a photo of me from August, 2015. I might have cataracts or something, because his profile picture was way too blurry for me to see who was.

I thought I’d check him out, you know, new admirer and crap.

Turns out, he was a 80 year old man from Bangladesh. God help me. I don’t know what else to call these sort of loonies, they’re perverted. Pedophiles! It scares me. What if they were to go stalk some 13 year old? And I have people that young following me on Instagram.

Oh boy.

If I ever have a daughter, I’ll tell her she’s not allowed to go online till she’s 30.

If you’re 13, and you see spam, please block those accounts. This is for your own safety. I’m sick of newspapers reporting cyber crimes like it’s nothing. UGH. Literal WTF moments.

Cute as it may seem, stay away from such people!