Ms

right. well. i have a problem. (whereupon the readers who know me will exclaim “you THINK?! fucking revelation eh?!”) i swear too much too often and too unnecesarily.

swearing is the least appropriate means of expressing any emotion. its weak, unimaginative, tactless, crude and base. but thats me. except for the weak bit…im a strong piece of shit.

i swear when im happy (“this is fucking awesome.”) i swear when im sad (“this is fucked up.”) i swear when im confused (“man. im fucked.”) i swear for no reason (“fuck fukity fuck fuck”) i swear to describe people (“met a fucked up bitch today. respect.”) i swear all the time.

it all started in secondary school. before that the only time i heard profanities was from my dad trying to sensor it. he would come home fuming ” i had this f….. client today” then shoot covert looks at the innocence in me and the sister hoping we didnt catch on. so the only swears i heard was “fuuuuuu….ed” or “baaaaa…..tard”. not.very.useful. so in secondary school, there were all these teenage boys using words like ASSHOLE and MOTHERFUCKER and SHIT. i mean, this was HUGE. once when i was 7 this girl told me to “shut up” and it took me about 3 1/2 years to get over it. i even remember her name. it was clarissa and she had a messed up face. i hope she is fine. notwithstanding most of the swearing took place in Hokkien…so it was mostly CHI BAI or KNBCCB ( i dont know how to spell so i think abbreviations are good enough. too crude to translate for Br people. sorry.) it seemed like the most apt portal to express how i felt. then i becam vaguely mature and decided to be more refined. and my new friends werent the swearing kind. as ive previously mentioned, they are a bunch of chicks. then came australia and there was a Zambian housemate. it was always refreshing to swear becuase my landlord had a pole up his ass and had 2 young kids…so swearing was a big relief. my mom was shocked with my language when i got back, and took to hitting me whenever i swore…frequently. come to think of it, she hit me even when i didnt swear. bit unfair really. anyway. since i was home for so long, and started working at the hot dog stand ( yeaaah. little known fact about me. i used to sell hot dogs and milkshakes and ice cream at the dairy queen and orange julius. dream come true, really), i decided to replace words. so “fuck” was mostly replaced by “quack” ( “i met this real motherquacker.”) bastard became basket. and so on. then came england, and the more time i spent away from home the more i swore. it suited me. i alwyas look pissed off as it is, so it seemed fine. it catches people by surprise sometimes becuase i dress like such a chick sometimes…all pink and lacy and sexy…and then theres a whole lot of profanity coming out of my mouth as if i never had a mother. but oh well. its a problem, and it cant be fixed.

so fuck ya’ll.

 reason for this post is becuase my sister called me while i was having a nap and couldnt figure out that i wasnt v chatty. and she was overtly cheerful. so she said something, and i said something else and i said “well fuck that.” and there was this silence. then i heard her say to my mom “she swore.” silence. “she said…FUCK.”

just got off the phone with the mother. she calls me and the first thing she says after a scarily cheerful “HELLO MANISHAAAAA!!!” is “so. did you know Snoop Dog is not going to be in England after all?” i shake my head and ask her “Mom, do i care? YOU Are the one who likes bad hip hop, not me” and she replies ” i dunno, i just thought you were going to be bothered. why dont you like Snoop Dog? is it because he does so much drugs?” then, i narrate the conversation to Kes and instead of laughing, gives me a blank look and asks “Who is Snoop Dog? OH. Are you talking about your Dad?” i gasp. then she says ” i KNOW who Snoop Dog is. he is that cartoon character. wait. no. thats Snoopy.”

what has the world come to? My 40 something year old mother, raised by village migrants, knows who Snoop Dog is, and is very concerned that i dont like him. my 20 year old counterpart, doesnt have a clue who he is.

RIGHT. im SICK of repeating myself. here is my situation. read it. memorise it. and stop asking me about it. i will bite you if you do. ffs.

im not going home this easter. im not going home becuase i want to work. no, dont think im some hard working geek. imi not going to work 24/7. i just want to be near my work so that i can have all the research thingies at my disposal. im living in my friends place in beeston. yes, im alone. no, dont say “awwwww”, i really dont mind. in fact, i quite like being alone. i dont like people as much as they deserve it. im alone becuase my friends have gone to their respective homes. i really do not care. stop pitying me. easter is for a month. no, im not working the whole way, so stop looking at me like that. im going home in june. yes, of course im looking forward to it. as exciting a place nottingham might be, i would much rather be in singapore where i dont have to be afraid of dying, either from hypothermia or a chav attack if i step out late at night.

well its that time of the year again. ive done it 4 times before, but the fifth one does not make the whole process any easier. im clearly not v apt at adpating to such sorrows. moving out of halls. its funny, last year, i was always miserable leaving halls and moving away for the holidays becuase i missed my friends. now, when i see the parents of others picking them up, i get this dull ache in me, wishin it were my parents picking me up. i know exactly how it will be: my mom will be pissed off at my dad becuase he is a bad driver and may have fallen asleep at the wheel while on the highway. my mom will assert that my room smells bad. my dad will talk to the parents of other people, whether they want to talk to him is a different matter, and a fact which goes way over his head. then he will come to me and start bitching about them, and he will ask me if i know their kid and if he/she is an idiot. they will both complain about the amount of stuff i have, and how most of my things are not necessay (” its a peice of paper manisha! WHY do you need it!! why do you have 50 receipts for??!!”). then they will delay leaving the place after im all packed. and knowing my parents and their propensities, they will fall asleep on my bed…yes both parents squished in my single bed. then they will wake and ask me to somehow find tea for them ( tea in the literal sense, not in the northern way. for godssakes.) . then maybe, MAYBE we will leave. unless they decide they want to be fed. then we will go looking for food.  on the quest for food, my father will suggest about 20 different places with equal enthusiasm (“OHHHH lets have indian food. oh look here…there is thai. shall we have thai food? oh wait wow there is chinese…lets have chinese.”) then they will delay again, doing some nonsensical thing like walking. then we finally leave, and he will alomost certainly nearly kill us with his horrible driving. and my mom will then get annoyed at him.

 sigh. nomads. sometimes somethings should just remain permanent.

as it is her birthday, and though i never express it (and some may even go so far as to assume the opposite) i love her in the most ineffable manner, i think i must take this opportunity on my WIDELY read blog ( averaging at 30 hits a day…not bad, not bad at all. one tiny click for you, one giant step towards WORLD DOMINATION for me…read away my poppets.read away.) to wish my dearest loveliest boobiest sister a happy happy birthday. as i have already typed an entry about her last feb, i think, i wont need to tell you about her again. but briefly, she is a medic, who likes dead bodies, has lovely breasts, is very pretty and v classy and an excellent cook and v refined. few think we are related. she is sweet to the point of being diabetic. she has no soul. it distresses her that she is 22 ( didnt help that on the phone to her i said “you know you will be 30 in 8 years? you know you might be dead in about 50 years? you know you are nearing the end of your prime? what have you done with your life?? huh? WHAT?!). i am not afraid to say that if anybody harms her, i shall hunt down that sick son of a bitch and spoon his testicles out with a, well, a spoon. and if a female type harms her i shall surgically implant testicles on her and then spoon them out. so WATCH it.

yes well. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUTHU!!!!! ( muthu is not her real name. her name is Madhurima, but her friends call her Rima, as nobody can pronounce Madhu….go on…try it…you cant. anyway, its just this joke to refer to her as a South Indian farmer and call her Muthu. it irks her. sometimes i call her Muffin and rub her tummy and ask her if she is a good kitty. as she does not respond, i assume she is a bad kitty. BAD KITTY.)

on a separate note, it does not help that the word MAN is in my name. people call me Maneater, ManeatingIsha, Man Ray, Mansha, ManMan, the big Man. and when some people see me they say “hey MAN.haha.see what i did there…MAN. and your name is MANisha?? get it?get it get it get it?”. i will have you know my name is of beautiful Sanskrit origins meaning Wisdom. and im v wise. so. shut up.

right. although i dont particularly approve of people who smugly critisize the music tastes of others, i must deviate from this position momentarily.

i listened to 3 different versions of the song “Somewhere over the Rainbow” (remember? the one i want played at my funeral?) i have yet to hear the original. but these versions were by Iz ( the one they played at the end of 50 First Dates.) one was by Eva Cassidy and one was by the now defunct Jewel.

Iz sang it v well…it brought me away to some remote part of a beach in Bali, maybe Kuta at dusk or something.

Eva Cassidy brought me to the mountains, that place in Nepal where you can see the grandeur of the Anapoorna range.

Jewels version brought me to a place where a cat was being stabbed.

DONT LISTEN TO IT.

updates:

1. easter is nigh. i shall move into amys house and cease human contact for a month (save for the occasional Kes bugging). call me on my cell/mob/hp to keep in touch. i may have morphed into a hermit, but who cares? ill still be as stunning as ever.

2. i finally managed to create a hole in my punching bag.  oh yeah. beat the crap out of it. yay me.

3. i have deformed knuckles as a result.

4. but i dont mind.

5. i think deformed knuckles are sexy.

you know what amuses me? how each one of us, try so hard, in our little ways, however possible within our limited times and means…to be different.

some try to be different from the kind of music they listen to. they perceive themselves to be somewhat superior that they listen to bands nobody else has heard of, indicating that they are different becuase they listen to seldom heard of bands. the longest section on their facebook profile is the whole list of about 100 obscure bands with names like X!weds ( i just made it up, but you get my drift). and they will be all condescending ” you mean youve never HEARD of them. wow. they are only like, THE greatest rock punk musicians of the era.” there was a guy in my hall like that, and i took a pleasure in singing horribly and loudly to Hillary Duff each time he was around me ( hey what are you listening to? “FLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY….OOOOOOPEN UP THE PAAAAAART….whaaat? OH. HILLARY DUFF. AWESOME STUFF. YEAAAAH.”) hahahaha. and watch him twitch.

some try to be different from the clothes they wear. while people like me morph into society’s fashion expectations (though not as rigidly as some of the english girls hear who look like a freaking carbon copy of the other. damn. the number of times i have said hi to the wrong girl becuase THEY LOOK THE SAME. as if they each stepped out of some Seventeen or Cleo for teens mag. its vaguely scary. sort of like being institutionalised and not knowing it. happily i can  add a degree of individuality to my dressing, so fuck you *’fuck you’ said they way Kelly said in Shoes*)so there are those girls or guys who have bright pink dreadlocks, wera long black coats and large clunky boots which can substitue as weapons. they look glum underneath their multitude of piercings and pale skin.

some try so rigidly to follow the fashion that, as i said, they look like they stepped out from a magazine. but i would recommend staying in the mag. they come to class with dominatrix boots, shiny belts and, quoting Oya “their little jackets, and little shoes and little skirts.” wearing copious amounts of make up, with so much mascara as to be able to poke someone’s eye out with their eye lashes, and their unnatural tans. looking suspiciously like the Bratz dolls ( “a fun and innovative way to teach your child to be a hooker! pimps sold separately.”).

some try to be different by asserting how clever they are. i like clever people, but when they wave their intelligence in front of you willing and demanding that you accept it and lick their feet, i want to kick them. watching a cartoon once ( a CARTOON. i cannot stress that enough.), an argument ensues pver the physics of the possibility of an underwater explosion taking place. i cannot imagine watching the loony tunes with these people (“rabbits cant talk! what is this….”).

 but. who can blame them?? im the same. we are all trying to mark our place here. you know how our mothers/lovers/randomers tell us we are one in a million? thats not v special, it just means there are 6000 other people just like me. we want to be remembered. we want to know that we are alive for some reason, so we look at our counterparts and wonder how not to be like them so that when the next person sees us they see ME and not them.

Max Erhman said “you are a child of the universe”. beg to differ. i am a child of society. everything i am is becuase society told me to do it. ill do it happily, though. i think being ‘different’ comes from within. being different is how you see the world, not how the world sees you.

you wont know i am different. i wear the right shoes, the tight clothes, the pretty earrings. i listen to the same music. but i know i am because i am amazed. and interested. im weird and odd and supposedly mad and little stupid things make me happy while the big important things make me sad. (as i earlier mentioned, even a duck. i can quack very well and was quacking at the geese by the pond for about 5 minutes before Jess told me that they cant understand me becuase geese dont quack, they honk. whereupon i retorted that geese dont honk, cars honk. and as she laughed at me, i asked her if it would be funny if i kicked a duck in front of the old couple walking in front of us. she said maybe not becuase he may have been a war veteran so such atrocities may mean nothing to him, and i agreed saying maybe he used to kill German ducks all the time…..why am i typing all this down?? i confuse myself.)

what im trying to say is dont try so hard because you will piss me off.

i have decided that it is about time somebody out there make a movie of my life. i think my life is amazing. its not that ive seen so many things, been here, done that, been to the edge of death and back…but i can see things the way nobody can. a duck excites me. ergo, i think a movie should be made about my life and it will be called, as Jess suggested, “The World Really Does Revolve Around Manisha.” it follows the Uni life of Manisha, a struggling law student who has to put in twice the work as anyone else to get the same good grades. While sorting out her existential and suicidal issues, she faces life with a humorous disposition. Meanwhile, she loves guys…many at once. Each guy she meets she falls mildly in love with and gets over him in 3 days before meeting someone else. she likes guys becuase she is a dominating person and loves to dominate in any given position…if you get what i mean *nudge nudge wink wink*. She is a realist disguised as a cynic but really a fatalist. its going to be a love story with dark humour and large bouts of Pulp Fiction esque violence. She might die at the end, but she will die happy. thats the core idea. No matter what she does, no matter how many times she fails or falls, no matter how often she is let down and killed inside…she is always always HAPPY.

i think it will be an awesome film. i know i will watch it. (big surprise there.)

just got off the phone with my dad.

remember how i made an entry last year about how my dad was a children’s book illeterate since his dad never let him read english books as they hated anything western ( and rightly so. rightly so…..) ? well, recently my dad has been asserting his claim as to having read “Noddy” which im sure many of you have heard, watched and loved. i didnt particularly like him but i had this favourite bit where he turned into a snowflake so that it wouldnt hurt when he fell from the sky and when the kids were looking for him, all the villagers could say was “no we didnt see an elf thingy fall from the sky but we did see a snowflake” and the kids were all like “what the fuck are they on about?”

anyway, to test his knowledge, as we didnt believe him, we asked him what noddy was about. “an elf,” he started out “who had friends,” he continued “who all wanted to have a good time,” true “and Noddy always wanted to DIE.”

lol. EmoNoddy. Its so hard to be an elf.

(btw bitch, this is true, not misrepresented at all. ahhhh. his antics.bless)

uhm. i just arrived at the library and i saw a nun. i know i slept 5 hours last night, but the last time i halucinated was 4 years ago. i walked twice back and not only saw a nun but saw a v aged and v caucasian cleopatra. ahhh. librarians playing dress up. how…quaint.

RIGHT. i must ASSERT. COFFEE IS NOT BAD FOR ME. each time i pick up a cup of coffee, my sister( as my mom cant give a fuck. shes cool) and friends give me dark stares and speak in hushed tones, as if each cup is closer to my death. ITS NOT. i drink one cup of black (aprox 2 teasepoons) coffee in the morning, one in the evening and either one can of sugar free Red Bull or another cup of coffee, everyday. admittedly, i am an addict. But the unhealthy dose is 8-9 cups!! im not even remotely there! IM NOT GOING TO DIE DAMMMIT.

i love coffee. my favourite thing to do after dinner is listen to music or watch some noce film and have a cup of black as hell coffee. it solves everything. i cannot start my day without it. its my fuel, my life. so SHUT UP.

i cant remeber the last time i was so inactive. ive not been running, not been working out, not ben working (other then the obligatory tutorials). but im thinking…im going to be alone for 4 weeks, and studying for the next 7 weeks. i need this. like coffee.

 english weather is fucked up. its been tops 14 degrees this week and then its going to snow on monday. is it any wonder that im sick?!

why am i always bitching??

lesson i learnt this week: dont be judgemental.