Most of my readers (in other words, everyone I can physically threaten into reading my blog) know I'm leaving for the USA really soon. It's going to take a while to settle there, considering I'm planning to be as desi as I possibly can just to annoy the hell out of other people - I'm even taking suggestions, guys! I've lived in Karachi all my life, and we have some pretty well-developed standards about a lot of things. For example, there should be Mountain Dew and hot guys to look at available at any given time during the day, and I should be able to park my car any damn where I want to (when I learn how to drive, that is). So, I'm starting a new feature on this blog, desi versus the United states of America. Minus marks for the amreekans for anything we desis to better. Right now, the score goes like this:
America: 0
Desi: 0
May the best man win!
I feel a funny coming. And zombies.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
An ode to Google
I love Google. Google is the BOMB. If not for Google we would all be drooling, armpit scratching, barely developed orangutans without Facebook.
Yes, that bad.
This post is completely dedicated to the awesomeness of Google, and you know why? Because you can find about 5000 pictures of Orangutans on Google for no apparent reason at all. And because Google has actually saved my life. Multiple times.
See, in the Days Before Google (B.G. for future reference) I used to wake up at 4 AM in the morning and have a full fledged panic attack because suddenly, I could not remember how to spell "cat" and all at once it was of absolute, utmost importance to the very future of humanity to spell the word cat. It used to go a bit like this:
"Hmmm. I think I need some wat- wait, how did you spell cat again? It went like k, then a. No, that can't be right. It started with k, right?! or was it c? Oh man why didn't I ever pay attention in kindergarten, what kind of a kid forgets how to spell a three letter word for chrissakes! Brain, tell me how to spell freaking cat RIGHT NOW, GODDAMIT! Tell me or I will- I will fish you out with that hook ancient Egyptians used for mummies and turn you into soup I swear I will OH MY FREAKING GOD WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!!"
Don't judge me.
So, it used to get so bad that I got up and started walking around in dazed circles like some unique sort of drugged zombie-mummy. And then when my mom woke up for breakfast I grabbed her, giving her half a heart attack in the process, and asked her to spell "cat" for me, please. I then used to calm down and be normal again for a while until another morning when I couldn't remember what word it was that lighted up wands in Harry Potter and what the name of my fifth grade Science teacher was (it was Miss Ansari, in case you're interested). In the B.G. era, my mom used to live in a perpetual state of fear for my sanity...and her heart.
And then, in one amazingly glorious moment of rainbows and unicorns and golden sparkly thingys, God made Google. I'm writing God here, because I really have no idea who came up with the idea for Google and I'm too half-arsed to actually do research before writing a blog post about it.
The next time I woke up in panic trying to remember what those big animals who looked like monster lizards were called, (Komodo Dragons, by the way. You're welcome) instead of threatening my own brain with a fish hook, all I had to do was boot up my computer and type in www.google.com. Those three magic words. It was amazing. I had a world full of information and hot guys' pictures at my fingertips. It even corrected my spellings. And made me hot chocolate and got me pretty dresses and made me invisible when I wanted to be and gave me immortality.
No, really.
And ever since then, me and my sanity and Google were the very best of friends, and we all lived happily ever after.
The end.
Yes, that bad.
This post is completely dedicated to the awesomeness of Google, and you know why? Because you can find about 5000 pictures of Orangutans on Google for no apparent reason at all. And because Google has actually saved my life. Multiple times.
See, in the Days Before Google (B.G. for future reference) I used to wake up at 4 AM in the morning and have a full fledged panic attack because suddenly, I could not remember how to spell "cat" and all at once it was of absolute, utmost importance to the very future of humanity to spell the word cat. It used to go a bit like this:
"Hmmm. I think I need some wat- wait, how did you spell cat again? It went like k, then a. No, that can't be right. It started with k, right?! or was it c? Oh man why didn't I ever pay attention in kindergarten, what kind of a kid forgets how to spell a three letter word for chrissakes! Brain, tell me how to spell freaking cat RIGHT NOW, GODDAMIT! Tell me or I will- I will fish you out with that hook ancient Egyptians used for mummies and turn you into soup I swear I will OH MY FREAKING GOD WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!!"
Don't judge me.
So, it used to get so bad that I got up and started walking around in dazed circles like some unique sort of drugged zombie-mummy. And then when my mom woke up for breakfast I grabbed her, giving her half a heart attack in the process, and asked her to spell "cat" for me, please. I then used to calm down and be normal again for a while until another morning when I couldn't remember what word it was that lighted up wands in Harry Potter and what the name of my fifth grade Science teacher was (it was Miss Ansari, in case you're interested). In the B.G. era, my mom used to live in a perpetual state of fear for my sanity...and her heart.
And then, in one amazingly glorious moment of rainbows and unicorns and golden sparkly thingys, God made Google. I'm writing God here, because I really have no idea who came up with the idea for Google and I'm too half-arsed to actually do research before writing a blog post about it.
The next time I woke up in panic trying to remember what those big animals who looked like monster lizards were called, (Komodo Dragons, by the way. You're welcome) instead of threatening my own brain with a fish hook, all I had to do was boot up my computer and type in www.google.com. Those three magic words. It was amazing. I had a world full of information and hot guys' pictures at my fingertips. It even corrected my spellings. And made me hot chocolate and got me pretty dresses and made me invisible when I wanted to be and gave me immortality.
No, really.
And ever since then, me and my sanity and Google were the very best of friends, and we all lived happily ever after.
The end.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Why I should be kept away from guests (and normal people)
Because I'm an axe-wielding, fire-breathing half shark half dragon half voldemort monster thingy who eats whoever dares to enter her magnificent abode and rips out their still beating hearts and takes all their candy, of course.
Wait. Was that too many halves?
Anyway. No. The truth is much, much more sinister. Behold, THE GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN!
Admit it. Sounds cool.
What is the GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN, I hear you ask? Well, my desperate driven-to-being-hair clawing-screaming-mad men (and women, we don't discriminate here) hosts, it is a sure-fire way to get rid of all unwanted guests clogging up your house. And all that unwanted hair clogging up your...okay, lets not get into that. It looks a bit like this...
and this...
combined. And for an additional $19.99 you can get more knives and shiny stuff. Blows your mind, doesn't it?
So what does the GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN do, I hear you ask? Well, firstly, besides looking extremely cool and being a must-have decoration piece for any living room (seriously, who wouldn't want one of these lying around), it also intimidates the hell out of your guests. It'll make sure that once a potential guest enters your house and sees this baby, he'll never want to come over again. EVER. Even on the threat of gruesome death. Even if your house is a zombie shelter and there's a zombie apocalypse going on. Even if they really, really need to go to the bathroom. Even if you have THIS in your house:
And there's a money back guarantee for the last one. Cuz its not like any of you are remotely capable of getting Megan Foz to come inside your house. But still, beat that.
But if this doesn't work, you can still try the ripping out beating hearts from bodies thing. Good luck with that, and make sure to keep the blood off the sofa!
Wait. Was that too many halves?
Anyway. No. The truth is much, much more sinister. Behold, THE GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN!
Admit it. Sounds cool.
What is the GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN, I hear you ask? Well, my desperate driven-to-being-hair clawing-screaming-mad men (and women, we don't discriminate here) hosts, it is a sure-fire way to get rid of all unwanted guests clogging up your house. And all that unwanted hair clogging up your...okay, lets not get into that. It looks a bit like this...
and this...
combined. And for an additional $19.99 you can get more knives and shiny stuff. Blows your mind, doesn't it?
So what does the GUEST-INATOR, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN do, I hear you ask? Well, firstly, besides looking extremely cool and being a must-have decoration piece for any living room (seriously, who wouldn't want one of these lying around), it also intimidates the hell out of your guests. It'll make sure that once a potential guest enters your house and sees this baby, he'll never want to come over again. EVER. Even on the threat of gruesome death. Even if your house is a zombie shelter and there's a zombie apocalypse going on. Even if they really, really need to go to the bathroom. Even if you have THIS in your house:
And there's a money back guarantee for the last one. Cuz its not like any of you are remotely capable of getting Megan Foz to come inside your house. But still, beat that.
But if this doesn't work, you can still try the ripping out beating hearts from bodies thing. Good luck with that, and make sure to keep the blood off the sofa!
Serious Post #2
I just realized. Megas xlr counts as serious. It is, in fact, the serious-est of them all. The serious of the serious. The mother serious of all baby serio....I'm sure you get the gist. Heck, it contains answers to the one of the greatest human mysteries of all time in its theme song.
Why yes, chicks dig giant robots, yes indeed.
*Sigh*...If only more men understood that, wouldn't the world be a much better place? Well, that, and if people didn't get fat when they ate chocolate. Or if people's cats understood that they weren't supposed to eat the chocolate that said people were saving for themselves. I SWEAR cats are out to get us, and when they've taken over the world through a combination of smelly kitty litter and unnecessary arm-scratching and...zombie kittens with hand grenades, they're going to grin with their sharp little kitty teeth and make us worship them and make us construct monuments for them - hey, the ancient Egyptians didn't listen to me, and you know what happened to them, don't you?
Oh. Wait. We were talking about Megas xlr. Right.
BUT. In case of a kitty invasion, our only hope would be Megas xlr, who would karate chop those kitties and tie their tails up and throw them deep into the recesses of outer space, while playing an uber cool track on its sound system.
Or we could just throw a ball of thread at them and watch them fight each other to death to get to it, I suppose... But that wouldn't be half as fun now, would it?
Why yes, chicks dig giant robots, yes indeed.
*Sigh*...If only more men understood that, wouldn't the world be a much better place? Well, that, and if people didn't get fat when they ate chocolate. Or if people's cats understood that they weren't supposed to eat the chocolate that said people were saving for themselves. I SWEAR cats are out to get us, and when they've taken over the world through a combination of smelly kitty litter and unnecessary arm-scratching and...zombie kittens with hand grenades, they're going to grin with their sharp little kitty teeth and make us worship them and make us construct monuments for them - hey, the ancient Egyptians didn't listen to me, and you know what happened to them, don't you?
Oh. Wait. We were talking about Megas xlr. Right.
BUT. In case of a kitty invasion, our only hope would be Megas xlr, who would karate chop those kitties and tie their tails up and throw them deep into the recesses of outer space, while playing an uber cool track on its sound system.
Or we could just throw a ball of thread at them and watch them fight each other to death to get to it, I suppose... But that wouldn't be half as fun now, would it?
Serious post #1
So um. I like noodles. Do you like noodles? I had shrimp flavoured noodles once. They tasted like chicken.
oh GOD I cant do this. Let's talk about Megas xlr
oh GOD I cant do this. Let's talk about Megas xlr
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Eighteen today! ...or not
Ok, I admit it. By 00:01 on 27th July 2010, I thought I'd be a much more mature, responsible, nicer (psh, like that'll ever happen), more sophisticated version of me. I mean, come on, after 17 years of being the wimpy, nerdy, overly hyper kid, something's GOT to give! Instead, Tuesday morning found me eating Hershey's Kisses while watching the Legion of Heroes cartoon (which, by the way, is Awe. Some.)
But I guess it's different for everyone. I know people who've been really really mature since they were 5...or something. And I know me, who still can't apply eye liner. I've always wanted to be like the I'm-so-cool-check-out-my-eyeliner variety. I wanted to be the one people resort to in an emergency. I wanted to do debates and stuff on stage in school. I wanted to be someone who helps their mom with dinner, and then goes on to help their siblings with homework. I wanted to be the person who can be relied on to get things done. And most importantly, I've wanted to be someone who breezes into a coffee shop wearing kickass clothes in a red sports car, and then look around with superiority at the inferior souls who aren't old enough to own red sports cars yet.
Really. I AM old enough to old a red sports car. Today. But since even the mention of me getting a car around here gives people coronaries, I will refrain from talking about it. Much.
Instead, I get to be the one people look at when there's chocolate missing from the fridge. I get to be the one who knows the names of all Ben10 aliens. I get to be the extremely bitchy one who gets things just by being mean. I then get to be the one who then cries over the death of fictional animals in movies. I get to be the one who claims that every fourth guy she sees is hot. But then I also get to be the one who is perfectly content reading a book in bed eating junk food all day. I get to be the one who would never admit to the fact that I want a fairy-tale ending, but who readily scoffs at emo love songs. AND. I get to be the one who is hell awesome at video games.
And all I can say is...Its a damned good life.
But I guess it's different for everyone. I know people who've been really really mature since they were 5...or something. And I know me, who still can't apply eye liner. I've always wanted to be like the I'm-so-cool-check-out-my-eyeliner variety. I wanted to be the one people resort to in an emergency. I wanted to do debates and stuff on stage in school. I wanted to be someone who helps their mom with dinner, and then goes on to help their siblings with homework. I wanted to be the person who can be relied on to get things done. And most importantly, I've wanted to be someone who breezes into a coffee shop wearing kickass clothes in a red sports car, and then look around with superiority at the inferior souls who aren't old enough to own red sports cars yet.
Really. I AM old enough to old a red sports car. Today. But since even the mention of me getting a car around here gives people coronaries, I will refrain from talking about it. Much.
Instead, I get to be the one people look at when there's chocolate missing from the fridge. I get to be the one who knows the names of all Ben10 aliens. I get to be the extremely bitchy one who gets things just by being mean. I then get to be the one who then cries over the death of fictional animals in movies. I get to be the one who claims that every fourth guy she sees is hot. But then I also get to be the one who is perfectly content reading a book in bed eating junk food all day. I get to be the one who would never admit to the fact that I want a fairy-tale ending, but who readily scoffs at emo love songs. AND. I get to be the one who is hell awesome at video games.
And all I can say is...Its a damned good life.
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