Cat shaped puddles.
On Friday a mute Chinese transvestite blowdried my hair. I haven’t quite gotten over the experience yet, and it’s a Sunday (almost a Monday, actually). So every day I look out of my window and instead of seeing the beautiful brown and ferozee tailed bird whose name I still haven’t been able to find out, I see mazdoors. Of all shapes and sizes, glugging down liter bottles of water, spitting on the walls, pissing in the bushes and surprisingly not staring into my window. Yet. I mustn’t speak too soon.
While the progress on the neighbors house continues, the concrete waves on the opposite neighbor’s house keep increasing exponentially. And last wave ago I thought my eyes couldn’t get more sore. Speaking of eyesores, I judge people who hide all their life and then once married reveal their erstwhile boyfriend (now husband) in their profile pictures for all to see. Personally, I don’t like the color of your bed sheets now that you insist on showing me.
I am still recovering from my vacation to the Ethnic Mindfuck. I mean Dubai. Broke till yesterday, I received the strangest looking cheque from my other workplace (great, Word still corrects my spelling of ‘received’). It was a thin and broad pale green paper with an old Wild West font. I’ll try cashing it tomorrow.
I’m learning to be vocal. Passive aggressive PMS outweighs all rationality, and also never works on anyone. Be it menopausal mothers or members of the opposite sex.
But, at least mom’s get sarcasm.