Spatulalalas

‘Lo peoples, I have decided to grace your snippet of remaining weekend with my presence. Ow, I cut myself on a soup can. Damn innocuous-looking Potato and Leek! How creamy and weirdly beige you looked. How saltily you tasted. How bloody you rendered the side of my right first finger. Erlack.

I ended up sucking a bit of my blood. Does this make me a vampire? Or more specifically, an Am-pire? This makes me recall both Amperes and umpires. I think one measures pressure and the other’s a unit of it…

Oh, I’ve done it now. I can hear various scientific communities being roused to action to kill me with their spatulas. That would, quite literally, be a flat and possibly powdery death. Flat and powdery like… floury mashed potatoes. Which, as anyone knows, aren’t actually flat. Damnation!

I seem to be slightly nutso from lack of sleep. This is partly because of my bf; he and I are both so very clever, and because we are verr verr clever, we choose to argue at 11p.m. at night.
For two hours or more. When I have to get up for work at 7.15 a.m. the next morning...

Yesterday we set some kind of new record, where he cried several times, and we talked until 2.30 a.m. How I keep my brains about me at such a time of the morning is quite anyone’s guess. Generally, I do druggies proud with the sort of things I produce when I am required to converse at these times. Things like, to the tune of Karma Chameleon by Culture Club: “Lalalala, chameleon…” then I toot the kazoo bit, much as other people might blow raspberries. On another random tangent, my mutti hath procured an umbrella named “Feed My People” from somewhere / nowhere in particular, and I could not help thinking that it would be mildly humorous to use it to try and split a loaf of bread into slices, much like Moses (“Let my people go…”) with the Red Sea, but I’ll just stop now…

What are you looking at me like that for? :-D Anyway, returning to not only airing my dirty laundry, but having it dragged backwards through a bush by the neighbour’s dog with me still attached (now isn’t that a grand image?!), my love life has been more loco than moi recently. It would do Road Runner proud, the way it hath pinged about everywhere. We’ve been on and off something like 5 times in the past two days. Us being us though, we love each other too much to be off for real. It’s more like long silences, vaguely psychotic moodswinging, and reticence...

All is good now, thus I resemble some kind of small, energetic rodent – Oh my God, I just saw a highly-toned stomach on the TV! This can but be one of various Indian TV award ceremonies – Vatika Star Parivaar Awards (on the ever-popular Star Plus!). These tend to run for about 3 hours, and not actually be very much about the awards. It’s actually an excuse to watch various randoms dancing onstage to Bollywood golden oldies and current hits. They do several of these award ceremonies around the same time. Why?! How many beautiful, maniacally-grinning people do you want to see bouncing at one time?!

HAHAHA, this girl (who is surprisingly odd-looking in real life) just won an award which she clearly wasn’t expecting, and she had the best look on her face. It was a cross between: “Oh my God, I’m a social leper now,” and “Who weed on the floor?!” :-D

I also just saw a woman with DYED RED (that means rusty orange) HAIR, and half of her head was covered with silver stars. Covered, I tell you! She could’ve stood in beautifully for the American flag if it wasn’t so terrifying / 'WTF?!'.

One big quibble I have with India is the way they dress there. Bootcut flares? On MEN?! Why would you do that? It’s so wrong. So, so wrong! They also tend to love wearing all white – this little actor man who they showed dancing in a preview was dressed in an attempt at a biker jacket in red plastic fantastic (sorry, I mean, PVC or vinyl… God knows what it really was). With random sparkly silver dots. Underneath was a white vest, with matching tight white trousers. The overall effect was of a grasshopper, gone badly wrong. Now he actually is dancing, and I for one was completely fooled. I thought he was performing some kind of elaborate exorcism ritual with intense concentration. Guess those pants are tighter than I thought…

They wear muscle shirts a lot there too. It’s hilarious. You almost want to model the female equivalent – you know, the ones that are always in the shops and assume that you have no discernible breasts, and if you do, make your arms look like hams and your boobs like lifebuoys – and point your bazookas, I mean basoomas, threateningly at them. Except that they would probably enjoy it.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have DANCING! I still can’t help being both frightened and awed by it. I could probably record this, slow it down, turn it a bit grainy and black-and-white, then unleash it upon the ‘Net to great success: “When Fitness Videos Go Bad.” Just when you think you’ve got the blokes’ amazing aerobic manoeuvres pegged – oh I know that, it’s from Karen Voight’s Strong Smooth Moves! – they turn up the energy, and then it’s Stampeding Rhino Attacks, Aaargh Help Me Before He Stamps On My Foot, It Dies And I Need Amputation.

Too long, too long! I’ve surprised myself! Oh well, it is 22:44 (funny, dat!) so I bid ye goode nighte, and urge thee to bed ye selves, oh me giddye Godde’s pyjarmas.