Something I've been getting a lot of recently is people assuming I write or am going to write chicklit thanks to this blog. (That's right, bow your heads with shame, you know who you all are!) In my defense, when I finally do finish my magnum opus, it will be a work of art and literary genius. Definitely NOT chicklit.
It's not that I have anything against chicklit, per se. I mean, hell, it's lots of fun to read, and pretty easy to write as well, if you get the tone right. It's just... forgettable. Like Cosmopolitan. Of course, Cosmo's probably a pretty bad example considering it's pretty much all soft porn these days (no, no, don't sue me! I'll be good!) and good chicklit, like of course, the infamous Bridget Jones, makes for very good reading and a couple of laughs.
But, while all of this is well and good, again: I DO NOT WRITE CHICKLIT!!!!! Can I seriously help it if my life just sometimes reads that way? Because it does, you know. My life is chicklit and my life is also, unfortunately, a sitcom. The really bad kind with the cheap laugh track. It's sad, but hey, that's the way the cookie crumbles, no?
And, I went for the Tarun Tejpal launch yesterday, very excited because it was my first booklaunch in what seemed like ages and I'm sick of fashion dos and if I'm going to make superficial inane conversation, let it at least be about things I'm interested in, rather than , "Darling, I love your new line!" The British Council was packed, so packed that despite murmuring "I'm from the press" in many sundry ears, I was still sent to the Video Conferencing Room upstairs, which actually wasn't so bad, because I got a bird's eye view of everything. Tarun Tejpal is definitely one of the better looking media guys. Definitely. Except he has a funny dehat accent, which clashed horribly with another posher one he was trying to put on.
Anyway, enough about that--I'm sure fellow bloggers who were there at the launch will probably give step-by-step breakdown and I don't feel like it. Ooh, also little brush with diplomatic circles yesterday for an art exhibition hosted by a certain Scandinavian country. Anyway, so I was wandering around, looking at the sketches when I bump into Santa Claus type man who smiles and asks me if I'm an artist. Obviously, I'm immensely chuffed (I've decided Brit slang is very cool and I'm going to liberally sprinkle my posts with it) because no one's ever asked me if I was an artist before! So I smile, simper really, and say, "No, I'm a journalist." Then I ask him where I can get a catalogue, because he's holding one and he hands me his. "Oh thank you," I said, "But are you sure you'll be able to get another?" Now, this is the bizarre part, he looks me up and down and goes, "I always get what I want." So, now it seems my life is not only chicklit and bad sitcom but also a Sidney Sheldon novel. Humph. I should've probably made an escape right there, but he gave me his card and it turned out he was an Ambassador of the previously mentioned Scandinavian country and since I'm supposed to keep an eye on Embassy activities, I thought this was as good time as any to network. So casually I moved the catalogue in front on my chest, and we made polite conversation until he asked if he could take my picture. Um... yeah. So I let him and then thought to make an exit, because even he wasn't hitting on me, it was getting kind of wierd. Then he says, "You are very beautiful." I think I opened and closed my mouth a few times before I squeaked "Thanks." "No, no," he said gallantly, "Don't thank me, thank your parents for creating you."
Devyani is finally in town, but what with my crazy schedule and her cousin's wedding, I don't when we'll see each other. Still, since she lives next door and all, I'll probably just drop by on my way to work or something.
I really don't have much to say today. So I'm going to go now. Goodbye.