Just returned from fashion show with lots of red wine and pretty people. Rina Dhaka's to be exact. What is with people and not wearing bras anymore? Granted I have gone without the support sisters quite a bit, but I'm..um.. perky ya know? Some of the models at this show weren't. And I'm talking about sag city. Breasts reaching till your toes and all that. Bras were invented for a reason, ladies! And while we're on the subject, Rina, Rina, Rina. Black bra, black top. Not white push-up under your transparent black top. Please.
Actually, it's a funny story. Priya met Rina Dhaka in the ladies loo of the Oberoi before I got there. (I asked her to come along to keep me company) And Rina Aunty was chanting away, you know, the regular Buddhist stuff, Nam Myo Ho and all that. And so, when we stood outside, she came up to us to say hello. Which I loved Priya for, because normally, the Dhaka-lady is very media shy. Which is just a polite way of saying she won't talk to us. Not ever. But this time she was all gushy and ooh-y and I just made the most of the situation. "Tell us something about your collection," I said while she went on about how she had only called the prime media groups. (I felt very kicked at this point).
Sharan Mishra was modelling tonight too. She's this short haired model, with a large ass and who perpetually has her mouth open while she sashays up and down the ramp. If it's open-mouthed, it's got to be Sharan. Or Amanpreeth Something-or-the-other.
Also, we had a pleasant surprise today, because just as we were bitching about the men in our lives, who should walk by but Damien. Priya lurves him, absolutely. And he was compering, which was really quite odd, because I've never had a friend who compered before. It was sooo cool. Damien had a cold, so he had this "straight" voice--very deep and masculine. It was most funny. And after that we all went for drinks to this place in GKII. (which I must recommend. It's called Flames, and dude, the rum and coke is for some thirty bucks! So excellent!)
I've been meeting a lot of fellow bloggers recently too. Met with Motheater and AB at TC, whichj was a big surprise because a) I didn't know they went to TC and b) I certainly wasn't expecting to see them there after all the TC abuse that AB has done EVERY SINGLE TIME I MEET HER. (Actually, I also expected Motheater to look green-and-white, but then we're not going into how I think bloggers should look like their templates because then I should look black and brown). Annieway. I also met with Jabberwock, the Duck of Destiny and the Letterhead for drinks the other day--but then, except for the Letterhead I have met everyone else before, so really nothing major to say there. Except that I always feel the need to be more compulsive confessor-y when I meet new people who read the blog. Bouncier, and I guess, more out there than I would normally be. Does anyone else have the same problem, or is it only me that feels the need to match her internet personality with real life?
What else, what else? Boston Boy and I are also going swimmingly. We spent a long evening in the pursuit of a hook-up and I'm happy to report that *ahem* things went well in that department. Very well. He is so sweet for not trying anything further. I don't know why I always expect guys to go further, to probe harder, to be assholic, to fuck with me. It's like Priya was saying the other day--we're addicted to people treating us badly. I think that's a problem with our entire sex. We can't just have a good time without waiting for the rejection and I know this is true for me at any rate, if someone doesn't hurt me, I always wonder what's wrong with them. I'm too used to the fuckwittage.
It has been brought to my attention that people I work with read this blog. (See, this is why I don't write about work!) But hello, hello to you and if you do read this and you do work with me, come up to my desk and say hi. Please? C'mon I won't bite. (Unless you ask me to, very nicely).
And Boston Boy and I went for the Marut Sikka book launch the other day. The food was bloody excellent, but otherwise it was a pretty uneventful evening. Boston Boy spent the entire evening looking for the men with snacks. (Here come the men with snacks, the ones that you remem-be-er, here come the men with snacks, the galaxy defe-en-ders!) Ooh, and it was at QBA, where I've never been. But that's all that I can find of interest to tell you about that. But I murmured into my wine, which I drink a lot of at these dos. I don't know why. Perhaps it's because it takes a lot of glasses of wine to get me drunk. Or perhaps it's because it's so bloody expensive everywhere else. I remember taking the Cousin out to TC and she ordered a glass of red and it was some 395 rupees! Dude! I only spend a hundred on my own Old-Monk-And-Coke. And she spilt half of it too.
And it must be said. My dad just came back from the Issttes of Umrica and he bought me Pleasures and I smell so good! No, really, this is not me being conceited. I really smell good, thanks to bloody Estee Lauder. It's funny how all my feeling of well-being comes out of a round glass bottle, but it really does. I love perfume. Isseymiyaki on men makes me want to love them in A/C cars and Pleasures on women makes me feel straight haired and armpit bagged. Nice, no?