* Have you lot seen Wife Swap? If you have, you know how glorious it isn't, and if you haven't, you simply must (6 pm, Sundays, Discovery Travel and Living). Anyway, it's possibly the most incredible television programming idea, simply because, oh, the grounds for bitchiness are way, way more than any Top Model type shows could ever offer. Basically, they choose two very different families and switch wives and then chaos ensues. So far, from what I've managed to see, there've been a Wiccan Goddess and a woman who believes her husband runs the household, a very very rich woman who shops a lot with another woman who spends a lot of time with charity and so on. You get the drift. There's a lot of talking about spending time with your kids and eating dinner together, which are funnily enough the two most popular rules that happen during rule change. But my very favourite part is the one right at the end, where the original couples face each other and there's usually a slanging match. One woman even refused to come out of her car, coz she had been a diva all week. Why am I talking about Wife Swap? Because I have no life, clearly.
* Wait that's not true. I did indeed go out this weekend. There was this blog party thing, a gathering of People Who Heart The Internet, about as much as I do. Of course, I'm only a closet nerd, but it's good to come out of the closet every now and then. I felt exactly like one of those weekend homosexuals, who are all whee-purple-ripped-tank-top at gay parties only to be all ho-ho-ho-I'm-straight-in-my-pinstriped-shirt-and-tie on Monday. Anyway so I gushed all over Bombay Addict, who looked rather bemused, but I really must pimp his blog, which I like a lot. It's an awesome blog. Go read it! I also met Amit and we were speculating about the identities of some of the pretty women there and I tried to talk him into going over to them and saying, "Hello. Would you like to see my *ahem* India uncut?" Hee. Only he refused. Spoilsport.
* Here I must put in a minor digression. Where have all the pretty boys gone? I find myself ONLY checking out women, for sheer lack of any eye candy whatsoever. Really. I go to places and I look around and the men are so appalling with tight floral shirts or jeans worn up to their armpits or man boobs, or with really bad teeth or you know, something and then there are all these beautiful women looking petite and fey and fairylike, and always very very well dressed and I know Delhi doesn't have this awesome reputation for treating women well, but hey, at least we've got something to look at. No, but Bombay women really know how to dress. In Delhi, most people overdo the cham-cham, like this one acquaintance of mine from college, who also got married in like second year and was insufferable ever since, and when I bumped into her at Rick's, she was wearing electric blue pants, which would be okay, if she hadn't turned around and revealed to me that the back half of her pants were, um, gold. Yeah. Not much for subtlety, no. The good thing about that though, is that the few women in Delhi who know how to dress without too much glitter, look lovely and distinguished, very much like yours truly. Oh all right. Not much like me. My clothes are minimalist, and I very rarely accessorise. But still. I usually look nice in them, which is what matters.
* After the blog party, me and Sameer, who was my date du jour, went to Hard Rock to hang out with some new people (I'm meeting so many new people these days, it rocks), and when we were right outside Hard Rock with all these fancy cars pulling up and fancy people getting out, my car stalled. And I mean refused to start again. So the bouncer and the valet pushed it outside and we spent some time opening the hood and looking inside it, only we had no idea what we were looking at, so we settled for looking despairing which is when two taxi drivers came up and with magic and lots of changing gears, managed to get it started again. And I drove it back inside Hard Rock to exactly the same spot where it, lalalala, stalled again. Oh, the mortification. This time the valet took over and we went inside blushing in embarrasement. Nothing that two vodkas with oj wouldn't cure. (Vodka-oj by the way, is my new drink). Then we took my car back to my house, hopped into a friendly auto and went to one of the New Friends' houses. Where he had the most posh alcohol ever. Like Jagermeister! Which is this German liqueur thing which you do in shots and which burns the back of your throat as you toss it down. Mmmmmmmm.
* All my new friends seem to have fancy alcohol, which makes me dread the day I will have to invite them all over and serve vodka or Old Monk or Kingfisher strong (coz the guy near my house doesn't have regular beer) in my house which despite my best cleaning efforts smells faintly like cat litter. Like last weekend? I was at another set of New Friends' house, and their house was lovely, with a view of the sea from each balcony and I just wandered around going wow. Wow. WOW. Anyway, so I was asked what I wanted and I shrugged and the host said, "You were drinking margaritas, right?" and proceeded to make me one. FROZEN. PERFECT. In margarita GLASSES. Dude. I nearly died.
* And one must mention one's first bit of current affairs reporting, which was excellent fun and made one feel all investigative-reporter-y. I love my job.
* And, I bought an AC! And I'm officially never leaving the house again! (I don't actually have any money left to leave the house till the end of June, so I suppose it's fortunate that I feel that way)