I am sooooooooooo tired and the internet is soooooooooo slow today that I am very tempted to abandon all attempts at blogging and just go to bed. But, but, you know I love you and I needed to blog a little today, to feel a little love at my very own social media thing, to feel like I was reaching out and talking to an audience that was talking back and have the good times—party like it’s 1999!—all over again.
But how do people sustain a blog for so long? Coz that has me beat. Five years, FIVE YEARS and I’ve all done grown up now, y’all. Do you remember me when I began, wet behind the years, discovering the thrill of shouting out words to an invisible audience? Do you remember my naiveté, my little hopes and dreams, the way I talked about everything and then do you remember when the tide turned and I turned and everything changed and I couldn’t anymore?
Well, I’m bringing that back. FUCK people knowing my name, I give not the tiniest damn. I want to talk about what I want to talk about, for instance, today I want to tell you how much I miss my boyfriend’s earlobes, he has the sweetest ears, all small and set flat against his head, not horrid and stick out-y and they are sweet even if you nibble them. It’s weird to miss someone’s ears of all things, but I suppose I’m going bit by bit.
And almost in the same vein of confession, I need to say that I have not, in fact, had a bath today, internet. I have been so tired and so grumpy and so hungover that I forgot all about bathing and will, in all likelihood, go to bed exactly as I am. (OOOOOOH!)
I had two rad Diwali parties this weekend, one was my own, in which there were, possibly, more foreign people than Indian ones, but we played teen patti and then segued into Charades and it went on till 3 am AND we had a noise complaint despite the music being way low, so you know it was a success.
And on Saturday, Diwali, my lovely friend, Gia and I went for another party dressed in saris, looking beauteous. Gia is not Indian, but, BUT, she was the one who got me into my sari and it stayed on and relatively neat all evening, so all props to her (see picture for how good it looked on her). It was a good party. I found myself in my usual position, crosslegged in front of the speakers, iPod in hand and soon we had a real Bollywood dance party going on and I was very proud. If I was a DJ, I’d totally be called DJ Dhinchak.
And in honour of bringing bits of the old Confessor into the new, I’m introducing an idea I got from Schmutzie—where she asks her readers to ask her a question, any old question about any old thing and she answers. She said it much better than I am: “For a couple of reasons, I always like weblog entries like this: the weblog's author ends up writing about things that all us readers want to know, it is fascinating to see what the commenters want to know about, and it reveals an ongoing conversation between author and readers that reminds me of the community aspect of blogging that I love so much.”
Anyhoo, so ask me whatever’s topmost on your mind and I’ll turn those questions into the next post!