Vodka, Rum or Me?

Those who know me, and I mean really really know me, are aware that I am usually one for making tall claims. It is a different matter completely that I, more often than not, live up to those claims. But when I make a claim to the only woman who I have never had anything but platonic thoughts about, and I do something completely to the contrary, then that is something to be reckoned with. In fact, it is more a force to reckon with than Naomi Campbell bending over in that oh-so-hot pic in German HQ.

The claim is not important. Well, it is. But I am not up for discussing it on this day in time. Or night, depending on which side of the international date line you are on. But the fact remains that I am in serious danger of becoming one of those I despise. They are the ofay people. Put simply, they are those who behave like Simi Garewal does in that schtick of a show of hers called Rendezvous. Sample this. Whenever I can blow my trumpet, I do. It is either the house I live in is fabulous or, wait, I just got the bedrooms carpeted. Look at me. I am so cool, types. Wouldn't you love to kill me? Or if you are kinky enough, make love to me!

That said, let us not walk down the road of making love. I have been bloody celibate the last few months, and much of it is of my own volition. Basically, I am in love. Yes, yes. I have already dedicated enough disk space to proclaiming it to the whole wide world, or at least that part of the world that happens to chance upon these pages. But the thing is this. I am at a place where I am happy with the way things are, even if she has made it more than clear that I am standing against on-coming traffic. And, though I have said it before on this space, didn't The Architect say, 'Hope. It is the quintessential of all human emotions consequently the source of your greatest strength, and greatest weakness.'?

At any rate, when you have had as much Vodka and Rum as could otherwise have taken care of the needs of a small country, even if that country happens to be Vatican City, then it is completely pardonable if your fingers choose to type against the grain of your thoughts. Seriously, are there any thoughts once an alcohol-induced mindfreeze sets in? Then again there is no mindfreeze as of this moment, provided I am not held accountable for whatever has been said so far or will be said from this point on.

Pity that I have to resort to old theories to fill up pages these days. Or what is that stupid song? Nikamma kiya is dil ne... Now I know how.