I live on the 19th floor, with windows which have no grills. And through little gaps, the wind comes swooping in, sounding like a banshee in a horror movie. "Voooooooooooh!" morning, noon and night it complains. And then there's this cheel. Who loves our flat and sits outside the window and sings to its heart's content. Only, it's worse than my bathroom singing (which, incidentally, is very good *ahem*...so no, not that comparison). It's just irritating, like missed calls or something.
I love George Bernard Shaw. I read a marvellous little short story by him. It's called The Miraculous Revenge. I read it while having pounds and pounds of powdery chocolate Horlicks (I was hoping the Horlicks Lite thing would have a chocolate flavour, but noooo).

Dee and I were fooling around at my place the other day. We have this smiley faced stress ball, which is mouldable and everything, and really really cool and addictive. So we were taking funny videos, and I decided to bite that thing (I like biting things), and phusss, the rubber sheathing around the ball tore, and I ended up with a puff of white powdery stuff in my mouth. And I actually caught this Bridget Jones moment on camera. Besh funny. Then we ended up making sand castles and stuff with the powder, which feels very nice. Like talc, but more bindable. It looked exactly like coke. We even made fine parallel lines, you know khata-khat-khat like Uma Therman and all, and decided to pretend-snort. But we didn't, because, we might have really ended up doing it. We are really dorky kids.
I was made to try on sari blouses first thing in the morning, when I opened my eyes. Otherwise, the dorji would go away and I'd still have strange fitting blouses. I have a strange body. My left side is fatter than my right side. It's a wonder how I walk straight.
I have a dull life. Someone come swimming with me. And teach me how to play tennis. I need exercise.