Saturday, October 24, 2009

A Qui(c)rk Study


My trusty online dictionary describes a quirk as a ‘peculiarity of action, behavior, or personality.’ While the origins of the word are hidden somewhere in the realms of foggy land, quite a few amongst us, ACTUALLY strike that out – many of us, do have the odd behavior pattern, which might mystify, baffle, hell even, amuse us. And the weirdest part is – most of the times we can’t even fathom why we do it...

So we have people who sleep with their TVs on – if they wake up in the middle of the night and find it switched-off, they switch it on again, and promptly dropping off to la-la land; some people do not eat sliced cake – preferring to eat right out of the box it came in by breaking off pieces by hand; some drive their cars barefeet; some sleep with pillows on their faces rather than beneath their heads; some people cannot play / work / whatevah without their favorite handkerchiefs (I’m only hoping the rule doesn’t apply to inner-clothing items)…

Celebrities too are not untouched by quirks – the late MJ would never take off his makeup even when in bed, Jennifer Lowe Hewitt and her Mum count stairs, the list goes on…

I’ll start with some of my own, and then if you so wish, you could perhaps add some of your own idiosyncrasies:

• I can’t hear anyone brushing their teeth. Not in real life, not on the idiot box. It’s a dead No-No. I go a step further, applying it to people highlighting or underlining portions in a book, notes, newspaper. And to think I survived in the on-campus college accommodation with hundred of chicks who changed overnight from worshippers of lip glosses to devotees of glossy neon and hot pink highlighters. Five years - and innumerable term papers, exams, tutorials, assignments – you do the Math why March thru May was never the happiest (or calmest) period of my otherwise blissful all-year round time. I didn’t leave the quirk behind in college. It’s a loyal companion even today, much to hubby dearest’s annoyance. I'd rather hear screeching or squelching of tyrs in mud than the screeching of pen / pencil on paper

• I count, and worse – color coordinate, M&Ms while eating them. I extend this favored rule to Skittles, Dragees, Smarties, Reese’s pieces, as well as closer home, Gems (You can’t call me a racist candy-lover, as you can see). Red invariably gets popped first into my mouth, followed by purples, orange and pinks. Yellow and green are usually the last ones. No reason for this one either

• If I happen to spot a strip of medicine, and have easy access to a small pair of scissors, I just have to round off the corners. Go figure that one out…

• If I spot lotion balls that have formed near the mosituriser / lotion / cream lid, I scream an extended ‘Eeyuck’ in my mind, and run off to clean it with a wet cotton ball. Touching them with bare hands is a beyond all imagination

• All currency notes in my wallet have to be arranged in denomination. I even go a step ahead – smoothe out wrinkled notes and place them heads-up

• Not all shoes are born equal for me, I have to wear my right shoe first. If while going for my workout I slip on my left shoe by mistake, and realize it the next minute, off the shoe comes. Probably my Cinderella-fixation from my childhood days is still dormant in my subconscious, who knows…

• I have my good luck perfumes, and my jinxed ones. And even though I never do use the latter, I cannot dream of passing them on to people who will. Of course, the infrequent dropping of these jinxed perfumes – all ‘by mistake,’ let me assure you, does happen...

• My daily ablutions all have to happen in a particular order – Handwash, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, foam facial cleanser. To the T! Luckily, if I go over the schedule a little out of order, I only obsess about it for the next half hour, and do not go over the ritual again...TGFSM

• Even if I don’t have to empty my bladder, I visit the loo before I hit the sack. Just so I don't need to get up in the middle of the night to atend to nature's call...

• When TOOMA* holds my hand while sleeping, my hand has to always be the bottom one. I make the ‘correction’ if the order is reversed

• Since my childhood, I have this quirk of starting with the items I dislike on my plate, moving to my more appreciated food items. The last piece I swallow is usually what I like best. Sometimes I leave a portion till all the others have been finished on my plate. I don’t even realize that I’m doing it, but oh yeah – I sure do relish what I eat last

• While eating chocolate or candies, I suck on them till they are melted, and subsequently eat them, unlike ‘normal’ people who chew them right away

• My feet or toes are always in motion. Even in the midst of a training or a lunch session, they are usually doing their own tap dance ritual or wiggling

Moving on to the others - the Crème de la crème

• Not that I spy on him, I know that TOOMA while he’s on the John, has to have a newspaper in hand. I have no idea if he reads it, or if while reading, he is assured of a ‘steady deposit, ‘I do know that he is not selective – he will just about take any paper / magazine in the English language– even one that is a couple of days old, and he’s already pored through it

• My Mom and BFF (Best Female Friend) have to set things in the house in a proper manner always. You push a table a few inches here and there – they will glower at you, and put it right where it was. But I think instead of calling it a quirk, people are calling these OCD patterns…Heeyuck Heeyuck (I sure am dead if either of them were to read this)

• Good friend twirls her hair at all times – at the breakfast table, in a meeting, while watching a movie, while reading her own article that’s come out in that day’s newspaper issue, while buying groceries, heck even sometimes while she’s driving the car (and me nuts)...

• Another friend has to pull back the shower curtain, and peep inside that no cold-blooded killer is out to kill her, and only after she is fully satisfied that the bath only consists of her, her tub, her bath salts, and an assortment of bath products that she sighs in relief and sets about performing her daily bathing ritual. Try telling her that she borders on the paranoid, and there! You shall be subjected to a scowl, in whose comparison, Victoria Beckham’s scowl will seem like a golden ray of sunshine

• Another friend from college, if you try to fold her clothes, will unfold them again – as she likes her clothes to be folded in a certain fashion – her fashion. Needless to say, I never proffered her my help again...

• A good friend enjoys a love-hate relationship with ketchup. So while he would dunk his French fries and cutlets in ketchup, he will often ask for a side dish to put the ketchup in, and only then, begin his dipping ritual. Apparently, he hates his food items get soggy with the ketchup. I wonder what his stomach thinks of his odd habit...

And of course, the list would be incomplete without a mention of my BFF again – who, no matter how sting-free an onion may be, just has t wear sunglasses while chopping it. And if she, so much as squeaks in indignation that she doesn’t, she should know that I have photographic evidence…

And now, let me prepare myself to be choked to death by her very own bare hands….

The only consolation - at least, I’ll die laffing...

(*TOOMA - The Object of my Affection. Sometimes also referred to as hubby dearest)

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Yet another victim of the (S)Wine Flu...


I’ve been bitten by the flu literally.

And it’s not what you think.

This is a different flu altogether. So while for some people, it does have the characteristic symptoms associated with that rhyming named flu, namely – a dry mouth (manageable), upset stomach (uh oh), a heaving sensation (Ewww), a throbbing head (Sheesh), and general feeling of irritated sweatiness (Gawd), for more ‘seasoned’ people like TOOMA and me, it only leads to general languidness, and possibly an earlier sleep pattern than usual. The icing on the cake – this flu is not even contagious!

My romance with wines started a few years back. It all began with a curious sniff here, a swirl in an expensive stemware there, and an asparagus colored bottle of what I later came to know was Zinfandel somewhere in between. Sophistication was suddenly the most potent brew. And while I never did take to Zinfandel or the cheesy, overly-sweet Port wine, somewhere along the line, I was addicted to the other wines - hook, line and sinker. Of course, watching movies like ‘A Walk in the Clouds’ and ‘The Good Year’ helped – ensuring that I do the customary once a year routine sipping, hopping away from my otherwise that most preferred poison – O.M.

The romance grew with TOOMA. So much so that we followed it up with a workshop on wines. And I, a regular napper at most workshops, found myself awake – and actually listening, registering, hell – even taking down notes. So much for people who crib that I am the current chairperson of the Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) Club. High time they took a hike actually!

And maybe even churn out a few grunts!

The workshop was a success – barring a few minutes at the end (an area we shall not delve into). Three hours flew, and by the time we emerged from the white decored watering hole where the event was held, we knew our reds from the whites and the pinks, as well as all the other trappings like color, aroma, tannins, earthiness, zippiness, aging, pairing which wine with which food, swirling a full glass without spilling (bye bye clumsy, butter fingers), dryness or otherwise, and the best – the art of sniffing delicately without looking like a dog on heat!

We also came out with some favorites. In no particular order – Sauvignon Blanc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Chianti, Merlot (Red), Pinot Noir, Burgundy, Bordeaux, and the one which wins top honors – Chardonnay!

Which reminds me – Diwali! A bottle of unopened Chardonnay from Paris! You do the math….

I bet it’s gonna be worth the wait...

Friday, October 09, 2009

Dabble in some Babble


Barring the odd Kings and Queens of small talk, most of us fall into the latter category of people who are anything but adept at small talk.

There are the hugely-annoying sorts too though, who sniff you out, and then starts the barrage of queries, much to your chagrin. So Ms Nosy Parker sails into a lift, drowning you in a sea of cheap perfume – your ears are subsequently assailed by the volley of questions that she throws – thankfully not at you, but at the unfortunate colleague, who suddenly goes from atheist to a believer – never before has he probably sent up a prayer. But this time he does, crinkling his eyebrows, hoping that the lift would whoosh to the top floor.

Not really his lucky day – he has to answer several questions in the course of that interminable 3-minute elevator ride. By the end of it all, when the doors finally open, giving him some much-needed air, his co-passengers have all had their fill of gossip and dope about him, including a very very embarrassing personal problem that he would rather have remained an untouched-upon topic.

The others fall into that glorious classification of people who struggle to bring up ‘safe’ topics to discuss with people whom you’d term anything between acquaintances and friends of friends. Weather is probably the first dwelled-upon area, followed by what’s happening around the world or on the idiot box. The world of sports is the second runner-up, which politico put his foot into his mouth (yet again), followed closely by most people’s personal favorites (mine excluded) – ‘the country is going to the dogs’ dialogue. And mind you, a mighty animated debate follows.

I like to call myself a lousy conversationalist. Put me in a party, and chances are that I might smile fixedly at a few people, nod in acknowledgement at those who I recollect faintly, down a couple, and then head for the nearest exit. I understand that it is rude to not converse with others, but I’d rather disappear than make a polite effort to know about the other’s migraine, job, hobbies, family, or jilted love story.

Give me some good music, throw in a couple of ‘spirits,’ and I’m good.

No chattiness for me. Sometimes silence just is golden.

Amen!

Friday, October 02, 2009

'Picture' Perfect? Not quite!


A picture speaks a thousand words, someone said.

I’ll say it does two thousand! Phew!

There are two kinds of people in this world – those who like to splash their vacation pictures all over the sun and moon, and gush on and on in that nauseating monotone about the verdant mountains / scenic beach they visited for summer. Not to mention the cute ‘friend’ they hooked up with.

And those pesky sorts who will corner you over the phone, over social networking sites, at the gym, in the mall, at the neighborhood bistro, hell - right at your work desk, and demand to know (in that hugely-annoying sing-song falsetto) why you still haven’t mailed/ posted the url of the pics you took while you were on vacay.

Of course, there is a third set of people – which includes me.

Those who don’t care a rat’s ass about showing pics of their holiday snaps to people who for brevity’s sake, we’ll term somewhere between strangers and acquaintances.

And who are equally indifferent about being made to see yet another carefully-maintained album of some poor joker’s last trip to Waikiki. Frankly, I care two hoots about hearing some bozo’s account of how much fun they had on the sun-kissed beaches, languorous breakfasts overlooking the ocean and all, while I was working my rear off at the workplace. Doing my job. And probably his too!

My eyes glaze, my auditory senses take a backseat, and I wait impatiently for him to rattle off his rehearsed script.

And nope, the trinkets you bought at the flea market don’t exactly fascinate me. Those orange flip-flops are hideous, that floral dress would probably look better on a dead Jersey cow, those Chanel sunglasses scream ‘FAKE’ from a mile away, you were ripped by that ‘local’ who passed off a cheap bottle of port wine to you as Pinot Noir, you paid way too much for that straw hat (and to top it – it’s not exactly your color), and those beads – who do you think you are - a Zulu tribesman?

And please don’t bore me to death by showing me yet another ‘angle’ your ‘super-genius’ younger sibling took of you throwing pebbles like a retard into the rippling pool. He / she undoubtedly deserves a worthy mention in the Mensa International.

Good for him / her. Just spare me the details!

I also do not want to know about the glorious weather you enjoyed and how deep your lady luck runs, since the weather Gods were kind upon you, and rains did not disrupt all the canoodling you had planned.

I don't mind a couple of lines, or max, a paragraph, but Gawd - don't take my polite nodding as signs of encouragement to tell me about the coconut you kept in your room as a lucky charm!!! I'd appreciate brevity, not a full blow-by-blow account of those two wonderful weeks. Frankly, you'll either leave me gagging or frothing at the mouth. And believe me when I say I don't look appealing either way...

The only pictures I like to see are those of dogs, not because I am one myself (ahem ahem), but ‘cos I love them. Don’t make an exception to this rule and try to sneak upon me some pictures of friends / cousins / kids, because if you ask me how they look, you’d better be prepared to hear my no-holds-barred chili-laced commentary.

You shouldn't even get me started on the pictures of the red-eyed retards, asses hanging out of their pyjamas, groping hands at all the wrong places, puking all the cheap alcohol they had managed to lay their paws on. I’m a democrat – so let me tell you that there are three places for such snaps –
the fireplace,
the deep sea,
or
six feet under the ground.


The same goes for pictures of men lying half-naked in hammocks, scratching their you-know-what beneath those red Santa knickers. George Clooney can’t carry off that look, pecs notwithstanding. What makes you think you can?

And since we are on the subject – perhaps it would be best to altogether skip that pic of the ten of you eyeing the complimentary buffet like a pack of hungry wolves.

Numerous interactions with people like the ones have wisened me, and now instead of an open, ‘Hey, how was your vacay,’ I leave nothing to chance, and instead put a closed ‘Bet your vacay was fun, eh!’ When the intended recipient of the question nods or replies with a ‘Yes,’ or a ‘you betcha!’ I give a high-five or slap him on the back, and move on with an enthusiastic ‘Way to Go, man!’

My ears don’t hurt, and he gets a nice sorta feeling at being asked...

Works all the time...

Go on - try it. You can't go wrong with that one.

And remember, you heard it here!