[oh! what i'll do to be here :)]
While that dreamy headline isn't mine, I wish I had written it and I so wish I were lost. Lost in the middle of nowhere, somewhere pretty, with little mist maybe, trees, damp grass and red clay; somewhere cold. Where I can run. Not from one window to another. Where my legs hurt and my feet ache. Not where I'm left with a numb thumb and an aching index finger. Where it's eerie.
Lost is a great place to be... Take me to Lost, please.
n.b. Yep, right, past weeks have been really bad at work, with the crappiest copy getting through and the good ones being rejected.
Hire a personal proof reader.
Hire Shakira's trainer.
Hire four chefs (Bengali, Thai, Punjabi and Keralite)
Live close to a flea market.
Live in a place with pretty roads to walk and jog.
Persuade Bill Watterson to write more.
Have a home on a cobblestone street, with tiny wild flowers growing everywhere.
Carry the hippie look, effortlessly.
Have mangoes 12 months a year.
Have beautiful big windows in my living room.
Have a walk-in closet.
Get all my ads published.
Eat chocolate. Each. Single. Day.
Banish the phrase 'out of the box'.
Banish the word strategy.
Just so you know...
It started with season 1 of Big Boss. My love for everybody else's business. The desire to know crazy little things of total strangers, small time celebrities, once upon a time celebrities or wannabe celebrities. Slowly, it didn't actually matter who they were. I wanted to know everything, from the amount of moisturizer Anupama Verma uses to Carol Gracia's brand of lingerie, you get the drift. Totally inconsequential, quite meaningless facts, that will never benefit me. But I wanted to know it all and I wanted to know more.
Apparently, it's not just me. Most of us hated Orkut's album locking feature. I did, and I know 105 other people who hate it too. C'mon I got to know what my friend's ex's current wore for her best friend's wedding. Or how that snooty hottie from school is faring after having turned into a total behenji. But then that doesn't quite feel right, does it... what's not meant for me, is not meant for me.
Note to self: There has to be an end. One step at a time maybe, but it gotta end.
Somehow, discovering itsy-bitsy details about established celebrities doesn't feel all that guilt laden. That's set then, no, peeping into albums not meant for me, no fishing for details that don't help me make more money, no 'hey what's her loser boyfriend up to?'.
Tapering off is the way. So, I'll just stick to discovering facts like Madonna's children don't know the taste of ice cream and bread; Scarlett Johanson in a bid to lose those curves has just started training with Gwyneth Paltrow's trainer; etcetera.
By the way, dailymail.co.uk is an excellent place to start.
[oh! what i'll do to be here :)]
