Hey Look, Didn't That Girl Used to Blog?

Mood: Pissy as hell. Daddy G and I just had an hour long argument about boundaries that didn't clear up anything. But this is not a ranting blog - so don't leave. Please? Just think of the children. Or don't, that tends to ruin the mood. Ahem.

Listening to: I See You Everywhere - Chris Isaak   I have been loving me some Chris Isaak lately, but seriously honey, it's called stalking. Or hallucinations, which are much more fun.

So. I almost begged out of blogging this evening, in spite of my promise to a certain chivalrous blogger with a great accent, because of said ridiculousness with Daddy G. I figured that since the man is passed out at 10:30 from a happy hour at the pub for work, I may as well do something to boost my mood. I have my ipod cranked (well, as cranked as my acer will get, which to be honest, is pretty sad) and am getting my write on, both of which tend to turn me back into little miss Sunshine. Only Snarkier. And much, much more inappropriate.

Speaking of which, this just in - Daddy G is discovering the fact that I have the utmost absolutely inappropriate sense of humor ever. I'm not sure how it took the man 10 years to figure this out, but I swear I've been like this since I was little. Last weekend, I had to walk into another room at Daddy G's bosses dinner party to avoid making a dead baby/penis quality joke. I just couldn't hold it in and Daddy G would have divorced me, I'm pretty sure of it. People, the joke was just that good. Unfortunately, it was more of a you had to be there joke, or I definitely would have shared it. After all, I shared the Swedish joke with you. 

So General knowledge you can add to your brain about Becky G - inappropriate sense of humor and inappropriate obsession with Guns and Roses.

Speaking of said obsession - I saw Guns and Roses last weekend. Wait, did I scream that? No? Let's try again. I SAW FUCKIN GUNS AND ROSES! Yep, my absolute favorite hard rockers ever landed up in Bangalore and gave an amazing show. Axl has gotten his shit together and the rest of the band was outstanding too - the show was amazing. The stunning thing about it was that it was a standing room only venue and we were 10 feet from the stage. 10 feet. Were it not for the beefy Indian security guards that let's face it, I spent plenty of time ogling before the show, I probably would have had to launch myself onto the stage at Axl. Well, maybe not launched, but crab scrambled up there or some crazy shit - I'm not in the shape I used to be. Cause you know, at 31 I'm getting up there in years. Ha. I'm just kidding. I fully intend to live to about 120. I'll be that crazy old lady that just won't die and doesn't know how to dress. That's right people. I will have those GNR tees on until they bury me in one. Ahem. The only downside was that I was surrounded by WAY too many sweaty Indian guys (no hot ones unfortunately) with no concept of personal space and that Cheech and Chong standing in front of us wouldn't share. Not cool Puff the Magic Dragon - pass it along! Random guy sweat may be the grossest thing on earth for me. Ew. Unless the guy is really, really hot.....yeah, still ew.

I held a piano recital you guys. Like a real honest to goodness shindig with about 30 people and food in my apartment. I think I'm looking like an actual teacher and all that now. Crazy. I teach 15 students plus my own kids. Right now, I'm looking to actually expand and hire another teacher. Crazy how this project is coming together. 

I survived my daughters' joint birthday party with all limbs and sanity intact. I think.

Daddy G, the girls and I are headed down to Kerala to see some of what there is to be seen. I am SO stoked for a vacation. I could really use a break. Because it runs in my genes, there will be pictures. Lots and lots o pictures. They'll be up on Following the Masala at some point in time in the next 2 weeks.

I'm going to stop here because apparently once you tap my brain after a long writing absence  it generally spews nonsense here there and everywhere until heads start exploding. We wouldn't want that, now would we??

Becky

Seriously. Guns and Motherfucking Roses, people. 

Get off My Lawn!

So I'm not sure if this warrants a response or not...but it kind of ticked me off, so here goes.

No. You may not reproduce my writing on your blog. Especially if the request comes in the form of a traumatically grammatically poor spam request. If you think I am an excellent writer and actually do want to feature my work, number 1, lay off the crack, number 2, do me the courtesy of actually sending me an email instead of a spam comment, and number 3, that's what linking is for. Even then, if I don't know you, the answer is no. My writing is mine - you may not claim what goes on in my head, and I'm pretty sure this would be an uncredited type situation.

I am aware of what scrapping is and if you are putting my work up somewhere else, I will find you. And I will resort to all sorts of unpleasantness that will probably end up with you going into witness protection just to get me to stop bombing your world. Trust me - not worth it. 

Allrighty then. Now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, more writing coming up soon!

Check it out!

A New What the Hell India over at Following the Masala! Check it out here.

The Ballad of Daddy G

So...One of my more entertaining conversations on Twitter recently ended with my disclosing the fact that Daddy G and I met over the Internets. Laugh all you want, but it turned out well for me. After being asked if there was a blog post about it, I realized that no, no there was not. As inspiration is a spread a little thin around here, I thought I would share with you all how I ended up married to a Telugu Indian guy who is 6.5 years older than myself.

It all started back in 2000 (you can stop counting you bounders, I'm 31 and not at all scared of it) when I was an innocent young idiot ahem, I meant 18 year old. I had just moved out of my mom's house and into my very first apartment with a friend who would make a terrible room mate, yet is ironically still a friend. Being the young, nerdy virgin that I was back then, I was terribly interested in meeting some hot boy to spend some time with. Since I was (and to be honest still am to a degree) a wee bit socially awkward, I figured the internet would help me widen my search as I lived in the middle of nowhere in the US.

Lo and behold, with all of the other sick, ridiculous people (and there were tons - one proposed marriage in a first email!) who responded to my ad on Yahoo personals (oh shut up.), Daddy G was one of them.

We emailed for a few months because mama didn't raise no fool - the internets are dangerous. I figured we could just be friends as Daddy G is older than me and from a completely different locale in the world. A word to the wise for girls - if you feel it, age and distance won't matter to you, don't lie to yourself.

We went out for a movie and icecream because I was such a naive idiot I told him I didn't like coffee. Luckily for me, Daddy G was smart enough to offer something else. The rest, as they say, is history. I ended up falling hard for him and he fell for me too. 2.5 years later, we tied the knot and have lived mostly happily ever after.

So there you have it. An internet success story.

Lots of Useless Information

So. In yet another effort to avoid just selling the damn horse already, I'm posting a useless information post so all of you millions of fans can get to know me better.

1.  I am unabashedly in love with pomegranates. I find it very therapeutic to sit and peel them. I love eating them too.
2. On a side note to the above, I am desperately afraid that one day, a spider will jump out of the crown end of said pomegranate and bite my finger. This will doubtlessly lead to my finger necrotizing and falling off. I will end up a 9 finger gimp, unless it spreads and rots my hand off too. Too much Animal Planet maybe? I still check every time.
3. I love the fact that my husband is nuts about playing the guitar. This doesn't stop me from considering divorcing him when he plays the same riff or strum pattern for 4 hours in a row. Seriously.
4. Speaking of the devil, I met him on the Intertubes. More on this in another post.
5. I am not a cougar/cradle robber. I do, however, play one on Twitter. (I'm so sorry for being creepy Michael! I really do love your accent!)
6. I would give my right leg to have the discipline to start running again. Oh wait....
7. Speaking of which, my humor is often inappropriate, dark and convoluted. I don't care at all. I have been known to laugh at funerals, though I try to hide it as best as I can. Fist fights at a funeral are not fun.
8. A praying mantis crawled in my window the other day and watched me cook for a few hours. I'm all for peeping toms of the insect variety, but come on dude, at least catch some mosquitoes while you're at it.
9. I'm reading a book on microbiological immunity to antibiotics. And I am FASCINATED. Why yes, that is my nerd card pinned to my shirt.
10. I think I may miss cheap wine (not the cheap type wine, but wine not requiring me to promise my first born son. Even cheepie wine costs multiple limbs here) from the US more than I actually miss people. Alright, maybe not more, but damn it, it's a close second.

So. I'm not sure what exactly you'll do with this info....but enjoy. I'm headed into my weekend with some Old Monk and the promise of 4 screaming daughters/nieces. Hopefully all of you enjoy your weekend as much as I hope to enjoy mine!

On The Guys Who Aren’t Really Good for You: Bad Boys

Something that's been weighing on my mind lately. This is from a post I put up on another of my blogs a while back.

I have a thing for bad boys. At least in my head I do. I married a guy who couldn’t be an asshole Bad Boy if he tried – he just doesn’t have it in him. This is absolutely fine with me, I like stability. It does, however, lead my imagination to be more oriented on guys that I would never glance at twice in real life.

I’ll give you an example. Axl Rose in the 80’s. I would bang the ever loving shit out of that man in my head, but never put up with his crap in real life.

What is it about a man that looks at you with that intense emotion in his eyes. The one that leaves you half afraid/half hoping he’ll shove you up against a wall and take you right there because he just has to have you. Now. A man who owns his passion and throws a middle finger up at what the world thinks of it. It makes me hot every single time.

I even found a link online on how to be a bad boy: http://www.wikihow.com/Be-a-Bad-Boy
I’m not vouching for these suggestions, I just found it interesting. Some are better than others.

Boys, since I like you, I’m gonna break down ladies’ fascination with bad guys along with some tips on how to rock the attitude. Everyone whines that they bad boys win. Actually, it’s more complicated than that. Pussy boys always finish last, no matter what. Here’s some tips on how to be a bad boy without being bad for yourself or your girl:

1. Most importantly, you can be a bad boy without being an asshole. We don’t actually want you to act like assholes. Seriously. Don’t be a douche. We may stick around for a while for the sex if it’s hot, and for the fascination, but sooner or later, everyone gets tired of a man child that doesn't know how to act.
Sexual Self Confidence - the bad boy has it. He’s confident enough to own the passion and sexuality that radiates off of him. If you are confident in yourself and who you are, it makes us want you regardless of whether you are actually bad or not. Learn your own body (as if any guy doesn’t, ha!), and more importantly, learn her body and learn it well. It’s kind of hard to be confident about yourself if you don’t know where the important parts are. Making her get off should be like a mission for you. Do it gladly and without whining – you know you’re gonna get off anyways. After all, if the sex is good, she’s gonna want a repeat show more often, which is good for you both. 


2. Bad Boys don’t need permission to make decisions. With all the squawking lately about feminism and how we don’t like chauvinistic guys, we have sacrificed men who make confident decisions. Make a decision and be confident about it. As long as it’s not a major life decision, you don’t need permission/validation from us or anyone else all the time. Knock it off with the asking for permission constantly.

3. Bad boys own who they are, not what they aren't. Going back to Axl Rose. Do any of you think he’s less of a cocky, arrogant asshole now that he’s 50 and no longer owning the world? The answer is no. He still acts like the world is glad to have him around. If you’re a 45 year old bald, chunky accountant, you rock that for all it’s worth. Looks matter, but they matter far less than a man who is confident and comfortable with who he is. Know who you are, know what you’re good at and own that shit.

4. Bad boys aren’t afraid to get a little rough with their girl in bed. I’m not talking bruises or abuse or any crap like that, I’m talking about being passionate. The thing is, most girls are not made of porcelain, no matter how fragile she seems or how manly this makes you feel. Most girls love the thought that their man gets so excited that he gets a little out of control occasionally. Again, a very unfortunate byproduct of feminism. If tenderness is important to your girl, by all means keep a hold of that occasionally, but don’t be a pussy all the time. She needs to know that she makes you hot too. There’s a time for touchy feeley, tender sex, and there’s a time when you need to just handle your business.

5. Bad boys can appreciate a strong girl and protect a fragile one. Strong women are not a threat to your masculinity and are actually an asset to you. The more strong and confident a lady is, the better she can have your back. It’s hard to be a strong man if you don’t have anyone to lean on. If you find a good strong girl, I suggest you hold on to that. Sometimes a girl is fragile – that’s just a part of being a girl. Take care of her, but don’t baby her. There is nothing hotter for a lady than realizing a man can take care of her if he needs to. We need to know a man can club a dinosaur over the head for us if we’re threatened – or at least stand up for us in a bar if another guy is being an asshole. That is sexy. I know, it’s rather chauvinistic, but that’s the way it is.

6.Bad boys don’t let themselves be turned into bitches. This is going to offend some of you guys, but I tell it how it is. Do not be a bitch for any girl, no matter how hot she is. She should not be walking all over you. You are the man in the relationship, you should act like it. Unless you’re in it just for the sex, and there’s something to be said for that too, you should never let yourself or your girl make you feel like you matter less than she does in the relationship; you are equals. You will never have her respect or satisfaction of a good relationship if this gets lost. Respect yourself, and you’ll get respect from her. If you still don’t get any respect, I strongly suggest running away as fast as you can in the other direction.


I hope this has helped all you gents out there who whine that women always go for the bad ones. Yes, too many of us chicks have a fascination with that, but this can work in your favor without turning you into an asshole or tanking a relationship. Give it a try!

Becky

The Student Files, Episode 1: The Student Who Forgot he Has a Bathroom at Home

Hello Folks,

 I've again come to entertain you with some inanities that happen in my life.

I've been writing over at my other blog (Following the Masala) about a pretty funny run in with a newspaper if you'd like to read it here.

So. My student count now stands at 9, with the strong possibility of 10. I thought it would be fun to share some of the idiosyncracies that my students have. Some bring me great joy and entertainment, some make me want to tear my hair out. All names have been changed for my protection and are not indicitive of the order in which they joined lessons. Unfortunately, they are not Criminal Minds type cases as was suggested by one of my favorite Aussies, just entertaining kids.

I teach exclusively to students who live in the same apartment compex as we live in. As the complex can house about 500 families, there are no shortage of kids around. Now, I don't know if I need to explain this or not, but all the apartments here have bathrooms; most of them more than one. Student 1 came to me as a referral and had taken piano lessons before. They live 2 floors up from me. He is a very cute, polite, bright eyed 8 year old boy. I found it rather odd that 5 minutes into his first lesson, he asked to use the bathroom. I figured no biggy, he probably just forgot to go before he came. He went into the bathroom for all of 3.2 seconds (including washing his hands) and came back. I found this amusing, but we just went on with the lesson.

The next week came with a repeat performance. And another in the same lesson. Every week since, he has made a trip to the bathroom.

At first, I wondered why he wasn't just using the bathroom at home. I suppose there could be some valid reason for this. However, I have my own kids and I understand that sometimes, kids get bored and they come up with some pretty intelligent ways of getting the time to pass by faster.  I came to figure out that this was what was going on. It doesn't bother me - we always finish off the work we need to do for his lesson. It's more one of those things that just isn't worth making any kind of deal about at all.  As long as we can finish off his lesson and the work we need to do he's welcome to use the restroom.

Becky

The Cat just Dragged Me Back In

Well well well. Look who’s dragged herself back onto blogger with her head hanging down. That’s right folks, it’s me.  Oh, and Blogger, I'm afraid you suck even worse than I do for not even keeping up with all these lovely people who leave encouraging comments for me. Erasing my nice witty comments is never a good way to earn brownie points with me. Kinda makes me stabby.

Soooo. I have been meaning to write for the week that has passed since I last wrote, but (insert various excuses here). I think I’m going through a dry spell over here. There are definitely times when I just can’t shut the hell up, but I also have times when there’s nothing but tumbleweeds rolling around in my brain. And as much as I love writing, you guys don’t need to be forced to sit through rambling that is more inane than usual – even I don’t want to listen to it. I do greatly appreciate all of your nice comments and encouragement, even if I didn’t comment back. See Blogger sucking. I figured it was just best to write another post.

I am now up to 7 (count em 7!) piano students with the strong possibility of acquiring 2 more in the next few days.  I can’t tell you how thrilling it is to continue to watch this project grow – I never imagined it would grow like this. I can tell you this – never since highschool have I looked forward to the weekend so much. All of you fabulous people who have real full time office jobs can stop rolling your eyes at me now. Trust me, my sister in law has this covered for you.

Aside from this business, Daddy G has absconded to the US. He’ll be back next weekend. I’m still rather disgruntled that he’s able to take long hot showers, but I am super enjoying having the bed all to myself. It’s absolutely glorious. Strangely enough, I don’t seem to miss him that much this time. Probably something to do with being so bloody busy all the time. What I do not like is being once again the only responsible adult in our house as my daughter’s exam time comes around. I’m not sure who the genius was that decided it was a good idea to give 8 year olds a unit test covering everything they learned since July…but you suck some serious donkey balls. Of course Daddy G is trying to pull his usual armchair dictatorship over what and how long she should study. I am doing my part and dutifully ignoring him. Hey, if you’re not in the same hemisphere…you kinda lose your right to drive me nuts about what the kids should be doing.

There has been a sinfully drinkable bottle of wine, which I shamelessly downed by myself last weekend (Sweet baby mashed potatoes that bitch was lovely), and there has been Old Monk rum. Lots of it. In case you aren’t familiar, it actually comes in a glass bottle shaped like a monk. This tickled me to no end. There has been drunken walking. Actually, there has been lots of walking and not all of it in an alcoholic haze. I’ve been trying to shape up a bit more and have been walking regularly at night. It would be lovely if my Ipod didn’t insist on being the world’s biggest whiney bitch and running out of batteries after 2 songs. Note to self – it’s time to find the apple store.

I’ve been trying to keep up with some of you on Twitter, although I am pretty stupid when it comes to Twitter. Like saying something only to figure out someone else said exactly the same thing a page down.  My apologies people, I’m getting there. But do give me a holler if you’re on twitter and we’re not stalking each other.

Not much else has been new around here. My apologies for the tumbleweed post. I promise to keep an eye out for some more interesting things to talk about. Perhaps we’ll start a series on Student Files. Like the kid who asks to use the bathroom every time he comes for a lesson.  Should be good fun.  

Becky

The Day the Music *Ahem* My Computer Died

Well hello there. I’m actually astounded and amazed that you stuck around. Seriously. I know I usually don’t hang around if a blogger pulls a trip down the rabbit hole like I have been. Thank you. You have my love, gratitude, and all that good jazz.

So…beyond telling you that my life has become just as busy as everyone else’s (and much busier than I’m accustomed to) I’m not going to give out many excuses. See, now this is how much I love you – I’m explaining myself at all. Trust me folks, I don’t explain myself or my actions to anyone very often.

I will, however, for the sake of having something to get started saying, let you know what’s going on in my corner of the world. I have to start somewhere lest the pressure cooker of ideas that my head has become just explodes into a vast, messy, pink goo covered internet space. That actually didn’t make sense to me either…so you’re better off not asking at this point. This is what happens when I stop writing. When I start up again, it comes out in a hot mess of confusion. There’s just too much going on in there.

Let us start at the beginning. I think I stopped writing just before I went to Hyderabad. I think. I brought my computer along with the intention of working and blogging while we were on vacation, but I got lost in the glorious eating, and sleeping, and general hanging around that happens when we go visit my inlaws. It was indeed glorious. My mother in law is an amazing cook and we always eat and sleep way too much. Think afternoon naps. Many, many blessed naps. I loved it. Unfortunately, I didn’t do much of anything productive. At the end of our trip, my computer decided it was a good Gawd (Holla Chicago!) Damned day to die.

Like many others of my own and younger generations, I am not only dependent on my computer for my work and my daily connections with others, I’m pretty much addicted. I’ve been hooked on Lenovos for my last couple of laptops. Unfortunately, Lenovos (at least the ones that I’ve had!) have a nasty penchant for not lasting all that long before fans fail, motors overheat and fry and screens randomly don’t work. I’ve finally become marginally smarter than the system and backed up all my stuff on one of the 2 hard drives that Daddy G had a field day making fun of me for buying. Who’s laughing now smarty pants? Who is not spending all my time reloading CDs into itunes, freaking out that I lost all my important bloggy and other documents, and freaking out that we lost the girls’ baby pictures? Not this girl, that’s who. 

Fortunately, we have a backup laptop at home that Daddy G bought last time he went to the states. We kind of view it as the ugly step child laptop at our house, because it just doesn’t work the same as my old faithful. I am, at the moment, super thankful for it though. I am able to work at my job, blogging, and my side projects and stay connected to the world. We’re hoping to be able to get it fixed as I think it’s a screen problem and not a fan problem – yet. That is, we’ll get it fixed whenever Daddy G finds the time/incentive/nagging insufferable and gets it fixed.

Other than that drama, I have been swamped with my job. One of them anyways.  It’s been good making the money, but it’s been darn hard keeping up with it along with all of the other fun flying around.

In more good news, I now have 5 students coming to my house to learn the piano. The further I get into this project, the more fun it becomes. As of lately, Daddy G and I have been in some pretty serious discussions on the direction we want to take in life and more specifically, whether I should pursue a job at a company (such as the one he works for that rhymes with Farget) or whether we should go full time in pursuing the business of opening and running a music school in Bangalore. I’m pretty much gung ho about being an entrepreneur, but it does have some pretty serious implications for our family. Many of them have to do with whether or not we stay in India on a very long term basis (which would be the case if we opened a music school) or head back to the US (which would mean it would be a good idea to do my best to get a corporate job before hand). As these discussions are of a serious nature, versus a hypothetical, daydreamish type discussion, it’s both thrilling and terrifying. I’m not exactly sure what I want from life or where I want to live it. As it stands right now, I really want it both ways, which I’m aware is not possible.

On a tragic note, I do not have access to my Outlook. This means I haven’t been able to follow most of the eleventy billion blogs I usually read every day. It also means that I don’t have any clue what day it is unless my house is full of people, which usually means it is Saturday or Sunday. I am indeed lost without my calendar.

So my loyal readers, don’t despair. I will be back to read all of your outrageously talented material and leave inane comments just as soon as I track down all your blogs again and stick them in a different feed reader. Anyone have any suggestions? Preferably that won’t wreak havoc on my reading habits should my computer decide to host a not so civil protest at being overused and underpaid?

Becky

Lions and Exes and Jism. Oh My.

Listening to: Rock You Like a Hurricane – Scorpions

Mood: It’s a Monday, so surprisingly good considering.

I think Snoop Dog has finally smoked too much pot. He’s gone off the deep end of the fruit basket. Really Snoop? Snoop Lion? The Raggae I can get behind. I understand that after so many years of producing entertaining rap music for the masses it may be time to change it up. But this Snoop Lion…I dunno dog.  It sounds a l bit like a little boy calling himself Mr. Bob to feel grown up. Think about it – everyone knows who you are. I would venture to say that your fans will support you without the corny name change. That never seems to work out well – see Prince and Puff Daddy. Stick with the good thing you got. The reincarnation of Bob Marley? I call bullshit. That’s not a religious revelation – it’s a shameless marketing schtick. Marley is probably spinning in his grave.

Everybody loves a good “crazy ex” story. I got one.  When I was almost 13, my family moved to the Florida keys for my father’s job and because he hated sitting still in one place for a long time. This being a time before child services was on top of children being at home alone, my brother and I were quite used to running around without supervision.  Being an angry rebellious 13 year old, scoping out the new boys was obviously on top of my list of things to do. Being an excellent judge of character, I was immediately drawn to a guy who wasn’t worth my time and was immediately pressured to go WAY further than I wanted. I put up with his assholery for a little while and then broke up with him. Thank goodness I had a little bit of sense and self worth back then. Well, thanks to my best stalker tool Google, I just found out he’s in jail for identity fraud. Don’t get me wrong – I couldn’t be less interested if I ever talk to him again, I just wanted to see what he was up to and if he was in jail. Because I totally called that outcome years ago. Turns out my spidey sense was correct. Don’t tell my mom though. She’ll get way too much perverse pleasure in saying I told you so to me. She hated that guy.

Blogher12 – what the hell? Why did you wait til I moved out to come to NYC??? We could have been good together. Oh well, hopefully we’ll hook up next year in Chi-town.

Bollywood – how is naming a non-porno “Jism” a good idea? Was it really so good we needed Jism 2? Don’t get me wrong, the music was great, but seriously? Why?? I can’t take anything related to ejaculation seriously. Especially things named after cheesy slang for cum. If you’re going to write an erotic  thriller and have people take it seriously and not as a porn, it’s best if you don’t use hard core titles.  Yeah, and how did Dirty Picture cause tons of backlash and this didn’t? I’m lost here. I also have this strange desire to go watch some porn. No idea where that came from.

 Becky

God Save the Queen

Mood: Meh, it’s Monday

Listening to: Black – Pearl Jam

Happy Monday Internets. Well, as happy as Monday gets.  When I had to get up at 7 am this morning, I was decidedly less than thrilled that I could not continue my weekend laziness. Such is life. 2 cups of coffee and half a day later and I've managed to mostly get my violent tendencies from sleep deprivation under control. This post has absolutely nothing to do with the Queen. Or drag queens. You've been warned.

This morning at 8 am, some bugger was screaming at the top of his lungs out in the courtyard. I counted to 30 in my very sleepy mind in an attempt to not get up and chuck heavy objects at him. Have some decency! I don't want to hear your angry tirade any time! At 8 am, it just turns into a control exercise so I don't go stab you. You're welcome for my years of practice, you douche canoe. It turns out, the guy who was doing this is the sports coach for the kids in our complex and he was threatening to jump off his balcony. He wasn't suicidal, just mad about something; it makes no sense to me either. I am super glad my kiddos lost interest in that class a few months back. I hate this type of drama and I don't want them anywhere near it. That being said, if you start that shit again before 10 am, I will go push you off that balcony myself.

If anyone has any tips about getting rid of ants (why yes, it is still that same bloomin onion ant problem that I’ve been battling since we returned from Sri Lanka) or fruit flies, please be a dear and post a comment. There are few things in life that can make me aggravated as quickly as walking into a cloud of fruit flies. I really don’t get it. I don’t even have any fruit hanging around on the counters – it’s all in the fridge. They’re not particularly fast fliers or expert ninjas at blending in like the mosquitoes here, but those guys have orgies every 2.5 minutes (ok, so this is an exaggeration, but not by much. Remember Freshmen biology?) so no matter how many you kill, there are always some hiding that then reproduce.

In other news, I can’t spell exaggeration and of course spell check can never figure out my butchery so I have to ask the Google wizard every.single.last.time. It gets old. Egsaduration, exaduration, eggodamnit, where’s my thesaurus that won’t help me because I can’t spell it in the first place.

I have obtained another young mind to practice my musical sorcery on. Ok, so it’s piano lessons, but that sounds way cooler. I’m stoked. At the rate my students are going, I get at least 1 (and it’s usually not the same one each week – go figure) that actually practices on any given week. Hopefully this will up my odds for productive lessons. Nothing is more painful for a teacher than sitting through a lesson in which the student looks at the music like it just sprouted donkey tails and they have most definitely never seen any of this before. Ever. Even though they swear they practiced. Mental face-palm. Hopefully once I put up some posters I can get even more kids (read crazy parents) to sign up and make life even more interesting.

I am still nagging Daddy G to get busy on the car buying business. After 3 painful run ins with taxis/auto rickshaws this weekend, I’m about done with this nonsense.  Look, if you’re going to give me an outrageous rate for taking me from one place to another and then ask me how much I’ll pay when I laugh at you, don’t try and make me feel bad because I offered you what it was worth at less than half and you accepted. I won’t pay you anymore because you quoted so high in the first place, you ridiculous clown, so just let it go instead of trying to make me feel guilty. It ain’t happening. Screaming to your auto rickshaw friend who is driving next to us all the way across town will just make me not tip you. Seriously – that is beyond ridiculous. By the way, we do understand enough Kannada to know that you guys were talking about how much you scammed both of us for. It was SO tempting to kidney sucker punch you. Good thing I’m trying to not teach my daughter’s that particularly useful trick until they’re a bit older.

One more question for those who are much more knowledgeable than me. Why does Itunes fuck around with my music folders?? If I rename things or move them, Itunes moves them again, back where I had them. What's up with this? I'm really nutty about organization and having things labeled correctly. This kind of thing makes me want to go pull out my hair, one strand at a time. Is there anything that makes this process easier?

Becky

Chick Fil Who the Hell Cares.

Mood: Calm

Listening to: Hindi music videos

Disclaimer: I am whipping out my soap box for this post.

So. Unless you pull ostrich moves for a living, you’ve probably been unable to get away from this entirely ridiculous chest thumping and grandstanding about Chick Fil A. I almost left this issue lie; but then again, sometimes I can’t help myself. Sigh. I do occasionally fall for troll issues. I hate jumping on moving trains of opinions that people have already gotten moving and jumped on en masse – it just seems…like you need attention. That’s not my motive here. I’m sick of hearing about Chick Fil A. What I’m even sicker of is hearing every god damned opinion on earth about whether Dan Cathy is a hero or a douche canoe.

You know what folks? It really doesn’t matter. He’s neither. He’s a man who happens to have an opinion on something. Just like every other Tom, Dick, Jessica, and Heather in the country. The fact that he runs a restaurant chain is also irrelevant. That doesn't make you a moral compass for anything. It's an economic choice a person made. The choice not to operate on Sunday is also not something to get in a lather about. If Chick Fil A see the loss of Sunday sales as a reasonable price for a principal they have, so be it. Since Mr. Cathy started the company, he can base it on whatever principals he deems to be correct. That’s his right as an American; he's not violating any laws with his opinion.

The genius of America (even if it is painful for those who don’t agree) is that you are free to think whatever you want. For the most part, you can say whatever you want. You are free to believe whatever religion/philosophy you want.  A bigger part of this genius is the capitalistic system. I know that some people say that it’s impersonal, soulless, and dangerous, but that’s simply not true.  Your dollars are the only true power you have to change anything in the US. Realistically, you can vote, but you will not change the system through voting.  If you so choose that you don’t like a business, just don’t go there. If enough people feel the same way, the business will go out of business. If not, you can use your dollars to support other things you do believe in or feel strongly about.

As much as it pains me to say it, Mayor of Boston, cut that shit out. I agree with your sentiment, but the answer to intolerance is not fascism. Boston is an amazing city full of people of all shapes, sizes, colors, etc. Let them vote. If people don’t want that kind of attitude and intolerance, they will vote and the restaurant won’t be able to stay open in Boston. If Chick Fil A feels that making a public stand on a religious/political issue is worth whatever economic backlash/support that comes from it, let economic voting take its course.

There’s absolutely no need to jump on the moral superiority wagon because you have an opinion or believe a certain way. I personally feel that intolerance for difference has no place in the world today, but more than that, I feel that the right to believe/stand up for what you believe in is an innate right. I would never think to tell someone like Dan Cathy that he can’t think that way or say things like that, even if I believe he’s dead wrong. It’s his innate right to have his opinion, no matter what I think of it.

Look folks, for me, the heart of this issue comes down to not being a dick to other people and letting them live life as they see fit. Ever action has a consequence, either good or bad. The misplaced desire to save people from these consequences is not beneficial for anyone. If I am going to go to hell because I believe that marrying someone from outside of my own race (just as an example) is alright, I really don’t need to be convinced I came to that decision wrongly and that I need to be saved. I’m a big enough person to think through my own decisions and take whatever consequences come along. I did not ask you to be a parent figure for my soul. It was not requested and definitely isn’t wanted.

For me, you are welcome to believe whatever you’d like, but that does not excuse you to be a dick to others. I have cousins on Facebook that make me wince every time I log on because they are so abusive in their comments about anyone who doesn’t believe the same that they do. I know that these remarks aren’t aimed personally at me (I’m not even sure if they realize this type thing may be offensive to me), but the vehemence in them bothers me. I respect their right to have a different opinion than mine, but I don’t think it’s ok to be condescending to people who don’t share the same religion/philosophy/political views/opinions on sweet potatoes as you. Everyone finds their own truth. Acting superior because you think yours is the best view or the only correct one isn’t going to convert anyone, it’s just going to make you look like an asshole.

At the risk of sounding like a hippy, live and let live people. If someone’s philosophy on something isn’t harming you, butt the hell out.

Becky

Being Overwhelmed and the Olympics (by which I'm not overwhelmed)

Mood:  Hyper (my coffee must have been strong today) and Irritated (why oh why does the housekeeper feel the need to come at a different time everyday and be here when I have to pick up my youngest from the bus stop???)

Listening to: Blow Ya Mind - Eve and Gwen Stefanie

                                                                                                                                                 

Hello Everybody. I hope you’re all having a lovely week. Things around chez Gainedi have settled back into a steady routine. No, I don’t speak French, but yes, I do like using random foreign words. That’s just how I roll. Anyhow, we’re all just hanging out living life and waiting for our upcoming trip to Hyderabad in a few weeks. Even though my mother in law taught me to cook Indian food, her food still blows mine out of the water and I can’t wait to eat at her house.

If anyone is interested, I’m starting a series over at Following the Masala. It’s called “What the Hell India?” I came up with this after writing an article for the A-Z challenge this past April. You can read it here if you'd like. I've been having a little bit of difficulty coming to terms that the country I’ve chosen to live in has some rather serious human rights problems in spite of this country being also in the 21^st century. So we’ll explore some of the local events and issues that make me shake my head. Should be good fun.

In other news – I’m sick of hearing about the Olympics. There, I said it. Feel free to throw unpatriotic stones at me, I don’t really care. I’m just not interested. I can appreciate the athletics, agility and grace required to do the amazing things they do, I just don’t feel like working myself all up into a lather to watch it. If that’s your cup of tea, drink up, just stop blog/twitter bombing everything with Olympic references. I’m seriously considering taking a Twitter hiatus because of this.

Speaking of taking a hiatus, I have been completely overwhelmed with blogs lately, and it’s not even writing on my own, which I’m sure has been evident. I think I’ve finally reached the upper limit of what I’m willing to read every day. There is simply too much talent on the Internets. Rest assured people, I may not always have the get up and go to comment on every blog I follow, but I am definitely reading them.

I think I’m going to leave it here for now. I’ll hopefully be back tomorrow with a blog post that is more inspired and funny. Right now, I’m all like “just stay on the damn horse, cause god knows if you fall off you may never get back on.” With that being said, have a great day.

Becky

You Live You Learn

So kiddos, thanks to Stephen, over at The Chubby Chatterbox,  I learned something new today. RSS stalking a blog does not mean you've joined their site. Hmmm. Lots o people don't know I love them yet. Sigh. Yet another compulsive hoarding behavior has begun. I must go spread the news that I love people's writing.

Please try not to laugh too hard at yet more evidence that I am turning into my mother and will probably be completely technologically outdated in another 10 years. I've been blogging for the past 6 years and I still hadn't figured this out. Sheesh.

Becky

A product I just don't need.

Oh nice. I just received a spam comment about penis enlargement. Well thank you so much, whomever you are. I surely would have considered your ad had I actually been in possession of a penis of my own. Since I don't...I'm afraid I'm not interested. And please, do not visit repeatedly like you promised. Mmmkay?


Becky

Suitcase Loot, Workaholics, Cars, and Anti Socialism - It's been a busy weekend

Mood: Neutral. Don’t laugh, that’s the best description I can come up with right now. Not good or bad, just meh.

Listening to: Dirty Little Thing – Velvet Revolver

So. Daddy G has once again safely landed up in Bangalore. The G household is more than thrilled to have him back - especially me.  I tend to function better with him around, but I won’t gag you with all of the sap that goes along with that. Anyhow. One of the reasons we are glad he is back is all the loot he brought with him. I would rather he not leave, but it is lots of fun to open the suitcase and see what he brought us, even if I know what I asked for and it’s mostly simple things like caramel coffee syrup and cranberries. Take note Craisins, I don’t know if you have any other fans who get quite so excited about getting a few bags of Craisins than me. Am I getting paid for this lovely endorsement, unfortunately not. One more thing: Target you are on notice.  I know what size jeans I wear. When did you decide that regular jeans should sit just over my pubic bone, be ridiculously tight and seem to be geared towards a junior sizing than regular jeans. Not cool.  I just can’t pull that look off anymore. I’m 30, not 17. So yeah, the jeans were a disappointment. I’m not looking forward to walking around with too loose jeans until Daddy G heads back to the states.

Speaking of which, what is it with workaholic men? Daddy G was back in our house for all of 7 hours (5 of which he was asleep) before he was ever so curiously pondering the fact that there was only 6 weekends left until he left for another trip. Of course I took the mature route and asked him if he would really rather be in the US without us because he can’t seem to let the whole damn idea go for awhile and just enjoy being home. Because, you know, I’m such an amazing wife like that. If I can’t control it, I’ll sure as hell sniper grenade the hell out of a conversation that I’m tired of listening to. I’m more of an ostrich type of person when it comes to these things. Please stop forcing me to address this, I’m perfectly happy with my head in the sand.

Daddy G just rolled his eyes (which is the most common response when I start bringing the drama to coffee time) and told me he was just figuring out how long he had to work on buying a car here until he left again. I wasn’t too thrilled about this conversation either. We’ve been in Bangalore for 7 months now and have been going around and around about buying a car, whether we need one, why it’s so hard for Daddy G to haul his brother in law out one Saturday and get some research done, etc. To be fair, there are some really good reasons why buying a car is more difficult here than it was in the US. On the other side, there are some really good reasons why I need to have a car. Namely when my spouse disappears off to the US and I have transportation problems. It tends to make me stabby. Also, trying to walk and buy groceries in monsoon season. Stabby, people. I guess we shall see if the car materializes. I’m not counting on it as this was a point of non negotiation before he left last time, and we can all see how well that worked out as we don’t have a car right now anyways. We shall see I guess.  

I’ve been trying to be more friendly while I’m around people here. Stop laughing you bastards; it doesn’t come easy for me. I’m just as happy sitting quietly to myself or reading a book as forcing conversation with people I don’t know. In fact, that is one of the least favorite activities of mine. However, I am getting the idea that if I don’t make some friends, I probably will not escape India with my sanity intact. My mother will also probably ask me to stop calling her if I insist on talking for 3 hours each time. Because, you know, I don’t wait 2 months in between each phone call. Ahem. So I’ve left home the book I used to read at the bus stop, been trying to talk to the other moms at the bus stop and even went to a DJ night in our complex. It’s coming along slowly and is measured by one victory at a time.  I’m a nice person, just one who keeps to herself. That does not earn a person friends on this side of the world, especially if you are different. You must put a lot of effort. It’s definitely not something that comes naturally to me. I actually have to think about making conversation and reaching out to people once in a while. I feel completely normal, but reading back through this paragraph, I sound rather maladjusted. Hmm.

Anyhow, hope everyone had a lovely weekend.

Becky

New Bee Pictures, Kanada movies, and a Skirt

Mood: Happy

Listening to: Safety Dance – Men Without Hats

So. I found one more of those crazy bee like things in my house and just for you, dear reader, I put on some big girl panties and got close enough to take a picture or two. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, the back story is here. Actually, it took about 15 pictures. Do you know how hard it is to photograph a psychotic insect? About as easy as taking a non-blurry photo of a toddler on crack. That and about 5.4 seconds after I finished taking pictures of it, it started with the dive-bombing. Ugh.

So here it is. If anyone can tell me what the hell this thing is, I will be extremely grateful. I would hate to be killing innocent mock-wasps if they don’t actually sting. I make no promises about not ducking and swinging if you dive-bomb me bugs. You’re on notice either way.

By the way – my curtains are not actually smoker-tar colored. They’re white. The light bulb was yellow.

So here’s some footage of the Kanada film they shot right outside my back door. These guys really do look like actual Goondas (gangsters).

Meanwhile, in a North Bangalore Neighborhood....

A Scene was being shot

With lots o Bad Guys

With lots of sticks and huge knives

This guy would scream in that mike for a half hour just to get the 30 second clip below. All day.

Here’s a picture of my new favorite skirt. Love it.

Thank you Mz. Tink for inspiring me not to be so retarded and figure out how to flip a picture on my computer. 

The pattern up close - turquoise and pink with gold design. it is not in fact black like it looks above.

Becky

Attack!

Mood: Happy

Listening to: The ever present construction noise. Seriously – I don’t recall voluntarily deciding to live in a construction site.

 Hello, hope everyone is having a brilliant week. I’m in an especially happy mood today because we only have 2 more days before Daddy G is back in India. Yay!

I was contemplating things today as I was making out with/drinking my morning coffee. I started out by having a serious fantasy about some pasta. Don’t judge, besides, it was a lot less hot than you think, it was all about me eating some Thai flavored pasta. Then I moved on to the problem of the bees.

Before we get to the actual problem, let me let you in on a secret: I am seriously afraid of bees. Like the kind of afraid that includes me flailing my arms wildly (I know, that pisses them off, but it’s an unconscious response) ducking when they dive bomb (you can’t tell me that random flight at my head wasn’t intentional!) and running out of a room if one is there. Of course this amuses Daddy G to no end. Anything that flies and has the capacity to sting me generally inspires massive panic attacks from me. I know we need them to survive, I just don't need them to be near me.

In India, we have a various assortment of bees and wasps.  Of course there was the evil wasp/hornet that stung me in Delhi.  Worst. Sting. Ever. I seriously wanted a horse tranquilizer after that – it was that painful.

@#($&@#%& Ouch!

This is exactly what evil looks like. It was huge.

Then we have the standard rock bees, which of course build nests in my apartment complex. They’re pretty harmless if you leave them alone, but in the night, they like florescent lighting and tend to careen around wildly once they find their way in your house, stinging you if you get in the way. Think giant honey bees.

Hives of evil.

For honey bees, Indian rock bees are pretty darn big too.

And then there are the wasps/whatever they are that found their way into my house the other night. Let me explain because even Google images is failing me at finding a picture of these things. They look like wasps. Front end, thin waist and then back end that looks pointed. However, they don’t have wings like wasps. I suppose I could have tried to take a picture, but they were in full on dive-bomb mode, so I wasn’t taking any chances. Anyhow, only about 20 of these things found their way into my house the other night, much to my chagrin. I wasn’t quite sure how at the time, but nighttime and florescent bulbs around here tend to bring out all the crazy bugs. As I’ve mentioned, our house doesn’t have screens. I ended up counting about 20 of them when they settled down on the walls next to the lights. 


After a while, they get a bit gimpy and end up crawling across the floor. This is when the flip flops came out. I ended up killing almost all of them and sweeping them up. No way in Timbuktu I was going to step on any of them in my dazed stumble for the coffee in the morning.  *Shudder* I’m not even sure if they were bees, but I still can’t stand them. Turns out one of my lovely offspring left the porch door open a smidge, which may as well have been a hand written invitation for these guys to come party at my house. Thanks a lot kid.

Bring on the Sexy

So. If you guys have a thing for accents, I strongly suggest you go listen to these guys. Not only is it excellent fun, you get to listen to Australian guys talk and say sexy. Check it out. Rusty and Michael.

On to the sexy.

Rusty: I'm rather disappointed! I've been trying to pimp Nutella for you this whole time.

Enjoy.

It's That Time Again!

Mood: Easy. Not that kind of easy! Jeez. Maybe I should have just said relaxed.

Listening to: Macy’s Day Parade – Green Day

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s that time again. Time to take care of some outstanding business. Yet another beautiful blogger decided that I deserve an award. What can I say; I’m not gonna turn it down. Gossip Girl over at Whatever Blog was kind enough to do the honors. Do check her out – she’s lots of fun to read. So here’s the rules.

1. Include award logo in a post or on your blog page.

2. Answer (10) questions about yourself 

3. Nominate 10-12 other fabulous bloggers.

4. Link your nominees to the post and comment on their blog, letting them know about the award.

5. Share the love and link the person who nominated you.

Oooh Sunshiney. Aw yeah. Award-gasm going on.

The Question/Answers about me:

1. What would you most like to change about yourself? 

There are some neuroses that I could definitely live without…but then I wouldn’t be me. Come to think of it, I like myself as I am so no. Screw it. I like me even with the not so great parts. 

2. What's your theme song? 

Welcome to the Jungle, GNR. Ok, this should surprise exactly no one. Becky G 101 – I am an unapologetic GNR freak.

3. One part of your life, a memory, action, etc. that you wish you could surgically remove from your brain?

Hmmm. That’s an interesting one to think about.  I generally am not a big fan of removing things that make me me, even memories, but let's give it a go. 

I visited my family last year before moving to India. My grandparents have a huge house with a finished basement that we sleep in when we visit. I was laying in bed reading and heard my grandma fall on the floor directly above my head. She’s old, unsteady, and has had both knees and hips replaced a few times. I ran upstairs to help my grandfather pick her up (he had a back problem at the time) and found her on the bathroom floor with blood pouring out of her head. It was a superficial scrape, but it scared the shit out of me. My Grandmother may be my favorite person on this earth and seeing her like that was awful. It took me a few weeks to sleep normally after that because every time I closed my eyes, I could see her in my mind all bloody. Yep, that one can go.

4. What generation do you wish you had been a part of? 

I actually like this one. Screw you Generation X and your sense of superiority. There are things that I wish I could have experienced (an original GNR concert, the Beatles when they were popular, free love back in the 60’s), but the internet kind of blows that all away. Sorry pop culture, you lose. Plus, growing up in the 80's=priceless.

5. What was your favorite childhood toy? 

Probably a flintlock pistol style cap gun. It is one serious miracle that I’m not stone deaf by now. My brother and I used to shoot it all the time in our basement, and it was hella loud. Funny enough, I'm still the girl who likes aggressive symbols. It looked exactly like this, only it popped paper filled with little dots of gunpowder instead of shooting bullets:

Seriously mom and dad, who lets kids play with gun powder filled paper???

6. What is your favorite housecleaning chore? 

I have a serious thing about scrubbing bathrooms. It’s just so satisfying to see all of the dirt and grime disappear.

7. Do you use Twitter? 

Yes, but I still don’t get the huge hard on people get for tweeting. I’m not saying I’ll stop, just that I don’t really get it. By the way, if I don't follow you on Twitter, hit me up. I like following people and being followed.

8. Any goals? 

Short Term – turn my piano lessons into an afterschool entrepreneurial venture with a tutor, different activities and bank off of it. Take my damn vitamins every day. Actually exercise instead of just talking about it. Go to bed on time. Eat properly. And no mom, I have not grown up yet, even though I'm 30.

Long term – go back to the US and actually settle down in a house, have a dog, etc. I’m getting too old for the wandering. Get a kick ass job and take over a company. Not kidding - I am totally doing that.

9. Do you really drink margaritas all the time? 

I’m not a big fan of margaritas. If you happened to be talking about red wine, coconut rum or whiskey, I might be tempted. Since alcohol is so jumping expensive here, the answer is a sad no.

10.  What is the ugliest car you've ever driven and were embarrassed to be seen in? 

I haven’t had that many cars in the first place. My first car was a 1975 Grass Green Ford Granada. Everything was bright green – the paint, the upholstery, the dash, the steering wheel, everything. The transmission crapped out after 2 years, so it didn’t last long after I got my crazy driving self in it. It’s ugliness only increased when someone stole a car and plowed into the side of it one night. From then on it was a wrestling match just to open the door and get it. It was ghettorific. I’m pretty sure it’s a death trap though. They didn’t have fun things like air bags back then and wresting two kids into a 2 seater car is just not something I want to do on a daily basis. Actually, most of this paragraph is a lie. I loved that car hard. Here’s what it looked like, only much GREENER and minus Lee Iacocca. Now THAT would have been epic. I want another one.

The Bloggers I want to pass love to:

1.      Michael D’Augostino at The World as I know It. Even though he’s a shameless promoter of peanut butter over nutella, I still love him. Check him out.

2.      Lady in Red at A Bozo’s abozzo. Because this chickie is the reason I stuck with blogging this time around. She has currently absconded to the US, but I hope to see more content from her soon. Love her writing.

3.      Can’t Keep it in No More blog. This one is relatively new for me, but I love her writing. Check it out.

4.      Wily Guy over at It’s my Mynd. More great writing to be found here.

5.      Perverted Imp. I know this may not be to every one’s tastes, but I like *her* writing. If you’re adventurous, check *her* out.

6.      Pickelope. Half the time, I don’t understand what the heck this guy is talking about, but I always enjoy it anyways. Check him out. Anything referring to a jackelop is a win if you ask me.

7.      Pintester. If you are addicted to Pinterest, like I am, and wonder how many of these crafty/recipe ideas actually work, this site is for you. The results are almost always hilarious.

8.      Another semi-new one for me, Miz Tink At Mouthy Bitch is great fun to read. Check her out.

9.      Something Authorly. Just think of it as a good tickle for your brain. Love the writing on this blog.

10. Last, but definitely not least, The Bitchy Waiter. If you’ve ever worked in a service job, you’ll go nuts for his blog. It is just that funny/awesome. If you haven’t worked in service, you still need to read this to make sure you’re not being a dick to your waiter.

That’s all for today folks. I’ll be back another day with more entertaining content. Thanks again Gossip Girl!

**My apologies to Perverted Imp. I was not trying to do a random gender re-assignment for you, just got caught by some internet anonymity.