Tandoori Nights

I just read a random statistic on the net that 56% of bloggers worldwide blog only because they are depressed and that 21% of these depressed bloggers end up commiting suicide just after posting a final post on their blog. 9% do the deed without telling the world and 2% record videos of themselves in the nude while doing the chicken dance.

I'm lying.

I just need an excuse to prove that I'm not going to be living in this state of misnomeric* depression... atleast for this post.

There are many things going on in my head nowadays. I've been having rather distrubing dreams and visuals of junior girls from my college walking up to me, kicking me in the shins and laughing away as they trail off into the oblivion set up for them at the end of a dark corridor. It's bloody weird. Then there are the lesbian fantasies that I divulge into. All this mixed with the fact that they actually glare me down to a peanut in reality makes it all just a little more mindfucking.
Apparently one of them's got a crush on me. Haha. Crushes.. and how they don't work. I could write you a nice book about that. Anyway. I'll go talk to her one of these days. Be a snoop.

I need a dreamweaver to fix me up.

On the topic of Adobe and it's many softwares, we've started our long awaited course in Flash. Flashing makes me a happy boy. I've been making short animations of a fat man being pummeled by a cannon ball. How sadistic you say? Balls2U. I've lived my life under the opression of a fat man and his paunch. There's this thing called revenge. And it's as sweet as the butter chicken I had last night.

I had butter chicken last night, btw. And it was sweet. A friend and I had gone with our current band (nameless still) to perform at their college party. Talk about an engineering sausagefest. It was fun, however. I've realised there are many things you always want to do in public but end up not doing them because of the prescence of the opposite sex. These parties are somewhat therapeutic in that sense. And with the unlimited flow of food, beer and plastic bottles with a lot of smoke coming out of them, my therapy came quite easy.

I got so wasted last night.

You know... when you're drunk (but sober enough to realise who's talking to you) you start seeing the different kind of friends you have. I believe it's the one time when you can actually take the liberty to judge the way your friends think of you. Because their true colours usually come out when you're the one who's drunk. There's someone who'll help you. There's someone who'll just sit there and smile at you. There are quite a few who'll take advantage of you and others who'll slap you around trying to get you to think straight. They all have a reason fixed on to them. And personally, it's that reason that makes you decide where they stand on your 'friend-scale'. I know. It sucks that you even have a friend-scale. But then again, secretly... don't we all?

Save yourself from the wrath of Himesh Reshammiya. May your dreams be pleasant and your butter chicken "salt-not-sweet". Mahalo and aloha.

* I know there's no such word