If I only had twenty four hours to live, I would probably cry for the first three. Then, I would sit down with my made-in-China, slightly oversized Sharpie and make a list of things I need to do. Almost certainly, I'd give up two minutes later. I always want to make lists but I can somehow never actually write them. The idea of jotting down things and the thought of ticking off my accomplishments with little tick marks gives me the shivers, but lists are like so many things I've always wanted to do, and have never quite gotten around to. With only twenty four hours (well, twenty one minus the three hour bout of tears) left to live my mental Post-it's will just have to do.
Anyway, I digress. So, if I had twenty four hours to live, I would simply spend it with the people I love. I don't think there's anything else in the world that I would rather do. Oh, and maybe I would call up an ex-boyfriend and tell them how I really didn't think his snoring was cute, and how it actually sounds like a disgruntled bear with a swollen larynx. And that his new girlfriend looks like a hyena with a bad nose job.
Once the malicious phone calls are out of the way, I'd focus on my favorite people and tell them exactly what I love about them. I wouldn't tell them that I'm dying because I would want the last hours with them to be filled with tears of the happy sort, the ones that are caused by extreme laughter followed by wheezing and tummy aches.
During my final hours I would want to be with my family, lying in the middle of my mom and my dad, with my lhasa apso and her cold wet nose, and breath that reeks of tooth decay and gum disease, cuddled next to me.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Brasil
Five weeks in Brasil……..My observations, revelations and discoveries.
I am really tall.This one boy talked to my crotch all night and he wasn’t being crude, in fact he was a perfect gentleman. He slow danced with my crotch and even offered to buy it a drink.
Brazilian men are just boys with hairy chests. Our friend Vinni has a jungle under his shirt and if you put your head on his chest, you can hear the elephants.
Men drive small cars. But I hear they don’t have anything to compensate for. Unfortunately I am not speaking from experience.
Women like to bare their midriffs. They believe in the “if you’ve got it flaunt thing.” Even the ones who don’t got it.
Everyone has tattoos. So you have to have real scars like 300 stitches to be considered a bad ass.
I am the only Indian in Sao Paulo. But they still expect me to speak Portuguese.
Futbol is a religion. I am slowly being converted.
The graffiti beats any museum I have been to. Plus you don’t have to pay 20 something to appreciate art you just look outside your window.
Toga parties aren’t a good idea. Yup people were a no show but luckily we have enough alcohol left over to drown our “ no one likes us” sorrows. I have been drunk for fifteen days.
Breaking into an apartment building is easy. I may not need another loan.
The uglier the clothes, the more expensive. Like seriously, fluorescent polka dots doing the polka, R$ 5000.
You can’t buy a bikini bottom that covers your ass. So you must have a nice ass, high self-esteem or a man that loves you "just the way you are."
Brazilian men ARE hot. It is not a myth.
You can do the samba during work.
You can also tie someone to their chair but not naked or anything.
Tug of war may cause extreme rope burn. So while you guys gather around the water fountain, we play tug-o-war! Ha!
TO BE CONTINUED......
I am really tall.This one boy talked to my crotch all night and he wasn’t being crude, in fact he was a perfect gentleman. He slow danced with my crotch and even offered to buy it a drink.
Brazilian men are just boys with hairy chests. Our friend Vinni has a jungle under his shirt and if you put your head on his chest, you can hear the elephants.
Men drive small cars. But I hear they don’t have anything to compensate for. Unfortunately I am not speaking from experience.
Women like to bare their midriffs. They believe in the “if you’ve got it flaunt thing.” Even the ones who don’t got it.
Everyone has tattoos. So you have to have real scars like 300 stitches to be considered a bad ass.
I am the only Indian in Sao Paulo. But they still expect me to speak Portuguese.
Futbol is a religion. I am slowly being converted.
The graffiti beats any museum I have been to. Plus you don’t have to pay 20 something to appreciate art you just look outside your window.
Toga parties aren’t a good idea. Yup people were a no show but luckily we have enough alcohol left over to drown our “ no one likes us” sorrows. I have been drunk for fifteen days.
Breaking into an apartment building is easy. I may not need another loan.
The uglier the clothes, the more expensive. Like seriously, fluorescent polka dots doing the polka, R$ 5000.
You can’t buy a bikini bottom that covers your ass. So you must have a nice ass, high self-esteem or a man that loves you "just the way you are."
Brazilian men ARE hot. It is not a myth.
You can do the samba during work.
You can also tie someone to their chair but not naked or anything.
Tug of war may cause extreme rope burn. So while you guys gather around the water fountain, we play tug-o-war! Ha!
TO BE CONTINUED......
El Topo radio spot
Radio Spot: 60 Seconds
Client : El Topo
Man 1: So you finally watched El Topo. What did you think?
Man2: You know how it is when you pass a car wreck and you can’t look away?
Man1: Uhuh..
Man2: And when you have a scab that you can’t wait to peel even though you know it’s just going to make it worse and it’s bleeping painful but you peel it anyway?
Man 1: Uhhuh..
Man2 : Or when you find yourself laughing out loud when you think about how sweet Mrs. Anderson tumbled down the stairs?
Man 2: And have you ever watched snow white and thought that it would be so much more fun if she gang banged the seven dwarfs?
Man1: (Sounding shocked) What the hell are you talking about?
Man2: El Topo.
El Topo- Disturbingly good.
Client : El Topo
Man 1: So you finally watched El Topo. What did you think?
Man2: You know how it is when you pass a car wreck and you can’t look away?
Man1: Uhuh..
Man2: And when you have a scab that you can’t wait to peel even though you know it’s just going to make it worse and it’s bleeping painful but you peel it anyway?
Man 1: Uhhuh..
Man2 : Or when you find yourself laughing out loud when you think about how sweet Mrs. Anderson tumbled down the stairs?
Man 2: And have you ever watched snow white and thought that it would be so much more fun if she gang banged the seven dwarfs?
Man1: (Sounding shocked) What the hell are you talking about?
Man2: El Topo.
El Topo- Disturbingly good.
Proactiv radio spot
Client- Proactiv
Radio Spot- 60 Seconds
GIRL: Good morning, mom.
WOMAN: Good morning puss face.
How was that?
GIRL: Not too bad.
SFX : SOMEONE SITTING DOWN AND PAPER RUSTLING.
MAN: Good morning, honey.
Good morning zit face.
GIRL : Dad, you can do better than that.
SFX: MAN CLEARING THROAT
MAN: Is that your face or did aliens kidnap you and lay eggs in your pores?
GIRL: Much better.
WOMAN: Honey, do you think this is going to help?
GIRL: Uhuh… This is the only way I am going to get used to all the name calling at school. OK, gotta go, I’ll miss my bus.
SFX: DOOR CLOSING
WOMAN: Bye puss pores!
VO: If aliens have indeed laid eggs in your pores, Proactiv is the answer. For only $19.99 you can get rid of them and the name- calling. The only thing you will need to get used to is the flawless skin that stares back at you in the mirror.
For more information visit proactive.com
Radio Spot- 60 Seconds
GIRL: Good morning, mom.
WOMAN: Good morning puss face.
How was that?
GIRL: Not too bad.
SFX : SOMEONE SITTING DOWN AND PAPER RUSTLING.
MAN: Good morning, honey.
Good morning zit face.
GIRL : Dad, you can do better than that.
SFX: MAN CLEARING THROAT
MAN: Is that your face or did aliens kidnap you and lay eggs in your pores?
GIRL: Much better.
WOMAN: Honey, do you think this is going to help?
GIRL: Uhuh… This is the only way I am going to get used to all the name calling at school. OK, gotta go, I’ll miss my bus.
SFX: DOOR CLOSING
WOMAN: Bye puss pores!
VO: If aliens have indeed laid eggs in your pores, Proactiv is the answer. For only $19.99 you can get rid of them and the name- calling. The only thing you will need to get used to is the flawless skin that stares back at you in the mirror.
For more information visit proactive.com
Frog
Frog
I am still waiting for my prince charming. He can look like a frog as long as he is charming and can make me laugh. It’s true, after a while, looks fail to impress me. I met this really hot guy recently and he was very, very attractive. Attractive is a strange way to describe a boy, isn’t it? An attractive man sounds as absurd as a handsome woman. I would hate to be called a handsome woman. Anyway, so this guy was like 6’3” and the darkest eyes (I don’t meant scary dark) I had ever seen and they were framed by long, thick, eyelashes much thicker than my heavily mascarad ones. But he was far from charming. He kept saying, “ I am a good cook. I make killer breakfast. You should spend the night with me so you can taste my fried eggs.” He said this like three times. It wasn’t even a cute pick up line.
So after a few drinks, the guy just became uglier and uglier. I guess beer goggles have an opposite affect if the guy is good looking. And after a few more brutal attempts he gave up and staggered up to his new victim, a blonde with a huge ass and small boobs in a white dress with no bra. I liked her shoes, they were white and gold and the heel was at least 5 inches high.
So after staring at dark eyes whisper drunken sweet nothings into the ear of the girl with the pretty shoes, I walked away only to bump into my frog. Boy, was he ugly. He had big, yellow teeth and his skin looked old and blotchy. I knew he wasn’t old because his hands gave him away and his eyes were bright. He apologized to me in a heavy Brit accent and offered to buy me a drink because he had caused me to spill some of mine. Wow! He was charming. I ended up spending the entire evening with him.
My frog’s dress sense was impeccable and he smelled divine. I could close my eyes and make sweet love to him all night long. “ ……….and the men are so fit!( the British version of hot)” That brought me back to reality. He was gay. How could I have been so stupid? No straight man smell like fresh laundry, cologne and some fruity, lemony something. So I kissed my frog goodbye(and no he didn’t turn into my prince) and walked home, all by myself.
So I am still waiting for my frog but in the mean time, I can make do with all the Jackasses I meet along the way.
I am still waiting for my prince charming. He can look like a frog as long as he is charming and can make me laugh. It’s true, after a while, looks fail to impress me. I met this really hot guy recently and he was very, very attractive. Attractive is a strange way to describe a boy, isn’t it? An attractive man sounds as absurd as a handsome woman. I would hate to be called a handsome woman. Anyway, so this guy was like 6’3” and the darkest eyes (I don’t meant scary dark) I had ever seen and they were framed by long, thick, eyelashes much thicker than my heavily mascarad ones. But he was far from charming. He kept saying, “ I am a good cook. I make killer breakfast. You should spend the night with me so you can taste my fried eggs.” He said this like three times. It wasn’t even a cute pick up line.
So after a few drinks, the guy just became uglier and uglier. I guess beer goggles have an opposite affect if the guy is good looking. And after a few more brutal attempts he gave up and staggered up to his new victim, a blonde with a huge ass and small boobs in a white dress with no bra. I liked her shoes, they were white and gold and the heel was at least 5 inches high.
So after staring at dark eyes whisper drunken sweet nothings into the ear of the girl with the pretty shoes, I walked away only to bump into my frog. Boy, was he ugly. He had big, yellow teeth and his skin looked old and blotchy. I knew he wasn’t old because his hands gave him away and his eyes were bright. He apologized to me in a heavy Brit accent and offered to buy me a drink because he had caused me to spill some of mine. Wow! He was charming. I ended up spending the entire evening with him.
My frog’s dress sense was impeccable and he smelled divine. I could close my eyes and make sweet love to him all night long. “ ……….and the men are so fit!( the British version of hot)” That brought me back to reality. He was gay. How could I have been so stupid? No straight man smell like fresh laundry, cologne and some fruity, lemony something. So I kissed my frog goodbye(and no he didn’t turn into my prince) and walked home, all by myself.
So I am still waiting for my frog but in the mean time, I can make do with all the Jackasses I meet along the way.
Why women like men who cry
“My boyfriend cries when he climaxes which, in turn, causes me to have the most intense orgasms,” says Sara, 24, “ the feeling of making a grown man cry makes me feel like I am the sexiest woman alive!” According to a recent study involving 200 women (aged 20 to 26), a man who can cry is every girl’s dream, come true! Men reading this article may scratch their heads and privates in bewilderment. After all, wasn’t the “Sensitive Male” of the 70’s and 80’s (the Erich Segal Love Story kind), a rebound aberration of the 1960’s euphemism for the stereotype, pussy-whipped Jewish husband of a generation ago? Isn’t macho in again?
Not quite. Since women are no longer dependent existentially on the opposite sex, they have become, well, not manly but more like men. Not imitative, but assertively so.
They enjoy sex and don’t care if there is cuddling involved. They visit their favorite taverns after work, smokes cigars, burp, get obnoxiously loud and sometimes even spit. So if a woman can be in touch with her manly side, she can also, as Bob Dylan sang, be “Jes’ Like A Woman” when her lover -- comfortable in his tighty whities, floral shirts, leather pants – cries “I’m gonna hold you till I die … or we’ll both break down and cry …until the fear in me subsides…” Now that’s what makes a woman feel powerful, mighty powerful – as a woman.
Not quite. Since women are no longer dependent existentially on the opposite sex, they have become, well, not manly but more like men. Not imitative, but assertively so.
They enjoy sex and don’t care if there is cuddling involved. They visit their favorite taverns after work, smokes cigars, burp, get obnoxiously loud and sometimes even spit. So if a woman can be in touch with her manly side, she can also, as Bob Dylan sang, be “Jes’ Like A Woman” when her lover -- comfortable in his tighty whities, floral shirts, leather pants – cries “I’m gonna hold you till I die … or we’ll both break down and cry …until the fear in me subsides…” Now that’s what makes a woman feel powerful, mighty powerful – as a woman.
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