King Arthur: Painful to Watch 

Normally when I watch a Guy Ritchie movie, it never fails to disappoint. But I have to say that King Arthur bombed for me. If you’re familiar with Mr. Ritchie’s works you’d know just how much of a genius he is. Take Sherlock Holmes 1. Even The man from U.N.C.L.E. Which happens to be one of my favorite movies of all time. 

Back to King Arthur, there’s so much deviation from the original storyline it makes you go dizzy from not being able to see what’s going on. I also had great difficulty actually concentrating on the dialogue because some people in the back seat were annoying as fuck. 

I went to watch the movie with two of my colleagues and needless to say, they were unimpressed too. King Arthur tells the story of how Uther Pendragon is forced to give up his child – in a boat, only to be found by by prostitutes – to be raised in a bordello. Holy. Now, I don’t claim to be a research scholar but wasn’t young Arthur raised by Sir Ector? Also the fact that there happened to be humongous snakes, eagles, rats and what not – brilliant graphics, no doubt – that basically ate up everyone’s screen time. I am not kidding. 

Between Jude Law playing the role of the cold, but oh so devilishly sexy Vortigern with absolutely nothing to offer but some well placed scowls, and David Beckham’s two second cameo, there’s just eagles and more snakes and bits of slow motion Excalibur scenes that leave you with a pounding headache. I remember begging for the movie to end so I could just go home and watch maybe puppies frolicking on my computer screen. 

Also, spoiler alert: ALL women die in the movie. The only woman that makes it to the end is the sorceress Mage who, despite her tiny frame and inability to string two sentences together, holds up quite well. The rest of the movie is just bits of drab cinematography that would have fared well had it been a tad bit more cheerful. If you’re a fan of Aidan Gillen, you’d be delighted to know that his character Goosefat Bill is quite the charmer. I am serious. While we are on the topic of monikers, I still don’t get it why Mr. Ritchie decided to include characters like Rubio and Back Lack. And why he picked Freddie Fox to play Rubio, when he’s been stuck in my head since 2011 as the guy that played King Louis the sixteenth in The Three Musketeers. 

I’d never recommend this movie, and I wish Mr. Ritchie would miss Madonna less. Maybe missing her has gone straight to his head. *sigh*
Good night, folks. Y’all sleep, and I’m going to watch some puppies. 

Keeping Jenny 

This is a true story about the time a couple of my friends decided to leave their Labrador with me. 

A little background info about the said Labrador before we dive in – Jenny was beautiful. She was five months old, and her owners happened to be a really lovely couple, then in the fifth year of their relationship. The guy adopted Jenny as a surprise present to his girlfriend. How did I come into the picture? They needed someone to look after their puppy, they cast a look around and settled on me. Which was all very good. 

Except that it was not. Not even remotely. 

I am the kind of person, who, to be very honest here likes pets and children from a distance solely because I am terrified of dropping them or feeding them at improper times. I’ve never had pets before and I’m bumbling and awkward around them. Except maybe hamsters because they don’t really require a lot of attention. 

So, keeping Jenny was a huge decision. The first night she refused to eat anything or even sleep in the same room as me. When I took her out for a walk, she wanted to run off and play with the street dogs. And chase pigs. And I had to fight for my life to keep holding on to her leash. All fifty pounds of her, fighting to break free and get away Lord knows where. I might add now that it was freaking scary because it was past midnight and it was freaking deserted. 

The next day was, if possible, an even bigger nightmare. I had to leave her alone with my aunt and get to the hospital like at 8 AM. And my aunt being the amazing person she is, locked herself in her room, leaving poor Jenny alone in the hall. With no milk. And no water. And no food. And she gave me a very angry call right in the middle of the dressing I was doing to give me the telling off of the millennium. 

“Your friend’s dog has pooed all over the place and peed all over the place. Come home right now and clean this mess. Or you’re gonna have to take this dog and get yourselves a new apartment.”

This, from an aunt that was actually staying over at MY place (just so I’d have someone to give me company when I needed some TLC). So what did I do? I finished up with the dressings as fast as my hands would let me and ran home. The stench in the living room was unbearable. Poo all over. And there was a giant puddle of pee right in the middle of the hallway. And there was Jenny, skidding on her own pee to come say hello to me. 

My heart melted. 

I don’t know why, it just did. I gave her a hug, pee and all, and reached for some rubber gloves. All the while ignoring my aunt that was going off on one angry rant after the other. It was just me and Jenny, in that moment, just us and the understanding that had unknowingly passed between us. When she looked at me with those eyes, I knew. She’d felt unwanted the whole time. And she felt bad somewhere for all the trouble she’d caused my aunt. Or maybe that was me imagining things probably. 

Later on while we were watching TV together, Jenny and I and my best friend, Jenny kept scratching at her ear. We noticed that it had gotten infected. And her owners had been forgetting to take her to the vet. 

That’s when I realised: it wasn’t easy being Jenny. And she was a helluva fine dog, not one bark nor one whine out of place. Not one bit of drama. I’ll say she was super high maintenance but she deserved every bit of it. My broke ass loves her forever. Hair on my sofa, the drool, the pee. All of it. 

Get Out Of My Hair!

I’ll be the first person to admit that my family is pretty lenient when it comes to things. A LOT of things. Like, I can get away with eating ice-cream for breakfast and stuff myself with donuts after. 

I can pretty much wear shorts and go out. No problem. Can pretty much date whoever I want to as long as he’s not being a douche to my mother. Like I said, pretty lenient. 

When it comes to hair, however, it’s a whole different story. My mum literally turns into Medusa, stony face in place. She goes from being a Mom to being a rampaging Momster on the loose, employing her choicest swear words. Which range from Whore to Monkey Face. 

So I got bangs and had my hair cut really short. Just two days back. I’m not exaggerating when I say all Hell’s broken loose. 

So my Mum thinks I’ve cut my own bangs and my hair will never grow back. My Dad thinks I’ve secretly had plastic surgery done. My cousin thinks I need to get my eyes tested again because I probably have zero vision left. And before I knew it, the whole family – and extended family – had gotten involved. 

Even my friends, and their bitchy on again, off again partners. One girl went on to comment I looked like a Malaysian. I guess this is why our fucked up country will continue its poopy journey down the drain of regression. The average Indian is a bleeding racist and I don’t understand why looking a certain way is a bad thing. I don’t know what looking like a Malaysian looks like really, because we are all human and we look like people, but I said thank you anyway. 

And then there are people that literally won’t get out of your hair like it’s their hair you’ve chopped off. 

Whoever knew that getting a haircut would break so many people’s heads? Happy Tuesday, folks. 

Flashback Friday: Vegan Blood?!

Oh my gosh, you guys. 

The stuff that I go through working longish hours in the ER is – needless to say – crazy, at the very least. But also, oh so entertaining. I happen to work in a Government hospital in the middle of nowhere and it explains a lot of things, but it doesn’t explain insane demands that some patients make. 

From asking for a specific nurse because of her religion to fighting over leftover blood vials, you see it all. 

Of course when you’re doing ER room duty, you need to transfuse blood when necessary. We have the blood bank attached to the ER room practically, so it’s technically super easy to get hold of blood bags. But oh no, this is India and we never ever ever ever ever follow the rules, heck do we even know what rules mean, and this is precisely why we never get anywhere and we’re stuck at the bottom of the proverbial food chain. Aah, the digressing begins. 

Now back to what I was going on about…

Last weekend I had this patient come to me with a strange request. He happened to be vegan, and very strict about his lifestyle. Which possibly led to his severe anemia, not judging. While I transferred the blood to the little vials, he very seriously wanted to know if I could possibly arrange for vegan blood. (!!!) I’ll admit, that threw me for a second. 

Literally.

It’s hard enough arranging donors with AB negative blood group, and a vegan one on top of that? Cray cray up the molehill. So of course I had to lie through my teeth and convince him that the blood that was arranged for him totally belonged to a vegan person. Ah, the lies I spew at work will someday toss me through the gates of hell straight into Satan’s bubbling hot cauldron. Poor butt of mine. 

The things we do for patients, sigh. 

Not really.

TF, Jason Derulo? 

Okay, I don’t understand this generation, I don’t. I’ve said this a million times and I will say it again. Take the songs on the radio these days. Nicki Minaj started the whole new obsession with sausage. And it makes me so unhappy. 

Like, why would you collab with Jason Derulo and give the world a song called “Swalla”? The video had me going cringe cringe cringe every time Jason almost had sex sandwiches with like a thousand women. Check this out. 

I know that’s only two women, but trust me, the video has a thousand women trying to be centipedes. Now, back to the song. I understand it’s cool to cuss and be confident about your body, and that sex and sexuality shouldn’t be taboo anymore, I get it. What I don’t get is, why TF would anyone want to write a whole song about blow jobs? 

Like, what’s so special about it? Not to mention how gross and unappealing and tacky the whole thing sounds and how embarrassing it is to be with your mother in the car and the goddamned song comes on? Like I said earlier, CRINGE FEST. 

Now the next thing we know Jason Derulo is going to be fineapple-ing his way to the studio, singing about taking a dump and the glorification of crap covered toilet paper. And flushing. GOD. 

How Does It Feel?

Been weeks since we’ve hugged, or even said hello

Been days since I last saw you online 

I know it’s crazy, how I mold myself like Jell-O

How I pretend I’m okay and that I don’t really care 
When all I want to do is run back into the past 

Fix things, or maybe just try 

Or maybe just edit a few bits, maybe not move so fast 

Maybe it would just hurt a lot less then 
I know I’m just a doormat, 

Something you’d just wipe your feet on whenever 

So replaceable, insignificant as fuck 

So how does it feel 
Living in your own shadow

Without me looming around you all the time 

Don’t play with your next 

Don’t treat her bad, like you did me, after you called me, “Mine”
I hope she’s around to help you 

When you’re high from too much of everything 

I hope she never makes you feel blue 

And that she’s okay with whatever you do 
How does it feel, after me 

Does it feel great and do you feel free?

With nothing to hold you back, 

I hope you finally get to be what you wanted to be.

Dating Disasters

If you are in one of those relationships where your partner comes with a super desirable best friend, and you happen to find yourself falling for said best friend, panic not. It happens to the best of us. 

So what do you do?

1. Analyse the situation. 

The course of your action should be inversely proportional to the said person’s hotness. So let’s say they’re a perfect ten. Which clearly means run for the hills. They could be a perfectly made lasagna but you know too much lasagna bad for you, hunty. 

Jokes apart, ask yourself if you’ve fallen in love with the person, or it just merely happens to be a full-blown, rampaging rhino-esque crush. Scratch that. Lust. Are you horny over this person or you’re just in love love? The quickest way to figure this out is to determine the location of the butterflies that act like crazy old loons when they approach. Or just shows up. Are those butterflies in your upper belly or more closer to the nether regions? If it’s the upper belly, uh oh. You’re maybe in love. 

If lower belly, UH FREAKING OH. GET OUT OF THERE NOW OR YOU’D END UP JUMPING AND BREAKING A FEW BONES. 

2. How serious are you? 

If you’re a girl and your boyfriend isn’t paying you enough attention, but his best friend always does – don’t jump to conclusions. He could be a easygoing cuddle bear of a guy who happens to be the exact same way with everyone. Observe him for a while before jumping to conclusions. 

If you notice he’s being extra nice to only you, and making it obvious he likes you too – weigh your options. Which brings me to point…

3. Is it worth it? 

You end up wrecking a friendship that’s probably as old as your Grandma and you make things awkward for everyone. Specially if you happen to ask them out and they say no and they totally blow you off. Ouch. 

So, if you’ve fallen in love with your partner’s best friend, put a paper bag over your head and pretend nobody exists while still spying on them. And oh, break up with your partner and emigrate to Egypt for a change. You’d get loads of better looking options. 

Happy Easter.