True Blood and What Happened In The Interview

Watching “True Blood”. Interesting show, I must say. I’ve watched only one episode of it. The only thing that irked me were the bad, bad accents. I couldn’t go through one episode without literally falling off the seat in hilarity whenever Sookie or someone else had something to say.

I read the Sookie Stackhouse books afterwards. I liked the books.  At least it had real vampires in it (Of course, accents were not an issue here)  These vampires drank blood from humans in graphic detail and used allure and seductive charm to entrap their prey. I think I’m in love.

The protagonist – Sookie appears to have a sound head on her shoulders as well. I’m not sure about the lead vampire though…but at least he doesn’t annoy the crap out of me unlike some vampires in the plethora of vampire literature out there now.

Oh and the interview! Hmm… Well, It could have been worse but they only asked me two questions regarding my school and grades. End. It was kind of annoying since I was all like “ask me something so I could dazzle y’all with my uniqueness!” but my telepathic stare couldn’t really penetrate the hard walls of their brain so there.

In the end, I blurted out about the writing part. I had to. I was starting to see ‘failure’ in big letters swimming around me. Now, we await the dreaded letter.

The Looming Interview

University Interview Tomorrow. Am I jinxing it by writing here? Anyway, I tried to practice by pacing in the room and talking to myself. The only thing I got was a parched throat and then I drank a full bottle and got a bloated stomach. Figures.

So yes, Interview! My sister suggested I tell them that I’m a good writer. How can I just say “You know what! This girl can write ghoood, Y’all!” How can anyone just say that about themselves?  even I don’t know if I could be called a writer at all. So yes, I’m crossing that one out. I’ll just say I write.

Just got a call from Pops saying my USB port has backfired and is probably filled with a deadly virus so the prospect of printing out some of my essays I wanted to show is in jeopardy. Great.

Have to get up at 7 tomorrow. I think the last time I got up this early was in February for a test. It’s July now. Sigh. ImustnotmessuptheinterviewImustnotmessuptheinterview
ImustnotmessuptheinterviewImustnotmessuptheinterview.

Listening now: Smells like Teen spirit by Nirvana

You Just Made My Mum Really Angry

There was no water in the house literally and it was scorching hot outside. My mother was definitely not pleased because lovely expletives were slipping out of her mouth faster than you can say ‘Butterflies’. She grew angrier than a frustrated squirrel when we kept laughing and she just wouldn’t understand the reason (and we wouldn’t tell her)

Nopes.

Mum:  (This entire dialogue can not be written due to the amount of asterisks I would have to apply. Period)

Water management authority really do wind her up. I am not sure why they couldn’t just fix the pre-historic water motors which supply the water to all our houses once and for all. It’s probably a good thing Mum doesn’t know anyone in the management department.  We would be seeing a Pakistani version of Chainsaw Massacre happening.

In other non-depressing news: I went to A’s birthday party. The cake made me cry tears of joy. It was that pretty. I almost didn’t want to eat it.

Psych! I was the first one to cut into the soft sensual layers of cream and fudge. I wanted to post a picture but my stupid phone’s pics won’t justify the beauty of the sweet treat.

Anyway, greatly missed the presence of X who is in Britain for her vacations. I tried to give my parents hints about going somewhere other than the park for the vacations but they just giggled and snorted.

The ride back home was awesome as well with Mano reading the ‘Day by Day school’ ad written on the wall in urdu as ‘Dabaaaayyy school’ and giving equally intelligent and thought provoking names for restaurants as we passed them.

It wasn’t the cake, endless laughter, the wise cracks or even the fact that we didn’t bicker after a long time. It felt just right to be together.

Listening now: Swim in Silence by Paramore.

Hello! You called the wrong Number!

Stupid.

LOL!
Psych!

The day started out that way and now, as soon as I’m done writing this, I’m going to go and hit the math books and maybe wallow in self despair. Meh. I would rather watch an Ashton Kutcher flick and emotionally scar myself than this.

Also, the wire of  my laptop’s charger has started to snap. Wha da hellz? I just can not get any peace of mind. What kind of karmic reaction is this tomfoolery?

I digress. I don’t think God realizes what the laptop means to me. It’s like what the Ring was to Sauron. I mean, sure, they didn’t have laptops or electricity for that matter in the Lord of the Rings so they won’t know my comparison. Still pretty close.

Some bloke called a couple of hours ago. I answered, obviously disgruntled. Duh.

In my opinion, my voice was loud and clear . However the dude so didn’t get my dulcet tones and kept repeating that  ‘He wanted to talk to Amjad’.

Do I look like an Amjad? Or is my voice suddenly so deep that it resembles a man now?

It wasn’t as if I was channeling PML(Q)’s Shujaat Hussain either. That is for special times only.  Anyway, I told him ‘Sorry. Wrong number’ and clicked the phone shut but after a few seconds, the phone sang again and I ignored it for a couple of minutes.
After his fourth attempt at hearing Amjad’s manly voice, I snatched the phone up as if it was a writhing python and roared in the mouthpiece.

“NO AMJAD LIVES HERE!”

Ever had any epic calls like this when they just won’t leave you alone?

Listening now: here with me by Michelle Branch.

Related articles

• Why I Hate Math, and Why That is a Very Bad Thing (engagingideas.wordpress.com)
• Alliance with PPP to continue, says Shujaat (dawn.com)

This Is All Made In Pakistan

Art has a way to move you without using words or any form of speech – just colors swirling around and a few strokes here and there. While, I never considered myself the artsy type or the one to critique it, It would be wrong to deny the fascination and reverence I always had for it and though I haven’t painted anything for over a year now (I was an art student) My past flirtation with the brush, paint and pencil was just enough to not entirely efface the interest, I had for this unspoken medium.

Okay so down memory lane we go and I remember studying and learning about Sadequain, One of the brilliant artists Pakistan had over the years, and last night for some strange reason as I was throwing away stuff from my over cluttered shelf, I caught sight of some of the notes my teacher gave me describing his style of work and some of his famous paintings. I NEVER had studied them closely before and well, I was kinda interested in his work because it was just different and slightly surreal sometimes bordering on the abstract, but it was still SCHOOL WORK and I just had to go through them and pass the exams. Only now I realize that if I could have researched closely…

    

Calligraphy Panel, colors on wood by Sadequain

here he arranged Quranic inscription on a series of boats which translated into ” In the name of the memorable Qur’an. In the name of the glorious Qur’an. In the name of the pen [and anything it writes].”

Source:Sadequain: Calligraphy panel (Inst.1980.3.2) | Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Another Artist I admire was Anna Molka Ahmed who painted in rich lively colors – a stark contrast to Sadequain’s dreary murals and paintings.