<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837</id><updated>2011-04-21T16:22:02.338-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Verbal Diarrhoea</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-2037763414667065089</id><published>2008-02-18T03:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T22:55:58.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Watch out for this bus, Trivandrum-ites!</title><content type='html'>Six months of continuous 'residentship' in Trivandrum and being married to a Trivandrum resident, qualifies me as a budding Trivandrum-ite (I hope). [My bank thinks otherwise, though — it took quite a bit of cajoling to open account with them.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that assurance lemme move forward...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This beautiful city has a fondness for things from the past. I learnt today, buses are, perhaps, one amongst those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby dear n I were on the way home after a — burrrrrrrrrrrrp — heavy lunch, happy n content with the world, except for minor problems like unpaid loans, financial quandary, my dismal job hunt and so on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had the ancient ruins of a KSRTC bus chug-chugging along in front us. For the uninitiated, most KSRTC buses operating on the roads are prehistoric relics that ought to be right at the bottom of a junk pile that belongs to some bygone era. They are rickety, long past their expiry dates and beg to be put to sleep, failing which, they take their revenge by knocking down pedestrians, give up on their drivers or by riding straight into a fellow vehicle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We overtook the bus and were just past the rear when the bus goes Pooooof! A huge blast of pitch black smoke from it's dented mangled side and we were thrown into darkness in just a second. Hubby dear slammed on the brakes 'cos we can't see a thing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This bus, I bet, is one of the chief contributors to air pollution in this part of the country! And our car's one shade darker than it was in the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-2037763414667065089?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/2037763414667065089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=2037763414667065089' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/2037763414667065089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/2037763414667065089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2008/02/watch-out-for-this-bus-trivandrum-ites.html' title='Watch out for this bus, Trivandrum-ites!'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-6589018999539519480</id><published>2008-01-06T22:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T23:09:06.237-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aviators and Peeling Shallots</title><content type='html'>I just can't resist telling you a short story before I get to the actual topic...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to cook. I love to eat. If someone else does the cooking, even better — as long as the 'someone' is not my neighbour (she loves to dole out a vile pork preparation sopped in vinegar).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took to cooking like duck to water. Even though most of my preparations are not palatable for the lesser mortals, they are passable with a few really good ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had my moments of glory, like the day when my classmate let me have the entire box of my sandwiches after trying out just one bite. Maybe she just didn't want to deprive me of the pleasure of eating my own sandwiches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cooking my own dishes means, cutting up veggies and 'other things' — including fingers — myself. 'Other things' include onions and shallots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the uninitiated, shallots are the smaller version of onions. Whatever it is that makes your eyes water, is found in a more concentrated form in shallots. And since they are small, you need to peel more of them to get a sufficient quantity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My clever mother (now you know why am so clever) gets me to peel all the shallots. I end up having swollen red eyes and a runny nose. Mom said I'll get used to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been more than 10 years now, and yes, I got used to it. But my eyes havn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've tried many techniques to lessen the misery. Refusing to peel shallots being one of them. But for the betterment of the humankind, and of course, to restore peace at home, I always dutifully complied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But today, I discovered that wearing a pair of Aviators (Ray Ban and no less) while peeling shallots give you a temporary relief. They tell you to 'Never Hide'. I disagree completely. They have no idea what a relief it is to hide your delicate eyes from the harmful effects of the shallot-fumes!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-6589018999539519480?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/6589018999539519480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=6589018999539519480' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/6589018999539519480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/6589018999539519480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2008/01/aviators-and-peeling-shallots.html' title='Aviators and Peeling Shallots'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-3469745856003147577</id><published>2007-11-28T09:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-28T10:05:42.280-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a Thought...</title><content type='html'>I've actually paused a movie am watching midway just to write this down...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Been watching a lot of movies lately... Sometimes 2 a day... Sometimes more than 2... Basically, I've been doing a lot of movie-watching, which is why am passing this comment...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel the most used word in English movies, contemporary ones, would be... the F-word! You know which one I'm talking 'bout...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a lot of F-word being used...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that I have anything particularly &lt;em&gt;against&lt;/em&gt; it... Nothing &lt;em&gt;for&lt;/em&gt; it, either. I hear a lot of it being used by some friends... I don't use it myself. Not 'cos am morally driven not to use it. No. Here, am &lt;em&gt;&lt;u&gt;not&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/em&gt; at all sitting in judgement over it's usage — is it right, is it wrong. NO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just find it so lacking in meaning, so unnecessary, to constantly punctuate your sentences with it, like chocolate chips in cookies, a poke here, a poke there... So unnecessary and meaningless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[On second thoughts, chocolate chips in cookies are very necessary and are full of meaning. So that would be a totally inappropriate comparison.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But listening to it every other minute, during a movie, with an average of 2 movies a day, drove me to write this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lemme get back to my movie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-3469745856003147577?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/3469745856003147577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=3469745856003147577' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/3469745856003147577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/3469745856003147577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/11/just-thought.html' title='Just a Thought...'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-8162904600823910520</id><published>2007-11-21T07:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-21T07:29:16.904-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't lie... I swear! ;&gt;</title><content type='html'>Lemme start by telling you that I don't lie. I only say untruths. hehe! And Mark Twain's my favourite 'untruther'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think what I say falls into two categories — truths and untruths. There's no slot for lies. And whatever falls under the banner 'Untruth' is basically some effort by my under-developed imagination. And I love exercising my imagination. All of us ought to do it, you know. More untruths, more muscle-pumping in the imagination department.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But things like 'Drink your milk and you can fly like Superman' belongs under the banner 'Lie'. Now that's unfair, don't you think? We shouldn't lead kids to think in such superlatives as growing up to be Superman! Gimme a break!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Untruths may also be an effort to 'shield' your loved ones from harsh realities (Read: Goof-ups).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But delivering an untruth requires a kind of finesse (or, craftiness, whichever way you look at it) that most people don't have. I come under that category. I learnt that the hard way...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did bio-chem-phy during my (10) +2, a.k.a. under-graduation, PUC. As usual, the pressures of producing projects in each subject lead my project group to 'stray off the beaten path'. Some of you may call that cheating. What we actually did was to 're-represent' a Chemistry project done by a senior batch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The D-Day arrived and the External Examiner — sounds more like the Executioner — starts to interrogate us on our Chemistry projects. My team's turn comes up and, as usual, Murphy waves his wand over me, and I get called first. Gulllp!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went through the preliminaries smoothly. The topic of the project, what I learnt from it, conclusions and so on. She went on to ask where I did the project. I told her XYZ Factory. She became very interested and asked me who the guide was, at the factory. Mr. ABC was our seniors' guide. Since I don't like to deviate from a script and since I respect copyrights held by our seniors I told my examiner, it was Mr. ABC.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, she was extremely interested, sat forward in her chair, and this pleased me no end! Finally, here was an examiner who knew my guide and may, perhaps, be so impressed that my team might get bucketfull of points. She asked me exactly WHEN we did this project. Since the time we were supposed to have done it was just the previous month, I told her that too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the harm, you might think... She drove a stake into my heart telling me, ever so calmly, that Mr. ABC is her husband(!!), and he had retired 3 years earlier (!!!) and my seniors were the last team whom he helped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, all's well that ends well, and we did get respectable points. Afterall, I never lied. ;&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-8162904600823910520?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/8162904600823910520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=8162904600823910520' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/8162904600823910520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/8162904600823910520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-dont-lie-i-swear.html' title='I don&apos;t lie... I swear! ;&gt;'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-570181822796469110</id><published>2007-11-21T06:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-21T07:42:41.408-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What an Insect!</title><content type='html'>It's been a while since I nourished my blog... Let's begin with some random jottings 'bout insects... Why, you may ask...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I came across this piece of news just now... They've discovered an ancient fossil (tell me 'bout a fossil that's brand-new. hehehe!) of a sea scorpion and artistic reconstruction on that revealed that this one was perhaps 8-ft long! Gulp!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, at least that's something to work on and get over the 'writer's block'!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine having insects as big as those in this day and age! You can't even swat them. Awwww my gaawwwwd!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am terrified of most insects... well, most, not all. How 'bout you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spiders freak me out like anything. Especially those big, brown ones with fat, juicy bellies. And cockroaches too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever felt that insects, as a general rule, tend to be overbearing trying to invade your personal space? Like, crawl up your back, over your head, coming to rest on your forehead and that's when you actually get to know this thing has been creeping up on you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of that impudence might be 'cos they are haughty and pretentious as their ancestors happened to be 8-ft long or thereabouts... hmm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;My brother owns an ant cemetery. It's right on top of his desk, below the sheet of glass that protects the table top. Looks like hundreds of red specks. Sometimes it's creepy (creepy is such an insecty word, eh?). Ants peep out from under the keys in the keyboard and march up his arms. hehehe! Oh, his office is otherwise clean...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Since this post is going no where and the only aim is to finally get my lazzzzzy brain to work and my lazzzy fingers to type, I'll conclude (mercifully). Yawwwwn!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-570181822796469110?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/570181822796469110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=570181822796469110' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/570181822796469110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/570181822796469110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/11/what-insect.html' title='What an Insect!'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-4523014705414534412</id><published>2007-07-22T22:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T21:23:50.234-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids!</title><content type='html'>Hmmm... It's been quite a while since I posted anything... So I decided to resume with a topic that I feel very strongly about... Kids!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if you are thinking that I'll go on and on about my motherly instincts awakening, you've got another think coming, pal!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow all the kids in my life (I don't have any of my own yet)... they seem to be very frank about expressing their thoughts, especially when those thoughts have something to do with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heard the one about kids being very innocent and so, they say things with a frankness and honesty that you don't find in adults? I suspect the truth behind that. Cos, whenever kids say somethin about me, I always feel they have a grudge against me. You don't believe me? Well, read on...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend's sis was getting her daughter ready after a bath, the usual creaming and powdering that moms do after subjecting their kids to the strenuous activity of a bath. The kid was lying down on the bed... My friend and I were watching her with the kind of indulgence that only aunts can feel. I was, as usual, grinning from ear to ear. The kid, looking up at me and pointing her finger, said, "Teeth!" with much conviction and confidence that that was &lt;em&gt;indeed&lt;/em&gt; a set of teeth that she was looking at. Archimedes wouldn't have shouted 'Eureka' with as much confidence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, it's another matter that I had braces on my teeth, and that, well, I have large teeth. But when a li'l kid notices it and points at it... That's not the kind of limelight you want to bask in, you know. Imagine your teeth becoming the cynosure of all eyes. hehehe!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 'Teeth' incident was repeated yet again when I was introduced to my neighbour's son. He hadn't started speaking yet. The first thing he did after we were introduced to each other was tap on his teeth with one finger and point straight at me with the other. This time I din't have braces on my teeth, mind you. There's something 'bout my teeth, alright.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there was this incident when my neighbour's son (yes, again) told his dad about how I roll my eyes. Now, it's not the matter of rolling my eyes that got my goat, 'cos I roll my eyes a lot. My neighbour's son has just started using words in a sensible manner. Till now it had been baby-talk. So when a kid starts to enunciate clearly and your eyes become the centre of his conversation with his dad, um, you get a li'l uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got uncomfortable 'cos the &lt;em&gt;only&lt;/em&gt; time I've rolled my eyes at him was when he picked my (only) expensive vase and was ready to drop it on the floor. Since his doting mom was nearby and I couldn't afford the luxury of scolding the kid, I resorted to the only thing I could do — roll my eyes. Now that he has started to tell his dad about the 'neighbour aunty' rolling her eyes at him, I'd better be careful — bout the vase, cos I can't stop rolling my eyes... it's a habit that's stuck with Superglue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day, I found my hair to be very obedient and I had left it loose, happy about how good it looked (and made a note of the shampoo I used &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; time, I might add). The bell rang 8 times in go, which meant it was my neighbour — she finds it perfectly normal to ring the bell anything between 7 to 13 times in one row, her finger sticks to the switch. I opened the door. Her son (who else?) had also come along. The moment he saw me, he hid behind his mom's skirt, which was very unusual. (His usual practise is to rush to my clothes-stand and pull out all the clothes to the floor). I was puzzled. But my neighbour, generous as she is, clarified the situation — he was terrified of seeing me with my hair open. Well, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kids!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-4523014705414534412?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/4523014705414534412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=4523014705414534412' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/4523014705414534412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/4523014705414534412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/07/kids.html' title='Kids!'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-853144090080283387</id><published>2007-07-17T02:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T00:46:53.038-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Time of the Day</title><content type='html'>Any guesses about what's the best time of the day? Ok, time out! I'll tell ya...&lt;br /&gt;I find the first one hour of office time the best!&lt;br /&gt;It's the most peaceful, most sane, most lucid slot of time in the entire day!&lt;br /&gt;That's the time when I settle into my seat, my personal office space. Turn on my computer, my only ally — barring those moments when I'm are in a hurry and my ally acts up. Unoccupied seats here and there. A general cover of silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this one hour, I finish my first cup of coffee, look around doing nothing, check my e-mails, go through those Post-its stuck whereever there is space around the monitor and every available bit on the table, scan my e-newspaper, wondering about the day ahead and arrange my things — which can be anything from files, books, notes, papers, mails, to anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is that one hour before I start worrying about all the first-thing-in-the-morning promises I made yesterday. And I have those 'visions' of the boss glaring and grinding his teeth over something I missed out yesterday. And I 'hypothesise' about the time I'm going to sign-out of office in the evening — what time will it be today?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-853144090080283387?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/853144090080283387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=853144090080283387' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/853144090080283387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/853144090080283387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/07/best-time-of-day.html' title='Best Time of the Day'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-6660059719469958423</id><published>2007-06-30T03:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-30T23:52:18.831-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Jottings on a Laaaazzzzyyy Afternoon</title><content type='html'>What a laaaazzzy afternoon...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With &lt;em&gt;only&lt;/em&gt; 124 files to update and the boss arriving any moment now, I have a calm mind, a state which I have managed to attain after days of a certain form of meditation called Procrastination. I have almost mastered this art and have applied it in many areas. Like the pile of laundry I mentioned in another post (I like it when I get my reader to revise), it's still there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a nice helping of rice, 2 curries, a small helping of my friend's chicken fried rice (I have a 'helping' mentality) and an apple and now, a coffee. A relaxed, contented and satisfied burrrrrrrrrp later, I bury my rear end in the chair, nursing another cuppa. Slowly, the cold seat sends shivers through my spine (very easy path for the shivers to travel, right?). I take a few more sips of the nice coffee... mmm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look at the monitor... stare at it would be the more appropriate usage, 'cos am trying to think what was it that I was doing before going for lunch... One more sip of the warm coffee... You know how good it feels when the room temperature is low and you're cold and the warm coffee goes down your throat... mmm... nice coffee...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, yes, I get a vague recollection of what I was doing and suddenly realize the monitor is actually in sleep mode and you need to move the mouse to bring that 'sparkle' to your computer's eyes... yeah, you gotta lift that hand and keep it on the mouse and move it... yeah, I'll do it... one sec, lemme take one more sip of the coffee...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I feel reeeaaally full. All that lunch has settled and feels as though it's expanded or something, 'cos my tummy is bulging and out of the blue, the image of my cosy, warm bed flashes in front of me. Who says coffee keeps you awake?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They should introduce something like a &lt;em&gt;one&lt;/em&gt;-hour power-nap... Or a bed in the Recreation Room, 'cos one of my favourite recreational activities is sleep. Some people call it a non-activity (That's totally false!).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-6660059719469958423?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/6660059719469958423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=6660059719469958423' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/6660059719469958423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/6660059719469958423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/jottings-on-laaaazzzzyyy-afternoon.html' title='Jottings on a Laaaazzzzyyy Afternoon'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-1785646001599582643</id><published>2007-06-24T23:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-24T23:33:22.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'>(Un)steady Income?</title><content type='html'>"You will never need to worry about a steady income" What a tempting thought! That's 'Today's Fortune' for me from Orkut... Some people are so generous!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feels comfy and soothed to know I won't have to worry about a steady income...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the flip side, does that mean I'll have to worry about an unsteady income? Gulp! Fortunes can be pretty ambivalent. More like &lt;em&gt;Janus&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-1785646001599582643?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/1785646001599582643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=1785646001599582643' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/1785646001599582643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/1785646001599582643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/unsteady-income.html' title='(Un)steady Income?'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-6905349341088217040</id><published>2007-06-23T22:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-23T23:35:19.436-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Car Wash Exploits</title><content type='html'>Hubby n I took our car to the car wash last evening. Congratulations to us and to our car!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I tell you 'bout the travails at the car wash, lemme tell you 'bout our car, or rather, 'bout the (layers of) dirt and dust on our car. Now, the layers of dirt and dust on our car are like one fold of icing on top of another... I know that sounds too far-fetched, but I love exaggerating. It's a habit I love to keep. Please bear with me. Icing, mmmm... I love icing. Do you? I love chocolate fudge icing the most... Ok, let's not get carried off by sinful thoughts of icing (am trying to shed kilos, remember?)... 'Bout the dirt and dust... to make matters short (and yawwwwn!) and interesting, our car is very dirty and dusty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I say the car is dirty and dusty, I must say, it's &lt;em&gt;very&lt;/em&gt; dirty and dusty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We, well, get it washed, let's say, once a month, if the car's lucky. Once in one-and-a-half months definitely! No two ways 'bout that! We're &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; particular 'bout having a clean car, you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we drive up into the short queue (q-u-e-u-e... had to think a li'l on that spelling... hmm...), we were third. It's around quarter past nine in the night. We have a hunch the attendant is desperately trying to (peacefully) finish his duty shift.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Attendant looks at the car and did a double take. No doubt, at the car 'besprinkled' with 'earthy deposits'... that's as euphemistic as I can be. Can't get any vaguer than that. The poor guy took one long look at our car and walked stony faced towards the comparatively, and most certainly, cleaner one right in front of us. He had this look that said 'Why me?!' . At this point, I'm tempted to giggle. You too may.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby speculated: Depressed/Desperate Attendant might while away the remaining time in the restroom and just wait till the next attendant turns up for duty. Anything to avoid our car!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Depressed/Desperate Attendant shuffles over to the manager's cabin, casting one more sideways glance towards our car. Maybe wondering how to add on some bells n whistles to his complaint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were half expecting to see the manager storming out of his cabin and rushing to us to give us a lecture on how to keep a car as clean as possible when brought to the car wash. And perhaps even give us a helpful hint or two 'bout spraying the car with some water to soak all the dirt and dust before being brought to the car wash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no! There's no manager! Yippee! We escaped this time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon, it's our turn to wheel in to the wash area ('soon', because the other cars have much lesser dirt than ours). The attendant comes over and we hand him the charges, bracing up for a round of reprimands. But, again, we are let off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And before long, the car's looking spanking new and squeaky clean!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until the next trip to the car wash...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-6905349341088217040?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/6905349341088217040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=6905349341088217040' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/6905349341088217040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/6905349341088217040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/car-wash-exploits.html' title='Car Wash Exploits'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-1357100659656809528</id><published>2007-06-20T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T21:55:04.867-07:00</updated><title type='text'>'How's life treating you?'</title><content type='html'>My buddy asked: 'How's life treating you?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm... I  must say, he asked for it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am feeling sleepy, wanna catch up on my sleep, bucketful of laundry to finish, do something bout my boring job, give my neighbour's son a piece of my mind, clean the stove, shake off 3 kilos somehow, avoid evening walks n still lose those 3 kilos, clear my fridge, mail all my frnds before they forget me, go home, see that stack of files go poof! and disappear, catch up on my reading, get my watch repaired, get a haircut, babysit frnd's wife in the eve and &lt;em&gt;still&lt;/em&gt; finish the laundry, get those 2 heavy (stinking) blankets laundered, catch up on my fav tv shows, watch movies, reduce raving n ranting bout the lift (under repair for the last 4 months), practise climbing those 8 flights of stairs in one go, cut up all the recipes from that pile of magazines n dispose of the 'remains', figure out how to remove that stain from my favourite cream pants, blog more, organize the computer, throw out the old sausage packets stored for the last 6 months in the freezer, cook up some vile concoction with that powder I bought 2 weeks back, decide on the menu for Friday's guests, work my mind into a frenzy bout the menu, try not to get caught without a safety helmet in the factory, reduce chocolate consumption by half next month, start working on that this month, control temper when boss calls me at home to ask where I stored a particular file, maintain sanity when neighbour's son (yes, again) is at my place, dispose garbage before the stink 'pervades' the entire house...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ummm... What was it that he asked me...? How's life treating me...? Oh, Am luvin it! N am living it! every moment of it! With all those things to do, I luv it! :D :D :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life's treating me like a princess, buddy! N am glad. N am grateful for every moment I have. :D :D :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-1357100659656809528?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/1357100659656809528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=1357100659656809528' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/1357100659656809528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/1357100659656809528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/hows-life-treating-you.html' title='&apos;How&apos;s life treating you?&apos;'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-1209414570506250667</id><published>2007-06-18T23:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-18T23:56:00.300-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Today's Fortune</title><content type='html'>Today's Fortune on Orkut always keeps me in good humour. It's always these sugary-sweet tidbits that greet me when I open my account every morning... never lets me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what disturbs me is, I have a growing suspicion that these fortunes are being recycled, though I havn't been able to determine the duration between each repeat 'telecast'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example, today's Today's Fortune is "You are going to have a very comfortable old age". Now that's the second time am noticing that am 'going to have a very comfortable old age'. Taking into consideration that your fortunes are determined by your stars/planets, it's slightly depressing to see this piece of post-dated info &lt;em&gt;again&lt;/em&gt;. Leads you to conclude that your stars/planets are doing the same rounds... which is not what I learnt in Astrophysics class, you know! (There, I let out some valuable info about my academic leanings)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And another thing that bugs me after I 'imbibe' Today's Fortune is, do they deal only with &lt;em&gt;good&lt;/em&gt; fortune? And if I'm being shielded from the harsh reality of the &lt;em&gt;bad&lt;/em&gt; fortune, it is indeed unfortunate. Am a big girl now, and I can handle it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-1209414570506250667?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/1209414570506250667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=1209414570506250667' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/1209414570506250667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/1209414570506250667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/todays-fortune.html' title='Today&apos;s Fortune'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-7307209832392422408</id><published>2007-06-16T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T03:52:08.671-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Murphy's Law</title><content type='html'>You've heard of Murphy's Law? Well, if you havn't, am sure you definitely would've experienced it umpteen number of times (and called it many different names - I don't want to go into detail about the names. hehe!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the slice of bread that you painstakingly buttered, falls with the buttered side down. Or, when the guy-who-fixes-computers finally arrives (after the 100th call) and checks out the 'ill' computer, it works like a charm. We've seen it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, if you ask me... (please do ask) Looks like Murphy has taken an unusual liking to me. Cos somehow I always seem to be getting into trouble at all the wrong places and at the wrong time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was this average college student, who used to depend on the humble public transport, The Bus. The Bus was The Boss. Half the breakfast you had is expended on kicking, pushing, shoving and balancing in The Bus that's never going straight, but somehow weaves and meanders through the road (which, by the way, is worse). Coupled with this driver who derives a sadistic pleasure out of slamming the brakes, so that he can batten up the passengers to make more space for packing more sardines, oops! passengers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You might be wondering why all this drivel on the complexities of travelling on the bus... Well, you'll see how Murphy's Law puts all this into perspective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, you leave home early everyday to catch this less-packed bus. Everyday you wait at the right time for The Bus to arrive. But it's got the cheek to always show up 10 mins late than scheduled. The impudent lil piece of metal! This happens 29 days outta 30.&lt;br /&gt;So the next day, the 30th day, what do you do!? You show what &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; can do and &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; arrive 10 mins late! Today you'll catch The Bus right on dot! HA! .......... N of all the days, today, The Bus was &lt;em&gt;early&lt;/em&gt; by 10 mins. On time. Come n gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This has happened to me every time I tried it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, let's consider another situation... Am the goody-goody employee who never wastes a single moment in office (ahem! blogging is not included in the list), pays attention to my job, dutifully buries my head in files, doodles on paper, stares intelligently into the computer checking pals' mails, never attends personal (chit-chat) calls, and most important -- sits ram-rod straight in the chair (body language counts a lot, buddy). I do this everyday...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But The Boss (here the MD) never seems to notice, cos he never passes by. You wish he sees you working diligently at that obsolete file trying to revive it... But no, nothing doing. he never sees you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then one day, the mobile rings, n I think, What the hell! I might as well take it, and as I go yakkity-yak on the phone, I lean back, relax n enjoy the call. It'l take just 2 mins...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, Murphy strikes and the MD passes right beside my cabin n what does he see? His least-seen employee draped on the backrest of the chair, engaged in a useless phone call! I bet you, in one hour, &lt;em&gt;you'll&lt;/em&gt; get that most-hated project no one in office wanted to take up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Murphy's after me, I tell you. He's after me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-7307209832392422408?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/7307209832392422408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=7307209832392422408' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/7307209832392422408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/7307209832392422408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/murphys-law.html' title='Murphy&apos;s Law'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-8352911464208193711</id><published>2007-06-16T04:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-16T04:38:09.095-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Father so-and-so</title><content type='html'>I feel honoured to have come across some really very articulate people over the years. One among them was this Father So-and-so during my undergarduate days... Though he hasn't taught me, his wise words have never failed to tickle the 'hallowed portals' of our college...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He taught them students Physics. Now, that's one area you don wan me to talk 'bout. I've never had a flair for inhuman(e) things. Just like Maths... I once calculated 350+350+5000+5000 and gave the sum as 8800. Dont ask me how. It's not my fault (I think it's the calculator). Thats what i told my MD too. No, I wasn't fired. Am still working in the same place. Now where were we... Yeah, coming back to the Priest-Prof...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He chalked out an equation on the board and told the students: 'suggest me a technology to solve this'. (yes, u may laugh.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Among his famous blunders, the one I like the most would be : 'Avalaanji (read: avalanche) is available in the winter regions'. Can someone tell me since when was avalanches 'available' in 'winter regions'?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'There is something wrong with your curves and projections!' Now, this one takes the cake! Susan, the gorgeous gal, was asked to walk up to the board and draw out a graph. And the one that she finally scratched out after some hocus-pocus, got this response. No, i dont think he meant anything else. (Susan's a perfect 10, u know)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(If you havn't slept with your face stuck on the keyboard, thank you for a patient ear)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-8352911464208193711?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/8352911464208193711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=8352911464208193711' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/8352911464208193711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/8352911464208193711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/i-feel-honoured-to-have-come-across.html' title='Father so-and-so'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-3742790637974989883</id><published>2007-06-15T23:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-16T00:16:42.577-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pearls of Wisdom in English by my neighbour</title><content type='html'>Love thy neighbour! I just love mine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She corrupts my english on a daily basis... From Day One, she's baffled me by her ever-evolving English... Now i know why English is the most flexible language... u can twist n turn n bend n squeeze n scrunch n fold whatever u say. N my neighbour would be the right choice for demonstration. hehe!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I did finally develop the ability to understand what she's telling me, I had to develop the skill to stiffle that strong, very strong urge to burst out laughing... am not exaggerating (u ought to believe me)... You'l know why when u read this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some pearls of wisdom in English by my neighbour:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;• He heightening very fastly --- Her son's growing tall fast&lt;br /&gt;• I requestingly told him --- that was to her boss&lt;br /&gt;• I tireding very much --- Her standard dialogue after work. I dont laugh at it anymore. am working myself. I tireding very much too. :D&lt;br /&gt;• Squeezingly he held me --- Not her husband. No. Her son held her hand tight.&lt;br /&gt;• Runningly he came to me --- Her son again. yeah, her life revolves round her son.&lt;br /&gt;• Carrot cut cut ke daala I --- In the same order, please note. Very confusing when you are taking down a strange recipe. Especially when you dont want to.&lt;br /&gt;• The items has to order I --- In the same order, again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are just a few samples... I keep forgetting the rest, 'cos by now, am so accustomed to hearing this that i find it normal...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-3742790637974989883?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/3742790637974989883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=3742790637974989883' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/3742790637974989883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/3742790637974989883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/pearls-of-wisdom-in-english-by-my.html' title='Pearls of Wisdom in English by my neighbour'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2153983846299437837.post-7531197925873572746</id><published>2007-06-14T02:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T02:48:12.170-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My first post</title><content type='html'>hmmm... It's been a while since i started this blog... But i havnt had the time to 'fortify' it with valuable pieces of nonsense.  Been a case of blogstipation, as i told a certain pal today. been reading (n enjoying, i dare say) his blogs. hehehe! N I still havnt had time to devote any time to mine! and this certain pal has also promised to post comments... although this wudnt be much to comment on, I started a blog! ha! now thats something to comment on!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2153983846299437837-7531197925873572746?l=verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/feeds/7531197925873572746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2153983846299437837&amp;postID=7531197925873572746' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/7531197925873572746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2153983846299437837/posts/default/7531197925873572746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://verbaldiarhoea.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-first-post.html' title='My first post'/><author><name>My Verbal Diarrhoea</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12289467852721968728</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
