Tuesday, March 27, 2012

jizzy poles, shark feeds & biscuits

I have learnt three new things in the last 24 hours:

I'm not Melvin from As Good As It Gets. Yet.
I might've mentioned this before, but I've contracted the recent problem of not wanting to share other people's germs.

When I first arrived in London, I'd grab - with reckless abandon - handles, poles, pin pads in buses and tubes with a full fist.

Back then, I wasn't gun shy. Grabbing a public hand railing with not a second thought on whether someone had dry humped it and left traces of ball juice on it, didn't cross my mind.

While my first few months in London were spent gaily hanging off things, shaking stranger's hands, punching 'Doors Open,' I learnt fast. I got a clue.
Henceforth started washing my hands for a full 30 seconds, 8000 times a day. I have also takeng up a new method in which to travel: 'surfing' to work on the train, so that I don't touch anything.

I take the stance, legs astride, and balance. I hold onto nothing. Hoping that the train doesn't decide to veer around a corner and I don't get flung to fucking East Grinstead.

Anyway, it's got worse and someone from work warned me that once you start caring about germs and public smearings of jizz, it's a slippery slope. And that I should break through the germ barrier and just grab a pole.

You're joking right?

I'm way too far down the slippery slope to return. I'm one bottle of hand santiser away from being cleaner than (the previous) pope's track record.

So I did an OCD test. And while I like to wash my hands a lot and not touch surfaces that have been contaminated by human fingers, I don't have strange rituals with my food, or count my socks or lock the door eight times, or say things like, "It was a good day today," when someone asks me if I'm happy in general.

The results of my test? There are No red flags. So I'll continue to not shake hands with people that look dirtier than Courtney Love's crotch after a sword fight.

We can't have sugar in the house
For some reason, I'm behaving like a human vacuum cleaner at the minute. I'm eating fucking everything I see.
One piece of chocolate won't do - the whole slab barely does. I polished off a carrot cake last night while the Brit looked on, appearing a little disgusted.
"What's got into you? This isn't like you."

Dude. I go off my diet for 5 seconds and it has unleashed a beast.

I am inhaling food like a Dyson on full suction. Until yesterday. I have to be back on diet now. And we can't have anything nice in the house because I have no discipline and I will flatten it.

A whole bunch of sharks ate a whole bunch of people during WWII
Gotta love a documentary. (While spazzing out on slabs of chocolate and eating it with super shiny cleansed hands).

A shop, the Indianpolis, got torpedoed by the Japs in the war. The survivors basically got eaten off by sharks.
Discovery Channel is running a show appropriately named, Ocean of Fear, which shows a pair of dangling legs and a whole bunch of sharks encircling it.

Insights fear and entertainment in the lounge, it does.

Well. A few hundred or so men were eaten. At once. Making this incident one of the worst cases of sharks feeding on humans.

Dude? Am glad I surf on the train and not in the sea currently.

Something I haven't learnt recently, but still plagues my mind. I miss my aunt. I still think of her everyday, and wonder where she is now. Her words and her being alive are still so close. So many little things pop up which make me think of her. And she haunts my dreams - she's literally in them, as alive as alive can be. I help cleared some papers out in her study a few weeks ago, and while I felt numb, I still find the disbelief that she's gone, quite traumatic.

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