Random life ramblings are my blogright and hence, I shall ramble

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I am in dire need of a plan.

A plan with which I can hit the dejected me on the head. And also from time to time, throw at my ever so inquisitive old and withering relatives. A goggles wearing, one liners hitting, leather jacket and hat wearing plan. A plan so monumental that it makes all the minute seemingly inconsequential things come together and for friggin once, fit. A plan which in all it's Dalai Lameness, makes sense.

Surprise me Mr. Davis, has surprisingly manage to surprise.

What an absolutely refreshing band that. Their music doesn't sound like the imperfectly orchestrated, edited, reedited, misplaced effects filled music that the world's subjected to these days. It just sounds like the bunch of them came together one wintry evening and started jamming over some beers and pot. It's been six years since their formation and they still don't give a chipmunk's behind about fitting in with the rest of the music community or carving a niche for themselves and all that jazzy bull.

Why isn't Alex Band coming up with something awesome anymore?

I mean, it HAS been a whole gaping YEAR since Alex goodness. That Twilight inspired vampire video has ruined the remaining last vestiges of his career which his ex wife and ex guitarist hadn't managed to rip apart, castrate (read wife), destroy. Anyway, how can he expect us t-shirt ripping, maniacally giggly, stalker fans to still rip t shirts, giggle and stalk if he doesn't hit us with anything new and awesome. Those charity bracelets don't count. If charity made us swoon we'd have pictures of Mother Teresa (may she RIP) in our rooms instead of his bare chested ones. Absolutely inconsiderate, I say.

Such ripping hunks in Grey's Anatomy!

If my parents, during their early years of trying to persuade me into choosing between Doctor and engineer, had introduced me to Grey's Anatomy, it would've been easier for them to get me to become a neurosurgeon or something and I wouldn't have had to refer to spell check while trying to spell Neurosurgeon. But no, they introduced me to gory pictures and unpronounceable words and ended up with a daughter who has no idea what to do with life and such.

If Maneka Gandhi and her animal rights association would visit us, they would probably arrest the cat.

Life was less painful when I was a dog person. And I mean literally less painful. She bites, she scratches, tries to gauge our eyes out. There are scratches in places where there just shouldn't be scratches or ANYTHING else. This new years eve when the world hugged and kissed and what not their near and dear ones, I was out on the streets CHASING the bloody cat, who had decided that 12 am on the New year's eve was an opportune moment to run away. And it so happens that she's named Brandy. So there I was, at midnight, screaming BRANDY and running around in circles. Yes, not very ladylike at all. One of these days...

More to come.

Happy new year peeps :)