My 100th post

I know that this blog has been far from entertaining for quite sometime now and this is my 100th post. Since I'm on a weird high of nervous energy, an inability to sleep and pure pissed-offness right now, I think I can convert this into a suitably inappropriate post.

I'm now going to write about a very close friend of mine, safe in the knowledge that if I ask her to visit my blog often enough she won't come anywhere near it for the next hundred years or so. I'm going to write about my childhood idiocy. And I'm going to write about men.

Okay, this very close friend of mine has not been very close for sometime now because of certain other commitments. In the beginning, though we were all apprehensive, we tried to be supportive and failed miserably.

Then she had to go away, and we were a little better at being supportive because we were going to miss the old girl and her inappropriate jokes. We weren't exactly overjoyed when she told us brightly that she didn't miss us at all and naturally, we were even more pissed off when she came back and started becoming this complete idiot who couldn't spare a minute of her busy schedule for her old mates and the inappropriate jokes.

Now, here's the crux of the matter. What do you do when one of your best friends believes that she's found peace, emotional crack and the freaking meaning of life all rolled into one highly dubious and phony package?

I'm floored. In the old days, I would have beaned her with a pencil box or something. Now, my other friends and I discuss it in detail behind her back because we're even more scared that we'll push her deeper into this weird phase she's going through and end up hurting her more. If we don't kill her first.



Anyway, enough about my more than usually crazy friend. Let's look at crazy me for a while. I've had my share of emotional highs and lows and it is a mark of how emotionally crazy I am right now that I'm wiling to commemorate my 100th post with something personal.

When I was only so high and looked cute and so on and so forth, I was very fond of pets. Okay, not pets in general. I'm sure I would have hated lizards and rats and iguanas or something. I loved cats and dogs. Generally, they were all quite chummy with me too. At one point, I had a dog and around six cats at home.

I had a habit of picking up homeless puppies and keeping saucers of milk out for random cats which drove my mother mad. In fact, it drove her mad enough to donate them to our friends, Blue Cross and sometimes, she even had 'relocation programs' for the cats. And I cried my eyes out every time my puppies had to go live somewhere else because I wasn't helping enough with cleaning up the puppy poop.

When I look back at all that, I sure as hell don't want a pet right now. Investing emotionally in something and then crying your heart out when the pet runs off, or gets lost or dies...it's too messy for me. I sometimes think it would be nice to have a cat curled up near me or a dog hogging all the sofa space but then, there's always the eternal question. What about the poop?



Now, coming to that part of this post about men. I've completely run out of steam but I'll tell you something...
Men are from Mars.