Cure

There are days when things aren't going your way.
There have been such days.
Yesterday wasn't one. But that doesn't mean it doesn't matter.
Although yesterday was tiring. In what way?
Hmmm...well I have been pretty social, those are from my poor standards so that might not come up to the collective standards of social-'ness'.
But then I had to roam around pleasing people from every hang out invites. And hence the wandering nomad was 'busy'.
Felt drained at the end of the day. A bit strung out in a way.

I reach home.
Slouch on the big leather cushion that was my sofa.
Making random contemplative thoughts in my head in order to keep it busy from the withdrawal symptoms of being suddenly idle.
That sudden emptiness strikes you then.

The thing that happens at the end of a big event. Yes it is technically a withdrawal syndrome of a euphoria of a passing event.
Like goin on a trip with friends for the weekend and then suddenly getting back to work on a monday.
That feeling.

What could be the cure?
I am no Doctor Phil, but then a voice from a kitchen beckoned me.
An invitation to the dinner table.
And there it was. The cure, on the table.
No ayurveda. No homeopathy. No allopathy.
Three words: Mom made Spaghetti.

And that was it. The joy was back in my eyes.
(I think a tear rolled past my cheek).
And I was jumping like a six year old who got the remote controlled car he wished for.

Minutes later I was wiping the plate clean (which is considered pretty rude in China, or so I have read)...the foodie high was on.

-
Spaghetti Junkie

Shopping and the art of standing like a coat rack

So there I was, in the womens section for ethnic wear. Staring at all shapes and colors of cloth cutouts designed to look whatever their definition of "ethnic" was. My sister was in the trial room for what seemed like hours to me, or probably somewhere down the line my idleness was so causal that it tore through the fabric of space-time creating a localized worm hole thus trapping me in a time loop of painstaking idleness.

All my idleness didn't go in complete vain though. I was proud to learn a thing about myself - I have PATIENCE! Although I don't know the collective magnitude of what and how much of patience justifies the word to be written in caps...but hey, I do have it.

The thing is I had to play the role of the faithful driver for my sis who has a deadline for her shopping dates and items. I prefer chauffeur...no wait...I prefer being called the transporter. Gives me that Jason Statham-esque Mercedes driving image kicking some ass on the way.

Which is the exact opposite of what I'm doing right now.

Now one thing I noticed is how women shop. When when you see a woman shop...you realize that men don't actually shop. They pick up stuff. Shopping is this whole art consisting of various sub branches and psychological nuances and all sorts of meticulous data you can put in. And my sister is not a woman when it's shop time. She has the masculine ability of getting bored while shopping...and that too within the initial few minutes. Although this would go in the 'pros' list when it comes to me being the 'transporter'...her methodical perseverance and dedication is a total let down thats scrawled all over the 'cons' list.

The following observations are on the various women I have observed shopping while standing like a dork in the ladies section.

-Women come.

-Go through all the sections once.

-Think about all the sections.

-Think about what others would think about the clothes in those sections.

-Short list a few clothes in order to give some hope to the guy who works at the store.

-Shatter his hopes by rejecting all the clothes that the woman had just short listed in order to experiment on a fresh batch.

-Through this process the locations do change from one shop to another.

-There is no accurate finalization...only and approximation of what they think is close to perfection. This condition is highly dependent on whether they find the 'Ohthatdress!'.

(The 'Ohthatdress!' usually occurs when women spot some dress which is something that they were predetermined about since it would have been worn by someone else such as a friend or a celebrity...or some influential woman)

-After the process which spans a few hours that casualty report might consist of only a handful of or no particular clothing. (If the budget is not an issue the woman might come out with bags weighing more than the woman herself). [m_woman>m_{bags when tcurrent time>>tsaturation]}

[note:1. This is a vast field of study, my points are a crude generalization of my own observations.

2. These points are strictly limited to shopping of clothing, things like cosmetics and perfumes require yet another flow chart though the process remains somewhat the same.]

The pick it up men method :

-Go to shop.

-Go through all/most/very little of the stuff once.

-Decide on the basis of budget first, then liking.

-Pick it up.

Finish.

It may seem I'm being violently sexist here, but I condemn none of the methods. Both are equally bad in a way. One is too meticulous and the other has the complete lack of it.

There has to be some fine balance.

Hence my conclusion is if you go to shop...go with a gay dude. That's a balance.