Weird spam

Sender: Kevin Costner.
Subject: Tomatoes.

Errr... rotten ones, perhaps?

After sneering at the trend

... last winter, I just caved in and bought something like this.

Not quite the same, mine are darker and the plaid pattern is very subtle. I think they'd be nice with a black sweater and black knee high boots (low heel, or perhaps a medium but chunky one) when it gets colder, maybe ballet type flats for now. They fit perfectly and the price was right (i.e. cheap!) but I'm a bit fearful of looking like a fashion victim. Hey, at least they're not leggings, right ?!

Supper for one

Leftover smoked haddock (previously poached in milk) and plain boiled potatoes, flaked and cut into bite-sized pieces, topped with a couple gobs of mayo and a squeeze of lemon juice. Eat straight from the tupperware container, in front of 'puter.

I can eat some pretty strange things when I'm alone and lazy and have no witnesses to my unearthly combos, but this is good, good enough to be fancied up and presented to guests in the future, with a handful of chopped scallions and/or parsley on top. In a pretty bowl, of course, and a good bottle of white...

And another thing

My blogger friends - you know who you are - I can't leave comments on your blogs anymore, at least 9 times of 10 I can't, and most days I get annoyed and give up way before the 10th attempt - but I still read y'all...

I am the proud owner of

23 bags and 54 pairs of shoes. I know this precisely because I just:

a) updated my shoe spreadsheet
b) created a bag spreadsheet

who says I don't lead an exciting life?

Brrrr.

Wanting to take advantage of a warm sunny Indian summer day, am wearing a skirt, with bare legs and sandals - these may be the last days of being able to feel air against my skin, before wrapping up for the next 6 months in closed toe shoes, hosiery, boots, and so on.

Except that the office air-con is set to Below Freezing which is uncomfortable, but far worse, my nipples are jutting out like torpedoes even through a padded bra. Will spend the day hunching over files and legal pads clutched tighly to my chest, like an awkward teenager. Lovely.

You never really know

what's going on in people's lives. Self evident perhaps but I was reminded of it today. There's a woman who lives in our appartment building. We say hello when we see each other, and she's polite enough, but always seems to be in a nervous rush, and will respond to my greeting but with no eye contact or smile. She has a dog (small uncute yappy thing, but I digress) and I tend to think that perhaps she's in a hurry when our paths happen to cross because the dog needs to be taken out .

Today I saw her in the metro on my way home from work, and during the whole ride - I wasn't staring, but kept stealing glances at her, thinking that if she looked up, and recognized me, I would say hi - she looked as if she was fighting back tears - either of rage or of grief, I couldn't tell. It was scary, and uncomfortable - this agitated face of just barely under control emotion. I wonder what her story is, where she works, if she's lonely, if she's friends with any of the other neighbors.

bad blogger

Over a week, and no updates? Bad, bad blogger!

Part of my lack of inspiration probably stems from the fact that I actually *gasp* enjoy my new job and therefore don't spend as much time faffing around on the internet as I used to. Which is probably a good thing.

And then evenings are spent telling S all about new job, new colleagues, and the intricacies of new office politics.

Anyway... this yuppie sandwich place near the office does a wrap with beef, bean sprouts, mint, and a soy based sauce, and they call it Buddha. Does that strike anyone else as a bit strange? I get that it's Asian-food influenced, and certainly not all Buddhists are vegetarians, but all the same - would anyone call a roast pork sandwich Mohammed? I think not!

goodbye Andre...

Has tears in my eyes reading the accounts of Agassi's last match and all the tributes from fellow players. He's my most enduring tennis-player crush. I remember being 15 or so when he first reached the - what was it, quarter finals ? of Roland Garros, with his mullet and acid-wash denim shorts and irreverant playfulness. I thought he was sooooo cool. And I still do.

Good call on getting rid of the hair, though.

So S went to the market this morning

I don’t enjoy going late on a Saturday morning because it is so crowded and cramped – not a happy market hustle and bustle but crowds the likes of which I deal with quite enough in the metro during rush hour every day of the week - it’s not pleasant. People are constantly bumping into each other and it’s hard to take a step without shoving or being shoved. But the produce is good, and really, really cheap.

Today S had to break up a fight – one woman apparently stepped on the shoe of another woman in front of her. Instead of accepting that sort of thing will happen occasionally when masses of people are trying to move in various directions at varying speeds in the reduced space of a market aisle, the first woman whipped off her shoe and clobbered the other one over the head with it.

Flailing and hitting and shouting ensued and S and another man had to physically intervene and separate the two. S’s glasses were knocked off (luckily into a pile of herbs and not on the ground!) and he suffered collateral damage under the form of two tiny scratches on his face – not a huge deal, but still.

Madness, utter madness.