No, the title is not a typo. Savoy, as defined by whatever dictionary app I have on my dashboard, is “a cabbage of a hardy variety with densely wrinkled leaves”. How does that make sense? It doesn’t, and that’s the damn point.

As I’m applying to master’s programs – aka a really really really expensive way to get back to the US and find me a low-paying job – I decided to try and figure out the job market in certain cities today. And ended up slamming my computer shut instead.

I feel like the original purpose of technology, at some point in the distant past, was to make life easier for people. Between advertisements (which happens to be the industry I’m looking into…except I hope to be a little better than what I experienced today) and pages that make you incessantly click, click, click ‘Next’ just to read four words, large parts of the internet have disintegrated into nothing but a large, thorn-like pain in the ass.

Okay so instead of looking for what I should have been looking for, I got a little off topic. Story of my (and pretty much everyone in this generation’s) life. I was promised “See what jobs are rapidly disappearing” and clicked on the link, and since I’m at a coffee shop with sketchy/dodgy/ratchet? I still don’t know what that word really means/[insert newest all-the-rage word here] wifi, I decided to skip the slideshow at the bottom of Huff Post’s page and instead clicked another “click here to See what jobs are rapidly disappearing“.

Now I’m on a different website with a whole of text and ANOTHER “Click here to see what jobs are rapidly disappearing“. You know what, screw you. I hope your job rapidly disappears whoever did this to me. But of course I’ve come so far. Click.

So I finally get to the promised list and of course it’s only 10-6, and has a lot of jobs I really didn’t know still existed. By the way, what the hell is a semiconductor processor? Apparently nothing to do with a train conductor (shout out to Thomas the Tank Engine!). So I have lost interest in jobs 5-1 and don’t click any further…but…

Also Read: The 10 Fastest-Growing Jobs in America“? How can I refuse. Click. Nooo! another page of text and “Click here to see the fastest-growing jobs”. Fine, click…


AAAAH GO DEFILE YOURSELVES I QUIT. Do you really think I’m going to click your link?!?!

So, one hour later, I have no idea where to go to college, but I know what savoy cabbage looks like. Stupid technology.


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Dinosaur Porn.

Seriously though.

In a rapidly changing world – I don’t say evolve because that implies a positive connotation, and I’m not 100% sure it’s getting better – but in a changing world, the very definition of literature seems to transform. WDWS? Go ahead and Wiki it yourselves. The top of the list isn’t too surprising…You got your Dickens, Tolkein, The Little Prince. Scroll down, down, numbers unreported but there you see the sparkling catastrophe Twilight mentioned, and further down, stop:


There she is, that red room beauty that apparently sold as many copies as Pooh bear himself. It’s heartbreaking. Like Team Edward and Jacob, sparkling emo vampires, obsessive puppylove werewolves and suicidal pasty young girls weren’t bad enough, we had to take it one step further. But I really do think the worst part is the waste of such a beautiful title.

50 Shades of Grey. Just think of the opportunities! It could be about growing older, maturing physically and mentally. It could be an examination of the black and white moral compass of society, an investigation into the moral grey area that we all find ourselves questioning and exploring throughout our lives. But what happened? It is, for the foreseeable future, synonymous with…well, let’s summarize:

It’s about this girl who falls in love with a filthy rich guy who’s really moody – he’s the fifty shades, since his mood changes a lot. And then they have this really complicated sexual relationship, it’s all about bondage-discipline, dominance-submission, sadism-masochism, but it’s just so hard (pun intended) because she loves him a lot and he buys her amazing things and takes her to the most incredible parties but then he wants her to be his sex slave which is obviously not okay, since she’s vanilla. But she loves him so much, just by saying her name he makes her explode and her subconscious faints and her inner goddess does back flips and she basically turns into Lizzie McGuire (remember that show guys?!).

So, for now and forever, it’s synonymous with poor plot, shallow characters and handcuffs.

I may not be the biggest fan.

On the other hand – dinosaur porn. Wish I had thought of it.

Why is this so different? Because they’re selling it for $3 a pop and it seems, well, hilarious. I have to admit I’m a little surprised that monster porn is such a big deal but holy shit these girls are making money and having fun while they do it. I can’t personally see the appeal but to each her own (or his own, I suppose). It’s obviously doing well, since it’s all over google these days. I mean, I just looked through 10 slides of dinos gettin’ it on. Oh here’s the link, didn’t mean to be selfish:

I’m just trying to think of the next big thing and beat the world to it. A good friend of mine suggested Care Bear erotica (Care Bearotica?) , but pretty sure that’s a copyright entanglement waiting to happen. Unicorns? Are those sexy? Leprechauns? Maybe it’s worth a shot.

All I can say is, it’s a good thing this stuff is surfacing now or Fred would’ve had to keep a closer eye on Wilma and Dino. Yabba dabba who does who?



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Whenever, Wherever

Is 24 too young to be reminiscing about the old days? The simpler times?

The other day we were listening to Voice of America in the car…Hooold up.

What the hell is Voice of America? It’s the one radio station out here that plays all the terrible music I absolutely love, aka the billboard top 100. And every so often they talk about the government shutting down, things blowing up, people blowing up, and a varying number of people dead in the -istan of the day. Most recently, Pakistan. And so the news is when I usually switch over to CDs instead. Heartless, I know.

So VoA was doing it’s thing, Macklemore rapping, Timberlake crooning, and all of a sudden, boom, Shakira came on. I hadn’t heard this song in forever and it was an immediate shove into the past. I mean really violent, it basically punched me in the face. All of a sudden I was in fourth grade, uncomfortably tall and skinny (I was always the second-tallest girl in my class..that was before I got stuck and stopped growing…vertically at least), super into books and faking different life-threatening diseases daily to get out of gym class.* Imagine my surprise when a kid from fourth grade found me on facebook 10 years later and told me some boy had a crush on me back then! Okay, I say surprise, I mean dismay. We could have been married right now. He could’ve been my melody and I could’ve been his queen bee. Goddamit, another one that got away. Katy Perry clearly beat me to my destined hit single.  And speaking of music…

‘Laundry Service’ was one of my favorite tapes back in those gawky years, with the sexiness of ‘underneath your clothes’, the fast-paced heartbreak of ‘objection’ and the dance-inducing music of ‘whenever, wherever’. I would stick that plastic cassette into our sleek, futuristic Band & Olufsen player – I know you’re wondering and yes, it had radio too – and hit the play button, then the forward and forward again then probably the rewind for a little bit, and then sit back and enjoy the sweet sounds of Shakira’s music until it was time to eject, turn over to side B, and hit play again. Come to think of it, maybe all that work was why I was skinny. Why not play CDs? Cause those things were damn expensive and oh-so-delicate. Dad had his fancy McIntosh for the living room and my Macarena, Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls CDs, but tapes were cheap. As a generation, we’ve seen tapes, CDs, ipods, bluetooth…

And I just realized, the cassette times were not ‘simpler’ times.  Screw nostalgia, I’m over it.

Time to listen to some itunes radio.

*Gym/PE/PT has been the bane of my existence for about as long as I can remember. I haven’t had to play anything since 2007 and I still have nightmares about sports.

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Teething and Other Adult Concerns

My intelligence is coming in, about five years too late, and it’s on a mission to murder. I swear to god this thing is more persistent than Jason from Friday the 13th. Apparently this should have happened during that awkward high school age, when everyone else was combatting acne (praise the lord, the only issue I have not had to deal with – pimples) and experimenting with drugs, alcohol or the football team. Wikipedia says the age for these bitches to come in is 17-25. Mine are really pushing the line here. Heads up, you’ll be hearing a lot of WDWS cause let’s face it, What Does Wiki Say is a lot more prevalent these days than What Would Jesus Do. Gone are the medieval days of asking real humans for advice or answers.

But…I digress. My high school experience was a bit unusual since it comprised of three high schools: Sydney, Chennai and New Jersey – and I don’t really give a damn about football. Oh fun question, which do you think was the brownest of the three schools? Australia, India or the US? Nope, not the one in India…New Jersey wins that round. I had never actually been to a game until college. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure I did go to a game in college. Our team was tragically cut because of a lack of funds (maybe) and the cold hard fact that they were absolute crap (definitely).

A lot of people ask me – OK, a few people. Ok one person did, once- why I moved out to the west for college, and the answer is pretty simple. To get the hell away from NJ. My otherwise-useless counselor actually asked, ‘are you sure you want to go to Colorado? Nobody from our school has ever applied there before,” and that sealed the deal. So fast forward parties, classes, regrets, and four and a half years later I moved to UB. And here I am. Teething. I was seriously considering a pacifier yesterday but I’m not sure they make those for wisdom teeth. I’m also not sure what the Mongolian or sign language word is for pacifier. What’s tragic is that at my current age, my mother was looking after me…and I was the one teething then too. And since she’s still taking care of me, I guess not much has changed.

Dentist tomorrow morning. Hope the ice cream hasn’t left a mark (apart from on the weighing scale).



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I am not a nice person.

I always told myself I would take a deep breath and really, really think about what I wanted to say before I started blogging. Lay it all out, keep it amusing yet concise. Show the world what that hundredsofthousandsofdollars creative writing degree taught me. Be the next Hemingway, minus the caucasian, male and depressed parts. Two years later, I figured that wasn’t going to happen and it was time to sit down and ramble. Sorry, CC.

The reason I finally gave in and decided to start blogging tonight is because I was stood up. Oh and I was stood up by not one, but two people. And that too, via Skype. You know how it goes- you whatsapp and facebook message and set it all up, and then boom, one has to go to a dance with his boyfriend and the other has to go to work and here you are with just your tub of strawberry ice cream and a stuffed puppy next to you at 11pm on a Saturday night. Or maybe that’s just me. As the usual feelings of despondency crept up, no doubt exacerbated by Miley complaining about a wrecking ball in the background, I decided to see what other mid-twenties around the globe are up to. So instead of texting a friend, I googled it.

Did you know we’re basically a horrifically sad generation? Don’t believe it? Do a quick google search for mid-twenties. Nothing else, just ‘mid-twenties’. Go ahead, I’ll wait here with my ice cream.

Now scroll on down to the bottom.Image

Crisis, depression, breakdown, weight gain – apparently the mid-twenties are an evil phase for all of us. As well as a popular theme for parties, of course. But you know how they say misery loves company? Absolutely true. It’s such a great feeling to know other people are unhappy at my age too. Every few days I consider deleting my social connections to the world – facebook, twitter, viber, the works – because I don’t want to hear about people being happy and successful. Yes, even the people I know. But let’s be real, how many of those people on our networks are really our friends and not people we left on because they’re fun to facebook stalk every once in a while? Be honest now. I’m going to go with an answer of maybe…15 people. 20 on a good day.

And thus the title of this entry – I am not a nice person. I have never claimed to be one, I don’t have high hopes of becoming one, and no particular desire to be perceived as one. I have found, lately, that I am deteriorating into a less tolerant and perhaps even less nice individual as time passes. And I attribute that to my current situation – I am single, in my twenties and… stuck in Mongolia.

So essentially, I intend to present my life as a twenty-something single lady (hit it Beyoncé), friendless and stranded for the time being. I’m cynical, broke and basically a bitch, so don’t expect rainbows and bunnies anytime soon. Stay tuned folks.

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