BluE Scrubs

I watched Grease documentary last night. John Travolta is now Mr. Podgy and Olivia is Mrs. Stretchy. She looked like she just had a blow from a wind tunnel. Funny how..

I can till remember the sweats pawned, quads cramped as I cycled up and down the hilly road to the Mayflower theatre just to get those cheap student tickets for me and my energetically challenged housemates.

The tickets had to be purchased on that particular day before certain time, so I frantically paddled after being volunteered by my 'beloved' friends. We all had a fantastic night in the end. The show was stormingly colourful, vibrant and explosive with choruses from my favourite tracks. £18 well spent.

We go together like ramma lamma lamma ka dinga da dinga dong
Remembered forever as shoo-bop sha whada whadda yippidy boom da boom
Chang chang changity chang shoo bop
that's the way it should be
Waooo Yeah!!!!!

That's what I had in my groggy head when I yanked open the curtains this morning. Owhhh me head!


Amazingly, I felt like I had enough sleep albeit my job induced crepuscular behaviour past couple of days and needless to say the next few days as well. I sprung to my feet and did my yoga ritual.


Somehow it felt a little bit stale from religiously repeating the same coordinates over and over again. Nevertheless, I felt good, rejuvenated, unhassled, unwound, -simply fantastic.


I am still puzzled as to why between then and now, as rightly predicted by Mystic Meg on her horrorspock, my mood had pendulumed to completely the opposite.


A crescendo inclination to bark at a certain lackadaisical creature which roam this planet earth with no regards to the livings or the deads, was carefully contained to start with . Alas, went kappow in the end despite all measures. I have allowed certain energy ruined my morning. So not cool. Bitch.


Anger aside. Maggie, my Polish flatmate is now back from her extended Christmas leave. She looked absolutely refreshed. She must have missed those bedroom lambada with Mr. Maggie hence exercised them to her heart content. I guessed, by the glow she had.


She was not happy though. Her suitcase had done a mysterious sojourn of it's own and decided to hop on another flight. So she returned, with face forlorned, anxious because she had some books in there which had helped her to become what she is today.


She just had to have the books. I am guessing it's a collection of cardiology books but it could also be some copies of the bible. She didn't say which but she was most upset.


Maggie has a very thick accent. The way she arranged her words and dropped scattered puns throughout her sentences, make me anticipate her face to lit up everytime she finished a sentence as though saying 'You agree, yaaahh?'


And I always say Yaaah ,and only later ask her what she meant if the subsequent conversation didn't quite make sense.


I guess, when a language is not our mother tongue, we always try to compensate the lack of fluency by facial expressions, sound effects and hand gestures. Sometimes, some, overdo it resulting in an afternoon mopping the floor from pasta sauce spillage when an attempt to imitate a lousy stewardess went horribly wrong. I can only sympathize.


It means now I have to obsessively scrub the bathtub after each bath and put away pots and pans from the strainer. She's particular like that. Hope the suitcase will do the knock on the door, first thing tomorrow morning.