Goodbye cruel world. Put a fork in me, I done.

Yazzo has tagged me with a meme. When Blogistan's Rebel Child Extrordinaire deigns to participate in these self-aggrandizing nonsenses (editor's prerogative, make up word usage), then who am I to protest. Saves me from actually having to hammer out something worth sharing anyways. Not that I ever do. So without further ado, A WHOLE LOT OF NOTHING!

Three things that scare me:
1. Banks.
2. Sneaky people who appear to be nice and simple and then go and do dastardly deeds. If you're evil, please wear a sign stating as much on your forehead please. Thank you.
3. Running out of salt

Three people who make me laugh:

1. My lil bro, Knicq, Hemmie and Chai (Cheater! Putting them in groups she is!)
2. Idiot public relations-walas of all kinds (SAP Users Group? Inviting me to attend crucial events but not telling me when they happen, trying to convince me that an interview with a box company would be stellar for the local news pages of my tabloid)
3. Anyone really. I'm the moron who'll be sitting in on an important presentation on coastal development and will giggle every time the speaker says 'concrete slaps' instead of 'slabs')

Three things I love:
1. My family
2. My religion
3. My God

Three things I hate:
1. Politics
2. Lies
3. Unkindness

Three things I don’t understand:

Only THREE?
1. People who have sex changes. What's that all about?
2. Racism. Um, aren't we all related somehow anyways?
3. The laws of physics. I WANT TO FLY DAMNIT!

Three things on my desk:
1. A little plastic bull to ward off the BS (so says A, who gifted it to me with the instruction of hurling it at the boss next time he spouts hot air at me)
2. Nestle coffee creamer - "Only 20 calories per serving! Remarkable for something that tastes exactly like chalk!"
3. Owl-shaped candy dispenser.

Three things I’m doing right now:
1. Coughing. Stupid lungs. They're failing me and I'm about to give the job to my far more reliable pancreas. It never acts up.
2. Trying to plan a super productive day that does not involve changing out of my PJs
3. Procrastinating.

Three things I want to do before I die:
1. Go for Hajj
2. Release myself from the wheel, attain Nirvana and free myself from the self.
3. Live.

Three things I can do:

1. Meld. I'm a total chameleon. Beware.
2. Impressions of people I know.
3. Brazenly lie with a straight face. ("I'd love to come out, but I'm a recovering alcoholic." "I know I look young for 32." "I had leprosy once, but it got better.")

Three things you should listen to:

1. My parents. Cuz if you listen to them, maybe I won't have to.
2. The fajr adhan, when the birds are waking up and all is silent.
3. The stuff in between words.

Three things I’d like to learn:
1. How to shut up
2. How to be selfless
3. How to juggle, dance, sing, speak many languages, write, draw, paint, smile, and stand up straight.

Three favorite foods:
1. Apples
2. Corn chips
3. Popcorn

Three beverages I drink regularly:
1. Tea/chai. My aunt came up with a saying to explain my dietary habits - "The engine of Aniraz is fuelled by chai." (Aniraz ki machine chai pay chalti hai)
2. Vater (cuz it's healthy, foo!)
3. Diet Pepsi.

Three TV shows/books I watched/read as a child:
1. Chronicles of Narnia
2. Little House of the Prairie
3. Transformers

Three people I would like to tag:

1. Abez
2. Hemmie
3. Knicq

“Hi Aniraz,

You have been cordially invited to the SAP Users Group dinner that takes place on …”

Um, well, I guess I can be sorta exploitive of the stupider members of the human race but I didn't know that warranted gala dinner and exclusive club membership.

So I occasionally play back-catcher on my softball team. When I say occasionally, I mean whenever we end up having eight really good players - and me. So I get to stand behind the home plate, suspiciously close to a swinging bat, a fast moving ball and an irritable ump. I think the team is trying to tell me something. But I can't figure out what.

It's not all bad though. For one, I don't fall asleep. I'm a bit notorious for my two second attention span. I like the outfield, cuz I get the chance to run (coach says I've got 'good wheels') and I'm not so close to the firing line that is infield - but it can get a little too quiet out there. That's when I start turning cartwheels or fashioning my mitt into a rakish hat. Which El Coach Man does not find amusing.

So catching means I'm involved in each play, which I can delude myself into thinking makes me a crucial player. After all, if I didn't catch the pitches and throw them back to the pitcher, well, then the game would come to a grinding halt, would it not? Indeed. Until the pitcher got another ball and aimed it at my megalomaniacal skull, but never you mind. And if I sort of squint, I can blur out the batter and the fielders, so it seems like just me and the pitcher are playing catch. Except for that annoying wooden stick that keeps swinging close to my head.

Funny thing about catching (two games in, I have acquired great wisdom), is one realizes that no one else is there to get your back. As fielders, you always back up each other so if one fumbles it, the other is only a step behind. But there's no back BACK catcher. I had this revelation when the batter hit a foul, and the damn ump didn't even TRY to catch it. Neither did I, but that's beside the point. I sorta glared at him, and he sorta glared at me, and then I remembered that I was supposed to go after fouls. Turns out, if I catch them in-air, then I've got an out. But still, he coulda made an effort - beastard!

I'm beginning to think though, this may be my calling. Sure I've been an outfielder since I was knee-high to a gadfly, but perhaps it's all been for naught. First off, catching provides the best opportunity for collective passive aggressive releases against the cheeky Owl. While as a fielder it was only a batter who had the chance to bean me for my random commentary and fluctuating ability, as a catcher in theory any position can lob the rock at me.

And sure, putting your fastest runner in the position that has the most ground to cover would be sort of smart - but what about your best sitter? Years of power squat exercises and desk-rotting means I can sit in catching position for hours and not even get a cramp. Just don't ask me to stand up suddenly. The world gets dark and mushy. That's why the ump should chase fouls for me. Duh.

If that wasn't Kismet-ic enough, how about the fact that I'm the one player who doesn't gripe when they take a ball to the body. All the other girls are all "Damn, now I can't wear shorts for a week!" and "My toe has turned purple but it's not boot season! Woe is me!" Well, I'm covered. From head to toe. So it doesn't matter if I get hit - as any normal catcher would be and the abnormal me even more so. You won't hear me complaining that a crazy pitch had ruined my pegs. Not that they aren't ruined. They is. I've got four blue goose eggs on my shins. But no one sees 'em so pooh.

And the clincher - I get to bother the ump. He thanked me for saving his knee cap from an off-side ball. I told him if catching was going to cost my my skirts. damned if I'd let him lose out too. He'd better be in a fetching mini next week though, otherwise I want my money back.

Can we not have a ruling? Owl is not edible. She does not taste good. All matter of bugs and suchlike creatures need to accept this and quit taking bites out of me. And spread the word. If you've lived to tell the tale - post-Owl-nibbling - then tell your creepy crawly mates that indeed, there is no blood in her, she tastes like Windex, her skin is ashy and she has no nutritional content whatsoever.

And my ELBOW of all places? GRAAAH

Once and for all – I am not a disloyal Pakistani, an Aryan Indian or an Arab with a speech impediment. I’m an AMERICAN. For corn’s sake, what is so hard to understand about that?! Why the hell do people keep giving me these pitying looks when I tell them my nationality – like I’m so obviously lying about it. Do I really look like I need to front that badly?

Er, is it just me, or is it a bit odd to find the toilet seat up – in the ladies’ room?

We all go through life trying to manipulate how we’ll appear in the faded photoalbum of memory. When I was a kid, I wanted to just be tough. My motto was ‘anything you can do I can do better’ and got rather burnt trying to live it. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be damn smart and filled my little head with all the classics, philosophy, and data I could hold. When I was a young adult I wanted to be known as capable and took on anything and everything thrown my way.

As a grownup, I’ve tried to be a mix of all those things, a gritty, intelligent and talented professional. But what in the end do I get remembered for? My fluency in scientific jargon, understanding of written nuance, penchant for working six day weeks or fearlessness in standing up to the boss? Nope.

“You’re bloody funny Aniraz.”
“I’ll miss your sense of humour.”
“One of the most super sarcastic people I’ve ever met.”
"When are you going to quit your day job and just be a smart-ass full time?"

So much for being a gutsy, would-be analyst, go getter. I'm not going to be remembered for discovering the cure to the common cold, bringing about world peace, or writing the novel of the 21st century. Due only partially to the fact that, er, I haven't. But also cuz apparently, what really stands out is the fact that I can make you laugh.

Ladies and gents, I am a clown.

Might as well get myself a red nose and accept the truth.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6316765.stm

Now I don't feel so bad about my own manky socks. If anyone says anything, next time I'm telling them it's a world leader thing.