Return to Innocence???

It’s been a pretty lousy two and a half months in college. The academics aren’t bad, actually, they are good. Apart from that, I have had constant reminders that people are not to be trusted. That the winner always writes the history. That winning is everything. That how you win is inconsequential. That nothing else matters.

That apart, there are these people who remind you sometime that there is still some innocence left in the world after all. This double-X chromosome friend of mine, whom I bumped into the other day, is a prime example of that - most of the times, at least. I might be wrong about the whole thing, but I don’t have too many friends of the opposite sex which I suspect is the result of a cosmic screw up with my DNA. Maybe one day, far in the future, scientist will learn why women hate some men and avoid them when the map my chromosomes.

So, the lady was shooting hoops when I happened to be in the near vicinity. Probably out of social protocol that demands that you greet an acquaintance made her say, “Hi…” She then went of to describe the sand dunes back at home. “It’s like the sea…waves you know…”, she said and then proceed to mime waves with her hands. She whistled and her hand was the Boeing-747 on which she flew back home, when I asked her when she was flying back.

Hell…why can’t I once again be that little boy whose biggest worry in life was whether he would get the window seat on the school bus the next day. He worried all night and then when he woke up the next day with a master plan, he realized that it was a Sunday. And, then he went out and played in the mud and tossed his precious tennis ball around.

Update...

I finally got a connection to the Internet and, of course, the World Wide Web from my room. I guess I will be posting a tad more frequently. Kasht ke like maafi chahatha hoon...

Yesterday figures in the top ten of the worst days of my life. I got two rejects from jobs that I really wanted. Then I asked this really sweet girl out for dinner and guess what...I GOT REJECTED.

I am currently waiting for my body to start rejecting my internal organs one by one.

Please do leave a white lilly on my grave.







PS: I have a job but I dunno if it will be interesting. And if you work on random number generators or know someone who does please let me know. I need some help. Drop me a mail at bluebarnacle[at]gmail.com

Yeeeeeeeeeeeha!

1000. I love you all!

I make people uncomfotable...

Sigh…! I make women uncomfortable, and something tells me that this is just half the story. And for once, I don’t want to hear the rest of it.

Apparently, women don’t like it when people can talk about sex without ahem-ing and err-ing. So, what is the big deal anyway, eh? Face it…someday you will realize that you want to have kids and I am pretty sure that you know storks don’t bring home little babies. And, if God had wanted to make sex a bad thing then he wouldn’t have made it so enjoyable.

But maybe I am wrong…sex is over rated.

I wish I could make people disappear.

So...

This is an attempt at writing after a really really long time. The last few did not manage to even hit double - digits in terms of the number of lines or for that matter, manage to get off the mark in making sense.

After, trying to evade writing code for the project that I am doing I figured out that there was no way out. The only way I was going to be even a shred closer to coming up with something new, or even learn something was by getting my hands dirty. The funny thing is that it wasn’t all that bad when I got down to doing it – yes – it took me three failed attempts before I came up with a working program. There were a lot of things that I learned in course of the attempt – including things that I thought were pointless in college partially because they seemed hard to understand or were taught by useless teachers.

There is something that we all forget when we step into college. It’s probably the euphoria that is result of cracking an all-India examination, doing maybe passably well enough to get a seat in a college of national repute. Agreed that the teaching in colleges in India leaves much to be desired, but there is some little good in it surely. I am not trying to defend bad teaching, all I am saying is that maybe we should try to listen a little more in class – even if the teacher is a sadistic bitch, a BSc flunker or a wig-wearing sex-deprived fascist.

Somewhere in that mess that they dole out is a sliver of useful information that is useful. Ask me. KC talked all about how he asked his wife for her opinion while buying shirts but in the end still picked up the nasty yellow one with lime-green polka dots. Somewhere in the middle of all that he happened to mention what a trie was. Turns out that this thing is a very good way of storing lexically ordered stuff. My entire code hinges on the fact that searching in tries takes linear time when implemented with linked lists. Icing…a generous 5000 buck stipend for two whole months. And tax-free.


And, before all you bigshots doing bigshot internships say something – my guide said he would be more than happy to give me a reference.

Bah...!

The Germans are rough lot. The Italians are the biggest fakers. At least, Totti's wife is a pornstar!

Yipee...

Portugal won!!!What a team, what a game!!!

Damn...!

Argentina, so f***ing deserved to win! Dammit...now Klinsman get to wave his ass around.

Damn!!!

I wish...

I went to this concert yesterday night by a really famous dude. Carnatic classical. And every single time I listen to good music it happens to me. And it happened again to me yesterday.

Twenty years worth of repent…ok, maybe fifteen years comes out in one nasty shot that renders me incapable of thought and sensible speech. Somewhere, deep down inside, I guess I still nurse that grudge against my dad and fate that I had to move around the country so often, never staying long enough in one place. I always wanted to learn music – more specifically – learn to play an instrument. But, that has eluded me for so long that right now I wish I had the guts to give up everything that I am doing now and learn music. Maybe I’ll suck at it, but I am ready to accept that. I want to give it a shot.

Somehow, it’s been drilled into me that I should study and get a degree. A something to fall back upon – a Plan B. I see my friends who play the guitar, drums, violin, mridangam… and I feel jealous that I cannot play any instrument. However bad it may sound.

It isn’t that I did not try. I learnt vocal for a year when I was in class five and then when I reached the point where I sounded a little better than a toad with laryngitis, my dad moved to Allahabad, where the nearest teacher lived 25 kilometers away. In Bangalore, I learnt violin for a month – the teacher wasn’t interested in teaching and I had been brainwashed to believe that if I did not get into one of the IITs, it was the end of the world as I knew it.

After I joined engineering I learnt to play the mandolin for a month. I even brought one and I still strum some weird tune on it occasionally. I had to give it up because now I had been brainwashed to believe that if I did my engineering course well I could go abroad to study. And my teacher lived 365 kilometers away. So far so good, so what?

I am not doing all that badly in college but somehow the past three years have convinced me that I am not special. Not the kind who would make the front page of the newspaper someday for having invented or discovered something. I am never going to sit for diner with the king of Sweden or make jokes like “Now that you have seen the Raman effect on wine, you want to see the effect of wine on Raman…” No one is going to call me up and ask me to host a mega-quiz for 5000 school kids.

But, maybe if I had learnt to play something, I would have had the chance to go on stage…maybe just once, because I would have sucked anyways…and maybe one single person would have clapped when I finished.

I just wish…

Overheard...

I was at the bus-stop yesterday night waiting for a bus to go back home. As is normal for me to do, I was beating away at imaginary drums and shredding imaginary riffs on a guitar. People around were giving me strange looks but they didn’t know the mystical therapeutic powers of ‘Overture 1928’ by Dream Theater from the album ‘Scenes from a Memory’.

So, there I was, totally lost in my world, on a huge stage surrounded by thousands of people and bathed in eerie strobe lights when it began raining. Then, this kinda-cute looking girl decides that getting wet in the rain isn’t a good idea and ran under the very shelter that was my stage. Damn!...but the nice guy that I am I sat quietly…Then she whips out her oh-so-fancy-and-nifty-with-neon-lights-toothbrush-and-makeup-kit mobile phone and begins jabbering into it.

Now, the things is that, I don’t listen in on other people’s conversations, especially ones in which I can hear only one side, but the lady’s concept of speaking in a low voice was missing something – namely, the low voice. She was drowning out the noise of the eight-o-clock rush hour traffic…

I kept still for sometime, hoping that seeing an enthusiastic drummer go “statue!” in the middle of an involved drum solo sent out a subtle message that screamed “SHUT UP ALREADY!!!”. No go…she went on and on. I whipped out a pad and a pen and started taking down notes, and this is how the conversation went…

“I thought that you people were angry with me so I stopped keeping in touch with you, but then now that I have called you and it’s all cleared; I will call you people up regularly…” (damn…how many more conversations do I have to endure?)

“This Jaffer(?) is crazy, ya. Everyday in the morning he keeps sending these romantic messages and good morning messages…”(People who have sense say "good morning" in the morning and "shut up" when you are loud…)

“I promised my friend that I would watch Da Vinci Code with her, but I want to read the book before I watch it…”(God, help you friend. Or alternatively, you could put duct tape on her mouth when you are watching the movie…)

“No…but I want to read the book first. I mean…I have to understand something about all this fundoo stuff before I watch the movie, no??? It’s become like studying for one exam…but I have finished only three chapters. You know, people tell me sometimes that books are dragging in the beginning but later they get so gripping that you can’t put the book down at all…I hope it like that for me[sic!]” (Mr.Brown, please please…grip her around the neck. And could you make it really tight…?)

“You wanted to meet in Forum, but that is so far from your office no?”(Yes, now could you get away real far from me…)

“Oh…it is all very expensive there??? So what do you do – just window shopping?”(No, they sweep the floors, clean toilets and look for lost puppies to scrounge up enough money to buy a piddly little panty that costs as much as half the GDP of a small country…duh!)

“So your boss is helping you out because he is leaving. So nice of him, ya. You like your work and all no?”(Oooo…how sweet. The poor chap is quitting because of your stupid calls maybe. Have a heart you loud-mouthed nincompoop…)

“Actually I am meeting this senior of mine from BITS Pilani, who has come for his holidays from the US for lunch.”(Don’t tell me you studied there….ah…well figures…no one told you to keep your voice down in the middle of the desert did they?)

“He keeps talking about all this things in Da Vinci Code…Mary Magdalene, Holy Grail, Priory of Sion and all that. I googled them all yesterday so that I don’t feel bored tomorrow. He is so fundoo, you know…”( Yes, I know. Thank you. He probably googled it too, but then both of you are from the middle of a desert)

And then, the phone went dead. I think the connection was broken and the network was too clogged to take the load of an entirely pointless call. For once, I actually prayed that the networks would remain clogged till the bus arrived. And they did. She kept looking at her phone and cursed it hoping it would turn into a frog or something. Nothing of that sort happened, probably because she googled her spells…

Back in black!

I started writing this post and somehow my brain(or that lump in my skull that masquerades as a brain, but in reality is a hunk of the Titanic) wandered off. Brains(yes…I know it is a rusted, barnacled hunk of metal, but humor me) can very easily wander off when you are in a lab trying to work on some seemingly insurmountable problem. Mine wanders for no particular reason at all.

For the record, I am once again doing a project at the Department of Management Studies at the Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore. The project is all confidential and hush-hush so all I can tell you is that it does not involve mayonnaise, engine-oil or live animals. In other words, no animals were harmed during this project. Save me. If that sounded impressive and you think I am a really cool guy, please drop me a mail at bluebarnacle@gmail.com and I shall be more that happy to dispel your illusion.

So, getting back to wandering brains, mine wandered off for a bit of grazing and I read some old e-mails that have accumulated over the past couple of years. It starts of with a punk who slowly becomes this smart-aleck, then a know-it-all-wisecrack and then finally this formal sounding serious guy who seems to have figured out the answer to life, the universe and everything else. It looks like me and the answer is not forty-two. It’s not entirely new, this exercise, - I keep doing this once in about 6 months and each time a little new pattern pops out, a tiny piece of the jigsaw fits in and I eat another sandwich.
I rarely delete mails that are from real people.

It’s been a long time since I have posted anything and yet for some reason the counter keeps ticking. Someone is checking my blog and I would dearly like to know a) if it is a real person, b)if I know them, c)why do you keep checking my blog and d)do you like it. If you do like it(or even if you don’t) then, please leave a comment or drop me a mail at bluebarnacle@gmail.com. That’s the same id twice in this post. Saves you the trouble of scrolling up. And, yes, if you think you might have a friend or a relative who might like reading it, direct them to my blog.

I happened to go to this quiz that was happening at this local college here in Bangalore. Most colleges here have a fairly normal male-female ratio that is almost equal. Unlike the case in my college where it is 13:1. To cut a long story short, I found myself in the company of two really cute and interesting women, thanks to an old friend. They were friends of his. The average guy from my college would immediately start plotting pick-up lines and ways to hit on them, but all I could think of was data mining and linear programming. I am not gay which, now, implies that I am a)stupid, b)blind, c)decent or d)Don’t know/Can’t say. You choose. Following this realization that I was probably the biggest reason for an abnormally high national average age for people having girlfriends/boyfriends and that I was probably screwing up some other more gifted guys chances I left the place, got home, ate slept, made pasta and sandwiches, spent the night at the lab and wrote this.

So, much for now. More in a couple of days.

Why do women...have it easy in life?

Why do women have it easy in life? Oh, don’t get me wrong…I am not a women hater or anything, it’s just that I find it a little strange that somehow a woman gets it a little easier in life.

Yes…I can see all of you ladies smacking your lips and thinking, “Hey little fool, come right here. I have a thing or two to say to you about equality and childbirth, to just name a few…” Hang on…all I am going to say is from the perspective of a 20-year old male with no special abilities or claims to fame. I am that chap you see at the bus stop in faded jeans and t-shirt, with a baseball cap stuck on the head at an odd angle and the worn-out backpack slung over an arm.

I, have no intention to even trying to prove women are in any way inferior to men. They aren’t. I simply intend to say a few things the way I have seen it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Women, have this really super ability to make you feel like a little sorry worm that got cut into half because he was stuck in an apple. You will blow up at that woman you love and it won’t be without reason, but still when that anger goes down, you will still pick p that phone with butterflies in your stomach and call up to say sorry. Maybe, you will, on purpose, make a fool of yourself just to hear her laugh.

Women are asked out by men. As far as I know, not one of my friends has been asked out by a woman. And, neither have I. The fact that I study in an engineering college that is way out in the boondocks does not help. Dammit…I’d kill to have a girl walk up to me and say, “Hi…I’ve seen you around quite a bit. Interesting chap, you seem to be. What say coffee?” Gawd…that don’t look like it is going to happen in the next couple of…hmm...let’s see…centuries??? If any girl, who however remotely, has some plan like that is reading this, then please…please come by and pop the question. I promise I will go and get that cappuccino. The only condition being that you will have to tell your boy-friend not to beat me up.

There is something God gave the fairer sex a little more. I absolutely cannot say no to them. Or at least, that pleading or coy or no-what-do-you-think-you-are-going-to-say look dissolves every little bit or resistance that I may have had. It’s always “Awww…al right…never mind. Trust me, it is ok. No sweat!” I have faced the wrath of a demented homicidal serial-flunker teacher, because I couldn’t say no.

I accept that the sweetest things that God made were women. There are things that will come tumbling out easily in front of your girl or your mom that will not in front of anyone else, despite the obscene amounts of alcohol that’s taking place of the blood in you. Somehow, you ladies are more receptive to emotions than men. We are by default deterministic finite state automatons. Never mind if you don’t know what they are.

What started out as a rant, turned into this. But, just so that I can get rid of the feeling…have a care. We too have a heart. Despite all the workout and pumping iron, we also can get hurt deep inside when you play around with our feelings. But, hey I still love you!

This is in fond remembrance of Cahndru, who passed away last Sunday in an unfortunate accident at a waterfall. This is also a reminder to people that you can never ever predict stuff. Please be careful when there is water around. Just be careful…always. This is a hear-felt request. Chandru, we miss you.

I hate...

This is indeed a strange tag. I have been tagged by IfITellYaI’llHaveToKillYa to come up a list of things that I hate. And, it comes at a time, when I have really tried hard to convince myself beyond doubt that I don’t hate anything. I dislike but, I do not hate. It may seem stupid, but somewhere along the line I realized that the more you hate things, the more they start to get to you. So, I’ll make a little change to the terms of the tag. I’ll list things/people that I dislike in no particular order.

I started out by listing ‘things’, but then I ran out of stuff to list. Here is a new one slightly redone.

Thus, I cannot stand…

1. …people who try to invade your privacy. Everyone has stuff that they would like to keep to themselves because they are private. It could be anything – secrets, emotions, relationships or whatever. The point is respect that. I absolutely detest people trying to read over my shoulder when I am writing something.
2. …people who try to bend others to get their way. Everyone has a right to be allowed to think. At the same time learn to stand up for yourself. If you don’t then you are no different from that little ball of plasticine that can either be molded into a nice little figure of a Greek God or an ugly, evil looking phallus.
3. …Windows. Or any Microsoft product. They are terrible. Period.
4. … the feeling of acidic burning after an especially long session of drinking.
5. … not being able to tell someone that you love them, when that is the only thing you want to do. The only thing that is left to do.
6. …the thought that someday because of this inability to express myself, I just might end up all alone in a little one-bedroom flat in the middle of a huge city somewhere in the world.
7. …exactly two people in the world. These are the only two cases where probably the dislike borders on intense hate. Fuckhead’s is one and the other one – I hope you get castrated by some fanatical Neo-Nazis.

That’s all I guess. The rest, if any, I have learnt to live with. It’s been a difficult post to write. I guess it is true when they say it is easier to love than to hate. I bet I could come up with fifty things that I love in a jiffy, but seven things that I hate took me three long days.

Kindly bear with all the abstraction. I promise to post something that involves watching porn, naked women, drunken standup comedy and other politically incorrect things soon.

Hey look...

I added a counter to my blog. Now, when i hit the big numbers I can proudly flaunt my status as a popular blogger. With absolutely no shame, here goes...tell all your friends and folks about my blog. Send them a link and ask them to read it!

Thankyou all you lovely people.

Oh...and Iffitellyaillhavetokillya tagged me to write a list of things that I hate. I am working on it. It should be up soon...God promise!

Om

This weekend a bunch of guys and me, we simply packed our bags and took for a weekend to lots of sun, sandy beaches and bikini clad babes. We got all of that and some brilliant pics that I shall put online soon and I saw my first topless woman. Funnily enough, that and all the scantily clad women, who were absolute bombshells, did not even make the least difference to me.
Gah…guess I am a goner!

Oh..by the way, visit Om beach in Gokarna if you can!
Incident, our annual cul-fest starts today, but strangely I am not looking forward to it.

Lost in Time

When you suddenly find that you are missing time, then something is really weird or something somewhere has gone terribly wrong. Consider this…

I distinctly remember looking at my watch, which read about 3:20pm, when I left the lab and walked about a hundred and fifty meters to the little shack. Allowing for five minutes to dawdle and the average walking speed of humans being about 4kmph I must have reached the shack at approximately in about 167 seconds or about 2.7 minutes. Again, I shall approximate it to 5 minutes. Which means I reached the shack at 3:30pm, when I lit a cigarette and smoked it.

Krishna gave me the cup of coffee as I stubbed out the cigarette. The time should now read about 3:35pm, because I know for a fact that I take about five minutes on the average to smoke a fag.

I glance at my watch which read 4:00pm now!!!!! I simply have no recollection about 25 minutes except a dull pain around my temple. I haven’t blacked out or fallen because then I would have woken up in a hospital or with water on my face. Which wasn’t the case. I don’t know what happened, but I just lost twenty-five minutes of my life and I have no clue.

I know this must sound like a blurb out of some sci-fi movies about aliens, but I swear all this is 100% true. I checked out all the times with my friends. Am I going crazy?

“I just cant help myself, I’m feeling like I’m going out of my head. Uncanny strange déjà vu, but I don’t mind. I hope to find the truth…”

Strange déjà vu, Scenes from a Memory - Dream Theater.

Please help me...

Honestly, what’s the easiest way to commit a suicide? Fast and quick?

Asshole's Fables

A little boy woke up on a bright Sunday morning feeling all happy and healthy. Then he proceeded to learn more about his country and about its glorious past. In the after noon he ate cold and refreshing butterscotch ice-cream.
In the evening he went with his friend to a pub and drank himself senseless. He stared at a hot lady in a white dress who was smoking and drinking coffee in the pub. He did not stare because he had carnal thoughts on his mind, but simply because he was drunk like a dead cockroach and was unable to move his head. She happened to be in the line of his vision.
On his way back he felt very bad about having eaten so much of calories and for having consumed so much of alcohol. It would make his tummy that was flattening of late into a junkyard of fat. So, he came back and asked a fat friend to stand on his foot as he did a hundred and fifty stomach crunches. He then felt a little better. Then, some one called him on his battered cell phone and he spoke for forty minutes. It was someone he hadn’t spoken to in a long time. Some one he missed.
He continued his workout with thirty leg lifts and thirty push ups at the end of which he was competing with his unwashed sweaty socks. Out of concern for his room mate, he bathed.
He slept that night at four, thinking while waiting to fall asleep.
He woke up the next day at seven in the morning and attended eleven straight hours of class. People asked him all day long whether he had returned from Ethiopia. He slept early and the next day he wrote this story.

Moral of the story
One pinacolada, one kamikaze, two fire shooters and a thirty-shot of Romanov and exercise don’t go together. Not if you want to feel like a chewing gum that has been chewed for sixteen hours.
But they make for good timepass writing…

Drink responsibly. Don’t puke in the pub.

The babe wore red...

This is a story that I wrote for the college yearbook. Please tell me what you think about it people.

*************************

The bullets slammed into the wooden walls one after the other. Somewhere in the distance cannons boomed, the shells landing on households – the shrapnel shredding everything in its path, including human flesh – innocent or not.

The concept of innocence and guilty became skewed in the middle of an armed struggle. Brainwashed and disillusioned, young boys picked up guns when they should have been playing with toys and reading books. The heat of youth was what the ‘leaders’ counted on for a win. The reckless abandon that children enjoyed, they turned into a killing machine.

Ajay crouched with his wife, Anjali, and little Yatin in the corner. Anjali shielded Yatin with her body, lest he be hurt by flying debris. Ajay held the old rifle tightly, aware that if the militants stormed in, he had little chance of protecting his family. He was a man pulled into the fight against his will and wish. Neighbors with whom they had celebrated Id and Diwali, with the same joy were now mortal enemies.

Religion that had meant nothing more than simply a God to believe in, no matter what he was called, and to pray to in times of sorrow had split them apart. This wasn’t something that he or his neighbors had done. It was the result of dirty politics played in carpeted corridors and halls in the capital. It was the result of a few fanatical men who stopped at nothing to achieve what they believed in. No price was too high – not even a few thousand innocent deaths.

Yatin was barely a year old. The noise and Anjali’s tight grip made the baby scream at the top of his lungs. It was only a matter of time before they would be killed. Anjali fervently prayed, hoping for a miracle. The bullets continued to throw splinters over them. She wrapped her white shawl even more tightly around the baby. A drop of warm blood fell from a cut on her face on Yatin’s face and then slowly dissolved in the tears and flowed down his cheeks staining them crimson.

Kashmir that had once been paradise on earth had turned into a hell beyond imagination. The partition had created an irreversible situation. Strategically, the valley was important to both countries. Whoever controlled the mountains had the upper hand and neither side wanted to give that up.

Rashid ran from behind the low wall and took cover behind the shop on the corner. He had been hit by a stray bullet on the leg. He took a moment to recover his breath and planned his next move. He wasn’t going to last long. The bullet had severed several arteries and he was loosing blood fast. His end was near and he knew that. He just wanted to take as many as he could with him. He didn’t fear death as the others did. They had taught him that he would reach Heaven. He checked the safety on the AK-47 for the nth time.

Rashid was one of those who, by an unfortunate turn of events, had picked up the gun. It had happened quite sometime back. Eight months to be precise. He had returned home in the evening to find the front door open and a strange quietness that chilled his blood. He went in expecting the worst and found it. His family had been massacred –his mother, wife and three sisters. Their bodies riddled beyond recognition. He ran inside to see if the baby was still alive. The crib was empty. The rattle lay broken on the floor.

Rashid ignored the pain and fixed his sight on the house. It was a modest wooden structure – nondescript and plain like the hundred and thousand of houses in the valley. Between him and the front doors lay fifty yards of deserted road. He lifted his rifle and sprinted across the road. Bullets whined past and thumped harmlessly into the sidewalk. He burst in through the door, breaking it clean off its hinges with his sheer momentum. He began firing blindly.

Ajay and Anjali had been married three years and they were still childless. They had tried everything – medicines, treatment in the hospitals, quacks – but nothing seemed to work. Ajay taught history in the local school and Anjali sold flowers on the corner. Despite the circumstances, they were happy and in love with each other. She waited for him on the doorstep everyday in the evening. That day, he was late. Ajay walked past the house, when he heard the moans from inside. He walked inside to see a young girl in her finals moments of agony before dying. The bodies lay around bathed in blood. Then he heard the baby cry. He went inside and saw the little baby. He made his decision in an instant. He walked towards the baby and stepped on a rattle that lay there. He had picked the baby boy, wrapped in a shawl and taken it home. That was eight months ago.

The first bullet caught Anjali in the chest and she was dead before she hit the floor. Ajay took two bullets in his left arm, but managed to get a shot off before the next bullet blew his head apart. The rifle was loaded with buck shot and Rashid caught it full in the face. Yatin screamed as blood drenched him. He continued to scream as the blood soaked the shawl red.

*************************

That's about it for now. I went to see Rang De Basanti last Sunday. This very very pretty girl half my year is dying to talk to came and talked to me. Yes...she came and asked me f I could buy extra tickets for her. I said I would try but in the end I couldnt manage. Oh...that look on her face. Damn..! Oh and she is at least a couple of years older and from what I have heard women don't dig younger men.

Sigh!