Talk about vindictiveness.

In Sleeping Beauty, the one fairy that wasn't invited to the ceremony gatecrashed the party and cursed the princess to fall asleep after pricking herself on a spinning wheel and remain asleep, until she received true love's kiss.
Wow.

"If any of my present buddies don't invite me to their weddings and their children's birthday parties, I will curse their first born children."
That sounds so messed up.
The fact that these tales we listen to as children, are in fact wildly inappropriate, not the buddies getting married and having children bit.
Well, to be honest, that sounds pretty messed up too.

And not to plunge myself into the endless circle jerk that is true love, but really? She's been asleep for her entire teenage life in a tower that's surrounded by a practically impenetrable hymen of thorny vines and the like. And the prince has never even seen her. He travels all the way to wake her and suddenly, it's true love.
If you ask me, that's borderline rape.

Meh.

My brother hates Instagram.

That's right. He hates Instagram.

And with good reason too; not just because that's the opinion of the Internet Hivemind, or just to piss me off (I use the Instagram app on my phone like it's nobody's business, taking pictures of ridiculous things.)
And maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to agree with him.
According to him, the only way people can enjoy a good meal at a restaurant anymore is through the cellphone camera. If you haven't taken a picture and Instagrammed it then suddenly your meal isn't worth it anymore. And what is the deal with taking a perfectly clear picture of anything, and then applying a gritty yellow filter to it in order for it to be artsy? It's ridiculous.
And the hashtag rape on all the photos. Ugh.

Sometimes I think he is the only sensible person in this entire household. Heck, I know it.

And the same goes with any of the existing forms of social networking that people use today. Everyone has turned into an all-out, unabashed social media junkie.
Not long ago, a friend of mine admonished me (via text) for not peppering my text messages with enough emoticons. Another time, I got yelled at by another friend (in person) for not 'liking' any of her deep, insightful facebook posts.
These are the things we complain about now.
I suppose every generation has it's 'thing'. The 70s had disco, we have Instagram.

Obligatory Louis CK:

Clearly, times have changed. Not long ago, taking photos was a somewhat meaningful activity. As far as my family goes, we only took the camera out only for birthdays, or when we went on picnics and long trips. And I wasn't allowed anywhere near it, of course. Rolls and rolls of film would be submitted for developing into photos, and out of all of them, only a few would make it into an album.
Now, well, we don't have to lug the chunky Yashica around anymore when we travel, but suddenly the whole sacred ritual of taking photos has become pointless. "Oh, look! A wonderful sunset! I'll take a picture of it with my cellphone, add a fake edit to it so it looks grainy and vintage, and upload it to Instagram." Thing is, millions of people around the world are doing the very same thing, so your meaningful sunset is gone, lost in an endless sea of meaningful sunsets. Not so meaningful now, is it?

To quote from an article I was reading while I wrote this:

"We're drowning in a sea of photos and I think our ability to filter the good from the bad almost disappears. Why else do I see people sharing photos of their dinner every day? There are only so many ways you can to take a photo of sandwich you and a billion other people had for lunch. Would anyone care?

The urge to share things comes from human nature, but the uncurated photos we send out every day make us all less interested in them. Sadly, this applies even to the ones which are worth the time to look at. We feel the need to 'contribute' constantly, so we end up taking hundreds of photos and sharing them on Instagram to fill the void and feel, just for a moment, that we’ve made an impression."

Instagram may be a pointless activity to a lot of people. But 'being pointless' never stopped anyone from doing anything, ever. I will continue to take pictures of ridiculous things. My brother hates Instagram, not me.
But I do recognize that I have a problem, and I'll do my best not to get overwhelmingly obsessed with the whole thing. There are tv shows meant specifically for that purpose.

Hi. I am Snickerdoodle. I am a social media junkie. It has been 4 days since my last tweet and 2 days since my last post on Instagram.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

I hate having my hair cut. It's stupid and pointless.
And we're supposed to be 'The gender which gets haircuts recreationally.'
Snickerdoodle. Disproving female stereotypes since '94.

There is such a fine line between 'bad-ass haircut' and 'bad haircut that makes you look like an ass'.
How and why most people usually seem to make it to the former category, and I inevitably get stuck in the latter almost every time, is doomed to forever remain one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the universe.

When I went to get my hair cut yesterday, what I expected was roughly two inches shorter, slightly more manageable hair.

So imagine my shock and horror when my arch nemesis, The Hairstylist, eventually chopped my hair down to less than half its original length.
I couldn't say a word. I just sat in the chair, looking petrified at the mirror, while the wicked harpy hovered around me, snip-snip-snipping all my hair off. I couldn't scream, or cry, or anything. I just endured the injustice.
Quick. Somebody hand me a medal.

I realize how Samson must've felt.

My mum loves the haircut.
My brother says I look like a Resident Evil zombie.
My dad says to go study.

I look like a dude.
A fat boy. With curly hair.
And tits severe physical abnormalities.
Goddammit.
I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS OMG ASDFGHJKL; ;_;

#50: In which I babble about anime. This post is quite skippable.

50+ posts, and not a single one about anime? INCONCEIVABLE.

A while ago, I was ticking off all the anime I'd watched at some point of time on a checklist I found, and I found out I've watched 49 anime shows [completely or otherwise]. Some of them weren't even on the list, so my grand total comes up to over 50 shows. Probably.
FIFTY.

Dear Pre-9th std. Snickerdoodle,

You had no life. How did you manage to pass all those classes? What the hell man. That's unhealthy.

Regards,
12th std. Snickerdoodle.
-----------------------------

Most people seem to think that anime is juvenile. The logic is that anime is a bunch of cartoons, and cartoons are for kids. Hence QED.
Archer is a cartoon show. Archer is also probably the last show any sensible parent would let their kid watch. But it's a brilliant show, nevertheless.
The same goes for Death Note, an anime. Which also happens to be a psychological thriller about a guy who finds a notebook, which kills off the person whose name you decide to write in the book.
And hentai. Is hentai for kids? Didn't think so.
There shouldn't be anything wrong with enjoying watching anime and cartoons, regardless of age.

I like anime. I like manga. I like Jpop, Kpop and the whole lot. I like Vocaloid. I like Touhou Project.

That being said, I do not like every anime I've watched, or every manga I've read. For every good anime show out there, there's at least a hundred crappy ones. There's dozens of Jpop, Kpop and Vocaloid songs I hate. And many of the levels of Touhou make my eyes hurt.
I don't get it. People think that just because I like anime, I must like every anime that exists. I like music, but I don't like all the music that has been produced so far.
Yeah.

/rant
----------------------

Edit: This video. OMG. Touhou fans are crazy.

#3588: Stuck in limbo between gender stereotypes? You are not alone.

Tomboy; n.;

A girl who dresses and sometimes behaves the way boys are expected to, often into more masculine things like "stronger" sports, computers, or cars.

I've been called a tomboy all my life.
How did I ever get stuck with the stereotype in the first place? Maybe it was Dad's oversized cast-off t-shirts that I wore when I went to play outside. Maybe it was the super-short hairstyle I always seemed to have back in the day. One may never know.
I mean, sure, I played with Barbies and had a kitchen set, but I mostly used the kitchen set to prepare slightly ambiguous amalgams of mud, flour, leaves and other oddities. And the Barbies? I'd arrange and rearrange them until I'd get bored and drive my Godzilla through their living room.

I took Bharatanatyam lessons. For almost a decade. Yeah.
[I even wrote an exam, so I'm an official senior, or something.]
Whenever we put on performances, I usually played the male god, or, the villain, or the demon who has an intense battle with the hero[ine] and eventually gets slayed. Once I did get a chance to play a female, but I turned it down and asked to play a male instead. Why? Because the male dancers get a moustache drawn on their faces.
A moustache!

Right. Before I wander off into the faraway kingdom of repressed childhood memories, let me just cut to the chase.
I never was the 'typical' girl. Never wanted to be her. I just wanted to, teeth-gritting-cliches aside, be myself. You know, the kind of kid that could play Dress Up with the other girls and Mortal Kombat with the guys, without getting labelled.

But no. Of course not. I got the tomboy label slapped on my forehead for everyone to see. And with the label came all the expectations demanded by society of me.
"I shouldn't play with dolls. Because it's girly", "I shouldn't wear skirts. Skirts are for :girls:" et al.

Um, Society? Hello? The last time I checked, I was still very much a human female.

And once you get labelled, everything you do begins to reflect upon it. :Would a tomboy do this? Would a tomboy wear this?:
Even now, when I dress up for some occasion and look at myself in the mirror, a tiny voice at the back of my mind goes "Why am I dressing up all girly?"
I feel like a fraud. A liar.
Like a dude in girls' clothes.

Basically, the point is that labels, for lack of a better word, suck. The world can do without them. There's this whole fancy notion of what a :real: girl or guy should act and think like. A standard. A blueprint. Any failure to conform to the said blueprint earns you a stupid label that makes us seem so...ordinary. It's a cryin' shame.

Maiti out.

#42738: No hope for humanity.

I am so angry right now, I could flush an entire box of orange tic tacs down the toilet.

Apparently, a while before I returned home from tuition, a couple of guys tried to fuck around with the bees that live in our tree. They left when my mum threatened to call the police on them, but returned later and destroyed the hive to get to the honey.

:Rant:
HOW DARE YOU MESS WITH THE BEES, YOU THICKHEADED NINCOMPOOPS!
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I SET YOUR HOUSE ON FIRE BECAUSE I WANTED YOUR JAR OF CUT MANGO PICKLE?! GKL:KJHGFDSDGJKLKJHGFDS >:[
I HOPE YOU DIE SLOW PAINFUL DEATHS. MAY THE FLEAS OF A THOUSAND CAMELS INFEST YOUR ARMPITS!
:/Rant:

Okay, so Mum tells me they got stung and ran away. Small victory for the bees, considering their house was destroyed. Where will the bees go now? As of now, I can still see them on our tree, and I really hope they don't leave.
They're amazing little insects.
:[

Einstein [may or may not have; faulty sources] said, "If the bee disappears from the surface of the earth, man would have no more than four years to live."
Assuming he was right, humanity is sure as hell fucked.

Melancholy Molly and the Infinite Sadness/Sickness.

‎1 ‎October ‎2011.

I hate October.

Okay, so i don't hate October.  Who could possibly hate it, what with the advent of Autumn, leaves turning regal shades of golden, warm blankets, Halloween et al.
And my birthday's just a little over a month away too. Oh joy.

It's just that every year, October always brings with it a smorgasbord of diseases which i'm most likely to get.
Flu, fever, bronchitis, laryngitis, food poisoning...I'm a sickly kid.

It's hardly fair, is it? I mean, the extremely grueling two-week period of mid-term exams had just ended yesterday. Party time, right?
Wrong, apparently. I have to sit home with a raging viral fever, acute pharyngitis and tonsilitis while everybody else is out on exotic vacations, celebrating the end of mid-terms.
FFFFUUUUU-

On the bright side however, I can finally start reading all the novels (26, to be precise) i have stockpiled since the summer. Yay.

Z is for Zero, the number of fucks I give.

I'm dropping a couple of f-bombs here and there. Be warned.

So I was travelling by auto the other day.
Autos aren't my preferred mode of travel. They're mighty expensive, and it is especially a NIGHTMARE for curly-haired people such as yours truly. Travelling even a pithy 2km by auto makes my hair look like tumbleweed from one of those westerns.
I happened to be travelling extra that day. So I came prepared against the wind, with my hair tied up "neatly" and everything. EVEN so, the wind managed to screw up my hair.
After what seemed like a never-ending wrestling match with the bloody hurricane in order to keep my hair restrained, I decided I didn't give a fuck and let it fly.
Fly into my eyes and nostrils. If you'd seen me then, you would have died laughing.
Wind- 1, Mollika- 0.

Which brings me to the point of today's post: "I don't give a fuck."


If I were to sum up my life up to this point, I'd say it's composed of 75% missed opportunities, 5% sickness and 20% pure, unadulterated happiness. My life is, if a bit excessively, peppered with missed opportunities; Risks not taken, all ranging from not speaking up in class and eventually losing out on something spectacular, to chickening out on the penultimate question of a quiz and losing by a difference of 2 points.

If I had a dollar for every chance I've given up till today. Oh boy...

I guess this sort of behaviour stems from my fear of being judged harshly.
Keeping up appearances is one of man's many obsessions, apart from gardening, alcohol and the sports section of the newspaper. With the constant need to keep up appearances and be accepted in society comes the need to constantly criticise and belittle anyone else. Everybody has an opinion about everyone, regardless of whether it's a good one or a bad one. No one cares if feelings are being hurt in the process.
Every decision is made keeping in mind that ubiquitous question:

"What will everyone else think?"


That question is like a resilient parasite, feeding on the conscience of human minds. It has crushed aspirations and screwed up the general decision-making ability that humans possess.
In short, it has turned the entire human population into cowards. I'm no exception.

Why didn't I speak up in class when I knew the answers?
Because I thought I'd probably get them wrong and be ridiculed by everyone.


Why did I chicken out on the last question of that quiz?
Because I didn't want to risk losing points on it.


Come to think of it, if I HAD answered that Q, we might have won. But NOO. Molly's too chicken to take risks.

Enough, I say!
Screw what everyone else thinks. It's time we started listening to ourselves for a change.

It's time we started taking chances. We'd never really know whether we were right or wrong if we didn't try.
What's the point of avoiding risks? So we can make it safely to death?
Needless to say, I do not approve.

It's high time we stopped giving a fuck what anybody thinks.

On being locked out of my own house and stuff.

"If something can go wrong, it will.
If anything simply cannot go wrong, it will anyway.
Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse."


It's amazing, the number of situations these three laws can apply to. I take my hat off to you, Murphy. Kudos.

Take today, for example.
I lost my seat in the van for arriving 3 seconds late. As a result, i had to take the unhygienic back seat of my van, notorious for being as hard as a granite slab and the most preferred place for toddlers to throw up in.

After about 40 minutes of bouncing around on the Hardest Material Known to Man, i got home. Only to find that it was locked.

Did i mention i had no key?

We don't believe in leaving spare keys under the mat, or wherever. For fear that the dog might eat them. He'll eat anything. Once, he polished off an entire wooden spatula.
My mum couldn't help either. She was in the middle of administering anaesthesia to a pregnant woman undergoing a C-section. What perfect timing.

And it's usually during sticky situations like these that one badly needs to take a piss.
My situation wasn't any different.

And so i did what any panicky, high-school girl with a full bladder would do. I RAN.

I ran, clutching my novel in one hand and my blazer in the other, school bag flying out behind me like some funky parachute, to a mall that's a few minutes from my house. I didn't stop to think that maybe my neighbours would be kind enough to let me use their loo.
In my defense, situations like these don't leave you any time to think!

That was hopefully the LAST time i'll ever have to run like that.