Freaking out like a headless chicken with wonky legs.

So, I casually logged on to my Facebook this week, as per routine. And I saw these bunch of people from my school updating statuses about getting into university. And I started getting what I like to call 'quarter life crisis' So this is how my thought process went for about an hour:
OMGOMGOMGOMG These people got into university already. They have places to go. I haven't got any replies. WhatAmIDoingWithMyLife. Omg omg omg omg. This guy applied to the same university as me and got in. We sent our packets around the same time! Why haven't I got a reply? Does this mean they'll reject me? NOOOO That was my backup. Which means no school I applied to will accept me. All my friends are going to go to good universities in the US, UK, Canada and I'm going to be here. Alone. Who would want to talk the lame - o who didn't get in anywhere? And Im never going to go to Harvard Law. I'll never be a lawyer in New York! I'm not going to own a brownstone! I'm going to have to get married early to a fat Gujju guy and bear three kids who'll be named Jas or Suresh.
Oh My God.
My life is over.

There you have it. 

Why all my future beaus will break up with me and run for the hills.

I have parents.
Indian parents.
Who think they're all progressive and in with the 'lingo'.
Yep, my mum and dad are nutters.
They're like normal parents but boy, do they have their quirks.
I have never introduced boys I like to my parents and I hardly ever tell them who I like.
They found about my first crush when I was about 12 -ish.
They proceeded to tease me for months everytime they saw him (we lived in the same neighborhood) and then call him names (privately) and generally took the mickey out of me.
I love them, I do. I probably inherited all my weirdness from them as well.
My mum likes singing in a high pitched voice and bugging me. She likes talking in weird accents and thinks its hilarious. She also does weird exercises like jaw exercises. She likes creeping up on me and asking me things in quiet little whispers. If she thinks one of my guy friends are cute she'll tell me to 'reel him in'. And she makes crude and inappropriate jokes about anything and anyone.
My friends find her hilarious.
I live with her. It isn't.
My dad once asked me if I was lesbian. Once, when he was a little tipsy he told all his colleagues at dinner that I was a mistake but the best mistake he ever made. He likes saying things like 'Yo, dude' to me. He makes fun of everything and I do, and he has an account on Instagram. For no reason. He makes outrageous  statements and he gave me my first alcoholic drink at 11. And hookah.
I have crazy but awesome parents.
I'm pretty sure when I introduce my future boyfriend to my parents this is how its going to go,
Mum: "Hello! Hello! I'm Veena, Mahak's mum. You must be (let's call him Bob for now) Bob! Sit, have a chicken wing!"
Dad: "Hi Bob. Nice to meet you. I'm Nikhil." *proceeds to shake hands with Bob* . "Can I get you a drink? Wine? Vodka? Rat poison? Kidding"
Bob: *overwhelmed* "Uhhh. Hi?"
Mum: *stage whisper* "Not very articulate, is he?"
Me: "MUM!"
Bob: "Nice to meet you.... Oh God! Is that the time? My cat needs surgery!"
Me: "Noooo BOB! COME BACK!"
Mum: "He has a cat? Let him go. I hate cats. Such horrible creatures"
Dad: "You said it. Let's eat"
.......
Maybe, I'm exaggerating but this could TOTALLY happen.

John Hughes did not direct my life.

I have a cloud of messy, straight hair which curls a little at the bottom.
When I was little I apparently had a cloud of the curliest hair in the neighborhood. Which people loved and adored and loved to muss and pat. But then suddenly, POOF! It turned straight. I always knew I was secretly a witch..... this doesn't make sense.
Anywayyyy, even though I lost all my curls, people still doted on my big eyed, chubby cheeked, cherubic self. That's what I was told anyway. And then, I met my soul friends. My lifelong sisters, my 'gang'. And we were a blissful family until I moved when I was 14 from my family's 2 bedroom hall kitchen terrace flat from the depths of a happy and friendly community to a bigger 4 bedroom hall kitchen flat deeper in the suburbs in all albeit detached community. I didn't have any neighborhood friends 'cos well, all the kids were about 8 years younger than me. Bleh.
So I kept to myself in my new bedroom with a little balcony, looking out of the window, sighing and wishing I had my friends around.
However, I digress.
You may think its vain to talk about my hair, but the one thing I particularly covet and love about myself is my hair.
My hair isn't particularly messy but it changes according to my moods, on its own. I kid you not. On days I feel particularly relaxed and happy of sorts with a sense of calm, my hair looks like a flowing river with little waves rippling at the end. On days that I'm hurried or forgetful it looks like billowing, black smoke swirling around in the air and on days that I'm upset, its just straight. No life. Just straight. I believe everyone has little telltale signs (I think I'm a minor Metamorphagus).  Contrary to popular belief, I'm not always in la la land, I do observe things. For instance, a friend of mine starts to absently pick at things when he's in a bad mood. Now this may be quite common but its something a person tends to overlook. He picks at little things. If we're in a coffee shop he starts looking absentmindedly at a menu, or picking up the little table number thing and playing with it, or he'll take my ring off my finger or even start playing with my scrunchie. And I know that he's either hiding something from me, which is probably the problem, or he's upset with me, which hardly ever happens. Maybe I notice this because he's my best friend, and we're mostly in sync, which is weird for us since we've never been in sync with anyone before. Now you must be like, 'Girllll, you his girlfriend. There ain't no platonic shizz going on here'. (I have no idea why I imagined someone saying this in a ghetto accent. I love ghetto accents. They be cool) But naw, I'm not his girlfriend. I'm just his future wife, apparently. That is, if no one wants either of us as their spouses which is probably true seeing as we're a pair of messed up individuals with abandonment issues. But we've made it clear, he wants me for - um - a particular part or parts of my body and I want him for his bungalow. Oh yeah, he lives in  this kickass old timey bungalow which is the coolest thing EVER. Now if John Hughes directed my life, I'd probably help him hook up with the girl he loves and in the end he'd realize I'm the one for him and he'd fall in love with me and we'd ride off in the sunset in his battered old car (P.S. The movie is Some Kind of Wonderful. Gah. I love it). But, that would be too cliched wouldn't it? Eh. I still want his bungalow.
Laugh on , munchkins.
Weepy Tall Girl.