Liberties, accents and languages

Ahh yes, what’s the fun having new housemates if you can’t crib about them? Life, in the past few days, has undergone a lot of changes. For one, I don’t live alone anymore. I now have not one, but two other housemates. And it’s beginning to bother me to no end already. You know things aren’t getting off to a great start when your first conversation goes something like so,

They: [ Insert vague blur I claim not to understand. ]
Me: *Blank stare* (yes, Oscar-worthily faked)
They: So, you don’t speak the Hindi?
Me: No, I don’t respond in Hindi.
They: Oh, so you can’t the respond in the Hindi.
Me: No, I don’t respond in Hindi.
They: the Why?!?
Me: [ Expletives deleted for the sake of the children. ]

Ok, not to make any sweeping generalizations or anything, but what’s up with northies and their oh-so-annoyingly-frequent theing? I mean, COME ON. And the accents.. “Can I use your [ blur ]”. I’m like, “Umm.. sure” and hope desperately they aren’t asking for some clothing of mine or some such. But then again, at least that’s ok, considering they ASKED permission. Or so I thought. Within a little bit that stopped also. Do whatever, we’re close to him, he won’t mind.

Yeah, right.

They: Are you looking for shoes?
Me: Huh? What’s with the stupid question? Umm.. no?
They: No, it’s just, we were using your computer earlier and ..
Me: WHAT THE?!?
They: And you had a browser window open with a shoe in it.
Me: *Gives up, shrugs, nods*

(Note to self, never leave windows open with any content that could probably be embarrassing, unlike shoes. I can see it now,

They: Are you looking for mail order brides from Russia?
Me: It’s a freaking popup I didn’t request for you fools.
They: Oh, but we just thought..
Me: Oh, brother.)

And there is a reason there’s a bathroom attached to your bedroom. It’s so that YOU USE IT and not mine you insensitive clods.

Now, the bigger generalizations. What’s with Indians and taking arbitrary liberties? Why do they just assume they can do whatever and you’ll be ok with it? But, I the kind and benevolent mentor sorts, realize they’re new here and just need a hand. I’ve been spending most of my days showing them around, showing them essential places, getting them stuff they probably need to be comfortable, and being all smiley and helpful.

It’s like being a mom, without the ova producing capabilities.

But the best thing that’s come out of taking these kids around buying them the essentials, is that a lot of pretty things have caught my fancy. Yes, I’m talking paintings and wall hangings and the sorts of things that make a space shift from seeming like a “house”, to a “home”. I’m making this huge list of things now, which I will eventually buy and populate my new home.

I can’t believe I’m so excited thinking about it. That’s it, I’m ending up aiming for the ever elusive “perfect apartment”.

It’s like being Big (from Sex and the City?) except not rich, powerful or sexy.

(I’m middle aged, balding, and bellied. Not yet, but probably will be in 15-20 years. You’ve been warned, you stalker-who-turn-admirer sorts.)

And the sweetest thing happened a short while ago when I was out to grab a bite to eat. This sweet old lady in front of me was having some trouble with the cashier lady (who was pretty rude and inconsiderate. Actually, she was pretty, rude and inconsiderate, but that’s a different story). Either she wasn’t carrying enough money to pay, or was taking too much time to find it in her purse (I probably meant sweet old old lady). So I cut in front of her (much to her initial chagrin) and payed for her before she had a chance to realize what was going on and could refuse. Once she got it, she was all, god bless you child and had the hugest smile. People ought to be nice to sweet old ladies (and men, and young people too). It was pretty sweet, and I felt all do-goody.

It’s like being a super hero, without superpowers.

(Ok, annoying roomie two just entered my room and isn’t leaving, so I must go. I think he wants my computer to watch a movie, which he’s rummaged from my DVD collection. Without permission, of course. No NO.. THAT’S MY BED.. ARGGH. God damnit!)