City Boy » confession

Five stupid things I’ve done under the influence of alcohol

Amortya Ray — Sun, 13 Mar 2011 01:36:58 +0000

I’m known to have the alcohol drinking capacity of a 5 year old. Not that 5 year olds drink alcohol. Or maybe they do. Kids are grow up really quickly these days. But that’s besides the point.

Here’s my wall of shame.

Note: It contains only the stuff that I can still remember and stuff that won’t get me fired.

This one time I excused myself from a night of wild partying. My excuse? I wanted to watch SnL. On a Friday night.
It was my day off. I get up with a heavy head and a bad hangover. I step onto a soaking wet rug. Now in spite of the hazy details that I remembered from the previous night, I was sure I had gotten up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and to pee. What I can’t remember was if I ended up spilling the water all over the floor and/or if I made it to the bathroom. And since my feet was already submerged in it, I was hoping it was water. So I did what any sane/hungover person would do. I dropped to my knees and smelt the rug.
Having commandeered N’s phone, my friends and I go on a crazy texting spree. And the unfortunate target of our drunken shenanigans was N’s brand new husband. (On on that note, CONGRATS Mr. and Mrs. B!). Also, try guess which of my friends is a Dick Fuld Jr. loyalist.
Technically this is not something *I* did. My friend Adi talked me into posing. Not one to refuse a photo op, I gladly obliged.
Had I known that this was going to happen, I would have worn a shirt
This happened a few years ago. I wasn’t aware of the debilitating effects tequila has on an empty stomach. So I decide to take my obsession with David Beckham to an altogether new level, by practicing a free kick on a cardboard carton. Except what I thought was an empty cardboard carton, turned out to be a box filled with bricks. Sadly, (sadly?) I was too wasted to realize that and merrily went on my way to Tom’s Restaurant and had some cheesecake. However, the next morning I wake up to find my right toe all black and blue and the size of my fist.

I find it odd how I have amazingly lucid about all the stupid things that I do when I’m drunk but not a single memory otherwise from all the craziness, like how I manage to get home.

PS- When I smelt the rug, it was neither pee nor vomit. Thankfully it was just a leak in my floor and some disgusting water.

Day One

Amortya Ray — Sat, 08 Jan 2011 18:12:00 +0000

So here are 15 facts about me. Those who know me or read my blog would probably know some of them. But here goes.

I have a scar on the corner of my left eyebrow. It was a birthday gift from my sister on my 12th birthday. She was chasing me around the house and I hid in the bathroom and she pushed the door open which slammed on my face. Ahoy, and in an instant my birthday party had turned int’ an eyepatch themed pirate party. A pence for an old man o’de sea? Arrr..
I spend an inordinate amount of money on electronic items, video games and books.
I have an obsessively, compulsive need to do everything my way. Even when common sense dictates that I do it. Case in point: I *always* have to close a tab, open a new one before I enter the url or click the bookmark.
I have the freakiest memory. People, faces, names, favorite drink, shoe sizes- I remember them all! I can recall randomest of details, at the most inappropriate of times.
My friends make up the craziest of nicknames for me. Morty, Amorty (because typing/pronouncing an extra syllable takes a lot of effort), Abort, Ammonia, Bha, Bum (yeah, long story),…
Perfect grammar, punctuation and spelling automatically elevate a person to a whole new level of awesome in my eyes.
I remember the lyrics to obscure songs I’ve heard just once.
Crown Royal.
The only thing I’ve ever ordered from Minar in the past 5 years is the chicken shahi korma.
I’m a huge huge huge tv junkie. Also, Caprica Six (Tricia Helfer) is the hottest thing I’ve seen on television since Sonali Bendre did her ‘soundarya sabun nirma’ gig.
I have a strange fascination for ancient Greek/Roman/Norse mythology.
I’m mad protective of my friends. Sadly, it’s almost the ‘jealous lover’ type protective. When friends of mine start hanging out with other friends of mine, I start sending all sorts of weird passive aggressive clues, that I need to be included in those conversations, even if they aren’t about me.
I can whip up a mean chicken biryani.
I read Jane Eyre when I was 10. And cried my eyes out at every sad thing that happened to her. The dramebaaz that I am, I kept imagining that Jane’s life in 1820′s England was a complete parallel to mine. To this day it remains my favorite book.
My most prized possessions: every magnet, postcard, shotglass from my travels and letters from loved ones that I stick on my fridge door. Those are the first things I’ll run to save in a zombie apocalypse.

Yep.

Letter to 16 year old Amortya

Amortya Ray — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 18:21:35 +0000

Dear 16-year-old-Amortya:

Hi!

First things first. The Backstreet Boys are so 1997. The Nick Carter middle-parted hairdo that you are going for is just not working. You have thick bushy, often curly hair. You cannot pull off the straight-silky-bouncy hair look. So stop trying already.

You cannot look like him

You turn 16 in a few hours. It’s probably a little too late to tell you study well for your class 10 exams. But thankfully, the nightmarish last 2 years of school are over. You’re in junior college now. It’s a clean slate for you. But yes, for the rest of your life, you will be embarrassed of your junior college. Over the next 10 years, you will have more than your fair share of screw ups. There will be times when you find yourself in a royal mess of epic proportions. And often the damage done will be irreparable. But there will also be several high points in the next 10 years. A few of those achievements are academic in nature. And that is not entirely a compliment.

As much as you hate it, you will move a few more times in the next couple of years. Thankfully, by now you’ve been immunized to the whole I-change-homes-every-6-months thing, so it won’t matter much. And in about 6 years, you will get live in the greatest city in the world. Look forward to that.

Friends. Ah, possibly the one thing you’ve done right. Well, almost. You will have friends that stay in touch no matter what. You will have friends that aren’t worth your while. You will have friends you reconnect with after an extended period of time and that would result in forging a bond stronger than before. You will have friends you will cut out of your life forever. And you will have friends whom you don’t see or speak to for years and when you eventually do, it’s like no time has passed. You pick up right where you left off. You will have friends who don’t care what zip code or time zone you live in. They love you all the same.

Family. Don’t be so angry at your parents. The decisions they made have always had a meaningful impact on your life. Even if you don’t see it that way right away. Be nicer to your sister. She’s the only one you have. And yes, she’s going to be mighty successful someday. So start working on building that brother-sister relationship the way it’s supposed to be.

When you are at a four-way intersection, stop at least a few feet away from the stop sign. This is possibly the sole reason you have items #9 and #10 on your Life List.

Drive carefully, especially if it's your Father's car

Now I cannot emphasize this enough, but not everyone gets your sarcasm-filled sense of humor. To some folks, you may come across as smart, sassy and cleverly funny. To others, you’re just a douche-canoe. And as it’s recently been brought to my attention, you can be really rude and mean. When you are mean, you tend to be vicious and just go for the kill. Remember, with great popularity comes great responsibility. Be wise, my younger self.

Lastly, be happy, be safe. And happy 16th birthday.

Best wishes,

26 year old Amortya

PS- In about 2 years you will get a phone call bearing some grave news: Sonali Bendre gets married. As tragic as that thought sounds, you need to be strong and pull yourself together.

Drug tests and Flu shots

Amortya Ray — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 14:39:20 +0000

This happened a few years ago. I was starting at my first job the day after Presidents Day and needed to get a drug test done. And very smartly, I decide to schedule it 2 days before my first day of work and 2 hours after I land in New York after a 15 hour direct flight from India. So at 10am, I shower, shave and get ready. Oddly enough, I decide that it is very important to look professional, even if all that I’m going to do is pee in a cup. Looking super dapper in a black suit, I take the 1 train to 745 Seventh Ave. (where the erstwhile Lehman Brothers was located).

At this point, I will digress momentarily to narrate some facts that are not necessarily relevant to this story. Back in the day, when I was younger, and some might say a lot smarter, I had a very volatile relationships with the medical community. Once my doctor had to call in security to hold me down while she was giving me a flu shot. Even with two big guys holding my arms and legs wasn’t enough. It’s not like they were burly bouncers (and possibly former marines) now working at a New York nightclub from which I had to be escorted out (ahem.. not that that’s ever happened). Those regular mamu’s were no match for a 10-year old boy possessing abnormal amounts of adrenaline-fueled strength. I struggled and kicked and thrashed around like my life depended on it. I escaped from the clutches of the security/bouncer dudes and ran out of the clinic. That moment gave me a deja vu-ey feeling similar to that scene from Terminator 2: Judgment Day where the Sarah Connor is trying to escape the psych ward and the Terminator and John Connor, and T1000 chasing her. I was eventually cornered in the hallway, pinned down by three men and given the shot as I contorted my face in unimaginable agony all while holding my breath and honestly believing that if I stopped breathing, the syringe penetrating my epidermis wouldn’t hurt as much. However, coming back to my point, my body never had the ability to pee at will. Does anyone’s body do that at all? Once, when I was doing the whole-pee-in-a-cup thing, I couldn’t produce enough specimen to fill the cup to the line. So I decide to fill the cup to the line by diluting my produce in water. I was very pleased at my brilliance.

And as I walked into the Health Center, I chuckled thinking about that incident from several years ago and hoped that my body supported me and that I wouldn’t have to pull such underhanded measures today. I walk in and start gulping down glasses of water. The nurse gives me a bunch of instructions and I walk into toilet. And here’s where it gets rough. As much as I try, I cannot get myself to pee. Nope. Zilch. Zero. Nada. Not even a drop that I could dilute using my aforementioned tactics. I try thinking of running water, but that doesn’t help either. I jump up and down (quietly), but nope. It’s been close to 3 minutes in there, and I haven’t done a thing. Another 2 minutes. The nurse knocks on the door asking I was done. I tell her that I’m almost done. I focus all my energies on the job and manage to squeeze a few drops out of my bladder. And I wash hands (inspite of explicitly being asked not to by the nurse until I’ve handed over the cup!). Finally, after 5 long minutes, I emerge with my head hung in shame as I hand over the cup. The nurse yells at me because I wasn’t supposed to use the damn sink. And without much ado flushes my hardwork down the toilet. I reschedule and get the hell out of there. So now here’s what happened. Apparently, water takes its own sweet time to trickle down to your bladder. That and the fact that I was mighty dehydrated after my super long flight, required at least a couple of gallons to cover. 10 tiny cups just just wouldn’t cut it. It’s all science.

After spending the weekend getting rid of jetlag, I walk into the Health Center at 10 am sharp on Monday morning. I had been prepping for 3 hours, drinking water non stop. I grab the cup, do my business, emerge vindicated and walk out like a boss in under 2 minutes!

PS: I realized much later that I overdid my prep for the drug test, because I spent the next 2 hours in and out of the restroom emptying the remainder of my bladder.

Laundry tales

Amortya Ray — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 13:57:19 +0000

So remember how I’m like the king of awkward moments? Yep. The following is another similar embarrassing incident that will forever be etched in my wretched mind.

Rewind to a few years ago. Circa 2007. I was a lowly graduate student in New York City. Barely making ends meet. Living paycheck to paycheck. Had no more than $35 in my checking account. And the cardinal rule of graduate school is that you do not do laundry until absolutely necessary. And by absolute necessary I mean that until you completely run out of clean underwear. It was one such night. I had a job interview the next morning. And no clean clothes. At 11 in the night, I decide that it would be a good time to do laundry. So I grab my hamper and head down to the basement, drop it in the washer, come back in 30 minutes to put them in the dryer. As I’m dumping my soggy clothes into the dryer, through the corner of my eye I notice my neighbor starting her washer cycle. About half an hour later, I’m back in the basement to pick up my clothes. Neighbor lady is waiting for me to empty the lone dryer (it was a pre-war, rent-controlled building and cheapass landlord so 40 apartments had to share 2 washers and 1 dryer) so she can start her dryer cycle. And as luck would have it, my clothes aren’t completely dry. I mutter the classiest of swear words as I prepare to kick off another dryer cycle. Neighbor lady goes all sigh-ey and complains about how she had an early morning meeting and it was getting late. And the good samaritan that I am, I offer her to share the dryer with me. Lady jumps at the opportunity to save an hour of her time, drops her clothes with mine and leaves.

About half an hour later, we meet again in the basement. We separate our clothes and go our own ways. Later, when I’m folding my own clothes, I see that she left a bra behind in my pile. Now I could either trash it and let it be at that. But then I do know that bras don’t come cheap. But I really don’t want to be the one handing it over to her. Because, well, that would just be awkward. So what do I do? I decide to leave it on her door knob, ring the bell and vanish the fuck out of there before she opens the door. Pleased at my genius plan, I tiptoe over to her apartment (very conveniently, she happened to live right next door), and am about to leave the bra on the doorknob. And before I could get to doing that, her door opens, and neighbor girl stares at me with a judgey look in her eyes and her bra in my hand. Awkward with a capital A. Avoiding all eye contact, I hand over the goods and turn around and close the door to my apartment.

I avoided her like the plague for the remaining 6 months I lived in that building.

I’m bored, hence I tagged myself

Amortya Ray — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 17:14:35 +0000

I jacked this tag from a blog I frequently visit. Here’s my take on it.

What is your current obsession?
Perfecting my biryani recipe, and learn to heat a paratha without tripping the smoke alarm.
What are you wearing today?
A business suit.
What’s for dinner?
Paneer makhni, mango achar, parathas and a glass of Merlot.
What’s the last thing you bought?
A fancy ass camera for my birthday.
What are you listening to right now?
“Bullet the blue sky” by U2. Not my favorite U2 song, but it’s the one currently playing on my iPod. My favorite would be “City of Blinding Lights”. It was only very recently that I was introduced to the awesomeness that is called Bono.
What do you think about the person who tagged you?
Shamelessly picked this tag up from a stranger’s blog. So nothing.
If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Anywhere between 86th-96th Street on Central Park West, New York, NY overlooking the lake.
What are your must-have pieces for summer?
A pair of well fitting shorts, sunglasses, flip-flops and my Yankees hat.
If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
I was reading Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth a few days ago. The last 3 stories still haunt me. Hence, Rome, Italy.
Which language do you want to learn?
Spanish and, of course, better Bengali so I don’t come across as a pretentious idiot when I speak to my relatives.
What’s your favorite quote?
I have several. Amongst my favorite is this one by George Costanza from Seinfeld about his perspective on life: “The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A death. What’s that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you’re too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you’re young enough to enjoy retirement. You drink alcohol, you party, and you get ready for High School. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last 9 months floating… then you finish off as an orgasm! Amen!”
Who do you want to meet right now?
Chris Brown and sock him in the head.
What is your favorite color?
Blue.
What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own closet?
A gray tee-shirt that I’ve had for 3 years. Its faded, torn and I think its the coolest thing I own.
What is your dream job?
Chief model coordinator at Victoria’s Secret.
What’s your favorite magazine?
I’m a total gossip junkie- so it has to be People magazine.
If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?
Books. I’m a huge book whore.
What do you consider a fashion faux pas?
White socks while at work, pleated trousers, black belts with brown formal shoes.
Who according to you is the most over-rated style icon?
Rihanna.
What kind of haircut do you prefer?
Any kind that Mary gives me with her soft-soft hands!
What are you going to do after this?
Walk down to Grand Central Terminal, hop onto the shuttle and head home.
What are your favorite movies?
I’m a big movie junkie. I’ll watch all kinds of crap that Bollywood dishes out on a regular basis. Huge fan of the classics. Roman Holiday is amonsgt my all time favorites, along with Snakes on a plane.
What are three cosmetic/makeup/perfume products that you can’t live without?
Deodorant, hair gel, Polo Blue.
Give us three styling tips that always work for you:
Boots are cool, white shirt/tee-shirt with jeans don’t go out of style,
What do you do when you “have nothing to wear” (even though your closet’s packed)?
Go shopping.
Coffee or tea?
Tea. Yes, definitely tea.
What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed?
Sleep.
What is the meaning of your name?
Immortal being.
Which other blogs do you love visiting?
Current favorite Dooce.
Favorite Dessert/Sweet?
I <3 tiramisu.
Favorite season?
The 7th season of 24. Okay, that was terrible. But I have to say it- Jack Bauer is fuckin’ awesome.
If I come to your house now, what would you cook for me?
Mac and cheese or ramen or maggi, whatever is available.
What is the right way to avoid people who purposefully hurt you?
Cut ‘em out of your life.
What are you afraid of the most?
Losing.
What inspires you?
Ambition.
Is it possible to be in love with two persons simultaneously?
Most definitely.
Life without music/dance.
Would make the pain unbearable.

Some guys just can’t pee right

Amortya Ray — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 14:52:30 +0000

I’ll start with a confession: On the huge-ass floor that my desk is located on, I almost always end up using the restroom closest to my desk. More so, when I need to pee, I will, without fail, visit the central stall. Even if the central stall is occupied and the others aren’t, I will patiently wait for the gentlemen to finish his business, before I begin mine. For those who care to ask why? I honestly don’t know. I guess its one of those compulsive things I am habituated to.

Coming to my main point, I find it hard to comprehend why some men consider urinating to be an art. Gentlemen- it’s most definitely a science. A science that any grown man, given the years of practice, would have perfected it down to an art.

Walk to your favorite stall
Unzip
Do it
Shake
Zip up
Wash and leave

Step 4 might require a certain amount of skill, but it still doesn’t warrant the splattering on the urinal floor, that I once felt had a faint resemblance to Monet’s fabulous oil on canvas ‘Impression, Soleil Levant‘. Consequently, it requires me to up my game, straddle the aforementioned pee-on-granite, and aim from nearly foot away, which is a lot harder than the world gives it credit for.

On a closing note, here’s something I read on the walls of the men’s room, back in college. Not exactly relevant, but certainly poignant and thought provoking.

“You may try by any means, the last two drops are for your jeans.”

Cheap Thrills

Amortya Ray — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 15:59:10 +0000

One of the few quirky (and possibly dumb) things that makes me super happy happened a few days ago.

My closet-sized studio is on the 19th floor of my 34 story apartment building. Statistically, approximately half the people getting into the elevator with me should hit a button less than 19. The other half should hit 19 or a higher floor. Now, it irks me to no end when I find people taking the elevator to go to the 1st floor or taking the elevator down or up 1 storey instead of hauling their lazy asses to the up/down 1 flight of stairs. Don’t get me wrong- this irritation is only reserved for people who aren’t 80 or don’t have a broken leg.

Coming back to my point, the other day, I get back from my run and hop into the elevator along with a motley crew of other punks who live in my building. I hit 19 and moved to the back of the elevator. And one by one, the others start punching in their floor buttons. 23. 34. “Woah!”, screamed my mind and promptly jumped out of its lethargic stupor. There were 4 (5, if you count the little girl accompanying her mommy) more people who needed to push their floor buttons. “Nah, I can”t be that lucky!”, I wondered. Next up, two dudes, one of whom wasn’t aware that deodorants were in existence for over a 100 years. Smelly-dude hits floor 30. Not-so-smelly-dude checks out all the buttons for a good 10 seconds. After a brief look of confusion on his face, it dawns on him that 23 was already lit up. Phew! The mommy-daughter pair didn’t waste much time. They entered the car, mommy hits 34 and picks up daughter to make place in the elevator.

Finally, the moment of truth. A tall, blonde, sharply dressed pyt steps into the elevator. She raises her slender arm towards the buttons, I can’t decide whether to admire her gorgeous hair or watch her manicured index finger as it inches towards the button that could possibly end my dream run. My heart was pounding in anticipation of what I hoped would be my glorious victory over the elevator cynics. My eyeballs oscillated from her finger to the partial of her face that was visible to me. Face. Finger. Finger. Face. Face. Finger. Finger Face. Drumroll. 27. Woohooo! My brain started to do the bhangra and my face wore a massive smile. My fellow occupants in the elevator were starting to get creeped out. But I didn’t care. As the elevator screeched to halt on 19, I could hear the others groan as they shuffled to make place for me to exit the car. Hah! Sweet vengeance!

Cheap thrills I tell you. Sigh!

A Midsummer Update

Amortya Ray — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 13:51:14 +0000

A few noteworthy observations about my life these past few months-

Relegated to the Jersey office, for what I hope will be a temporary thing. I miss my city, I miss it’s ever so vibrant nature, I miss my Chicken Shahi Korma from Minar, I miss being crushed in the train to work in the mornings.
I absolutely adore my new friends here. I have finally managed to maintain a decent balance between the professional and the personal. M, m and V- you guys rock! More on them in due course.
The corner couches at the Hyatt in Exchange Place are henceforth forever reserved for me and my crew. Fridays are generally spent in anticipation of the evenings where we vent the week’s frustrations to each other on possibly the best mojitos in all of New Jersey.
Walking along New York’s Fifth Ave. on a beautiful summer afternoon is delightfully sinful. The Louis Vuitton store has some of the most ridiculously priced jackets I’ve ever seen! However, spending a month’s salary on a single piece of clothing is just not unacceptable.
It’s amazing how quickly time can pass in a bookstore. As a skinny, young boy in South Bombay, I remember begging my parents to take me to the Crossword store at the Mahalaxmi Temple on Sunday evenings. I’d end up spending hours and hours pouring over books and wondering how cool it’d be to own a library. I got that familiar feeling when I visited the Borders bookstore a few weeks back. Came home with a NYT bestseller.
The goal for the near future is to stay as busy as possible. Keeping myself occupied would be beneficial in several ways. For one, I get to meet new people. For someone like me who grew up in a big city, my life story is completely and totally different from someone who spent their entire life living in the a palatial house overlooking a gorgeous yard in a small town in North India!
I’m starting to realize the joys of drinking wine.
Murphy at work: Less than a day after signing the lease to my new apartment, I meet my current neighbor face-to-face for the first time in a year and half. And yes, she’s jaw-dropping gorgeous.
Learning to dress sharper.
Reconnecting with old, long lost friends. Totally. And disconnecting from others who no longer matter.

That’s it for now, folks.