It was my last day. The skies opened and the Gods cried. They hated to see me go. It poured water everywhere just like I wished for it to. Windshield wiper blades competed with bikinis to be the new summer accessories.

I did a jig and rejoiced for it had rained after a long dry spell in the mile high city. And I realized I would never be on a *high again. I walked to the leasing office in my apartment and turned in the keys that had locked my freedom for the last year.

The leasing office guy said something about pest issues in my apartment. Darn!! Humans. They always vainly see beyond the obvious. The biggest pest (moi) was about to leave home. The rest of the pests would follow their mistress like the rats that followed the Pied Piper of Hamlin. He insisted that a pest inspection be done. I was enervated. The last few days had been a wild frenzy. Parties, farewells and logistics to be attended to. Every inch in the body ached in pain like I was a maid in someones house and got screwed - Since the trend these days is to screw home maids.

I went home and slept that night beneath the starry skies with a friend that I may never see again. But then it's a small world.

I may come back as her colleague.
I may come back as her boss.
I may come back as her future kid's mother-in-law even!

He! Ironical. I was leaving on Independence day (American Independence day - July 4th) truly signifying independence for me. In my 3rd year in America I would be in the 3rd city having thus lived in the east, central and western parts of America. The next day I was leaving for California for good. I was going to the land of Hollywood. Not for a vacation. Although I do admit that I am already Californicationed. For life in California is one big vacation.

So here I am - The angel in Los Angeles. Okay Crap! I am no angel. I am a Goddess!! Divine one :P

Oh yeah! Same job and all. Just relocation.

Am I missing something? Yes the scene at security checkpoint at Denver airport before I boarded the flight to Los Angeles. No story of mine is ever complete without an airport scene. Terminals are where it all begins and ends. Ironically if things began in a terminal it wouldn't really be called a terminal. I was at the security checkpoint in the airport where the guard was checking for photo Id's before boarding the flight when I saw a father whose daughters were driving him bananas (Daughters were 5 years old).

The father asked them to show the guard their driving licenses for identification. The girls said they don't drive. The dad said "Oh Girls!! But you do drive me nuts don't ya " ;)

I smile. I think of my dad. I was three years old when my dad held my hand and took me to a fair so I could eat pink cotton candy and I lost track of him in the crowd. I remembered where exactly I let go of his hand so I went back there, took off my underwear and left it so he would know when he came back. Which he did for he realized his folly too.

Imagine this. A father running towards his daughter in a fair, with atleast a 1000 people, flashing a piece of red underwear. I ran to him and hugged him and he applauded my presence of mind. I still have that piece of clothing which I just might wear to one of the beaches these days.

I board the flight. I was soon reLAXed for LAX (Los Angeles Airport - LAX), my new home to be, wasn't too far away. I alight from the flight at LAX. It's pouring water everywhere here too - but it's not the God's crying. It's his people, from the heat that causes the sweat to pour everywhere.

So that's the scoop guys. The lafemmereva is now cooling her heels in Los Angeles - her new home. Which means I will be WFC on Mondays from now on.

No! Its not WFH - Working from Home. WFC - Working from Casino ;) because Las Vegas is a 5 hour drive from Los Angeles.

Yes, the boss reads the blog ;)

*Denver is called the mile high city.

Who are you?
Not Spiderman, Not his Peter Chaacha either. I am Lafemmereva.

He, He! But with great power comes great responsibility no? Forgotten your responsibility to slog?
Slog?

Yeah! Social Service + Blog = Slog. Entertaining public is social service no?
Oh! Like that! Was a bit confused. You suddenly started sounding like my boss. Slogging and all. Yeah. With great power comes big electricity bills too! Unless you can rig the meter.

Yeah! where is lafemmereva these days?
Pulling through and getting pushed.

Birdie told me she last saw you in some pub with ahem! some females. So is it all true.
Yeah. Its true.

Did you hear the cracking of hearts of all eligible men that you have been accused of leading on?
Bah! Nothing like that. Girlfriend was leaving for India for good. So farewell party and all in some swanky club. Me will never crossover!

I also heard your neighbors moved out.
Yeah, victims of recession.

No, the ones that stay across your bedroom window.
Oh them, that couple? Yeah. Last week I was sitting in front of my comp, wearing a Tube top, pinging the girls to get ready to go for the above said party and the lady in the balcony could see just the shoulders with the laptop covering all below. She assumed I was in my naked birthday suit and immediately evacuated her house 911 style. Haven't seen her since.

2 new Indian men in that house now. One wears baniyan with holes. Another is a paan eating bong - like the ones on Howrah trains. Always eating paan and spitting red rain on the head of the latino chick who lives below. I'm sure she is saving a lot on her hair dye. Awesome streaks, I must say!

How’s life otherwise?
Nature is having PMS here. Tornado, heat, rain, hail all in a day's work! Terrible mood swings.

How’s work?
It is there. Lots and Lots and Lots of it. So thankfully I am there too. Lost and Lots in it. Hence the delay in all posts and comments.

Personal updates?
Discovered the answer to 2 profound questions.

The questions being?
1. When do boys become men?
2. Can a few women live in the same house?

How did you find the answer?
1. Straw (my 1.5 year old nephew) no longer poops all over the house. When he wants to do the .....he gets up goes behind a closed door, does "it" and then wails for his mom to come and clean the ....
He now seeks his own "space" while pooping. That's when boys become men. When they seek "space" . Also, that's their idea of toilet training. Getting someone to clean their sh*t. That's the first corporate lesson they learn too.

2. Yes. Women can live in the same house in Ekta Kapoor serials. Exchanging cold stares like America and Russia do at times.
Else, they cannot even live in the same zip code.

So from when you last wrote we now have a new government and a new cabinet.
Yes with the government easier to form than the cabinet.

So tell us what happened at the party?
2 girlfriends (GF 1 & GF 2), one of their fiancé’s (GF 1's) nd I go to the heppest pub in town. Great music, ambience and decent crowd.

L.Reva gets a coke of the "diet" variety and the remaining two femme fatales head to the bar stand to grab "Screwdrivers". GF 1 & 2 are the party going types. Fiance is a smart and fashionable guy albeit a bit introverted but fun nevertheless from close quarters.

Girlfriend 1's fiancée gets water of the "Aquafina" variety.

Girlfriend gives him a "U curd rice eating socially reclusive, fit for being a screwed up driver fiancée" look at him. (Fiancé is the designated driver for the evening!)

He returns a "I am a sensible man who is drinking what a designated driver is supposed to. Let's get back home and I’ll show you how a driver can screw" look at her.

Fiancé seated next to me and we both talk about how "Hot springs" in Yellowstone National Park are a tad better than the Hot Springs in Manikaran in India. He and I are similar types.
Totally out of place. All talk no action ;)

2 Indian guys in the table next to us.

Guy 1: Machchan, that Indian babe (Girlfriend 1) is awesome.
Guy 2: Yeah . But but I think that guy in the table is her fiancé
Guy 1: No, He's her fiancé (gesturing to me). See how they are both seated at the table
chatting so happily. Those 2 girls are at the bar waiting for their "prey".
Guy 2: Not sure..it's that way..I'm pretty sure I saw him (Fiancé) kiss her (Girlfriend 1).

Guy 1 makes a beeline to bar and starts checking out girlfriend 1. Getting uncomfortable GF 1 makes starts drawing SOS heart signs to her fiance.

Fiancé mans up thrusts his chest forward - a 6 feet 200 pound man!!!! and walks to the bar stand.

All 3 of us and almost everyone in the bar stand gets ready for a bar brawl and start cheering the pair in eager anticipation of a spicy bar brawl when the fiancé puts his hand on the guy's shoulders draws very close to him and whispers in his ear "Dude, U look like my type .Shall we get together tonight"

I have never seen a Guy rush out of the bar faster.

The whole pub roared in mirth and saluted the fiancé . Drinks and food on the house !

And the rest of the party was incident free.:)

Ha!! So you are back with a late but latest story…!!
When did I ever leave to be back?

Bah!! Fun, Frolic and Florida - The 3 F'S!!

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed.
Every morning a lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death.
The moral: It doesn't matter if you are a lion or a gazelle. When the sun comes up, you better be running.
The moral lafemmed: It doesn’t matter if me you have been vacationing in a sunshine state in what was a bathing suit last year that has become a bikini this year. You still got to come back running to the same old work and actually work, pay your bills, do your vacation laundry, upload all photos for the whole world in facebook/orkut and tweet your pals to check their facebook/orkut (as if we need a reminder!!!) and spend a zillion hours planning the next getaway.

I too nod in agreement - All talk about prompt return to blogging after vacation but in the end just like the Indian Politician – High on promise low on delivery. But lafememreva needed a vacation to recoup from the vacation she took. So here’s a late but latest account without further digression.

I have a bad reputation at making it in time to board a flight. But every b*tch has her day and so I had mine. I was in the airport all of 1 hour early. Stomach staging mutiny I settled for Chinese. Chinese and mass production are not so mandarin but more like siamese twins, Thanks to mass production and affordable labor Chinese goods have flooded our market a dime a dozen. They can also be credited for the well balanced eco system what with their bowel systems recycling half the fauna on the face of earth; oiled so well that warrants a mallu oil man in the “Gelf” to say “ Tastes simbly good”

Since we are regrouping after a while let’s address some burning issues such as Why we will always be mama’s boys and daddy’s girls.

After lunch I settle in the nearest lounge and see a coloring book next to me. Now we wannabe out of box thinkers cannot resist that surge of creativity that swells up like say for example those afternoons at work when we make mental pictures of our boss in a bikini and even give him a chihuaha in a bag as an accessory. So I begin to draw stick figures and to some with an artistic eye it might even look like Kate Moss who has no mass. Then I heard the falsetto of a 5 year old all Adam Lambert-y that would put even a fire alarm to shame. He had come back to get the book he left behind. And none of a much embarrassed lafememreva’s apologies or his father’s consolation paid off. Then came the mother. Almost instantly the waterworks subsided. The father promptly went back to piggy backing his daughter. And so the boy continued to be his mama’s and the girl continued to be her papa’s. In case you are wondering what I have to say if you have/are a single parent. I would like to salute , respect and applaud you if you are a single parent or the child of one.

So all ye mama’s boys / daddy’s girls and ma/ddy’s babies buckle up and heave ho!! We go! To Florida – The sunshine state!

I boarded the flight and as I reached my seat I saw it – The first sight of a few strands of hair on what was designated to be my seat. My previous passenger most definitely had to be a parent. I don’t think so – I know so! God Bless the soul. How do I know it’s not the kid’s hair. Not unless the kid was a grey-haired Benjamin Button who grew younger by the day.

Then after a safe and customary noisy take off I see it - The bronzed veil. Before you picture some arab beauty luring you from behind her veil let me assure you this bronzed veil will send you sneezing all the way to the loo with several kids “auntying” you as you walk across them.

Bronzed Veil a.k.a Loose powder or simply some varied texture of compact for all you cosmetically challenged men. Lafemmereva is no au naturel and all but my co passenger ‘s sole activity on board was to paint and dust her face as if she was prepping for a war with several layers of heavily pigmented bronzed veil powder which breezed through my ripped jeans and settled on my legs forming patches which when revealed, (Bah!! When you switch to skirts ! Naughty!) leave a lot to imagination, taking any form from a playboy bunny to a teenage mutant ninja turtle.

Maybe that is what the 5 year old boy who sat behind me was figuring out everytime “Aunty lafemmereva” ran to the restroom to sneeze and er… because of all the bronzed veil powder rain on board. But you never know…Maybe he was just an early starter.

After all men will be men
Flesh sighting is what they do
Especially on a ripped jeans too blue.

Break in journey at the music city where the travel companions meetup. Visit to the temple paid on L/reva’s insistence before the 14 hr drive to the destination begins. And as the car wheeled away from the temple I hear the gods whisper “ You were born to be wild. So in the next few days go tame the beastly youth in you. May the force be with you”

Lattes , Music and 14 hr drive later the fun began to “flo” in “Flo”rida and how?
Green palms (yes, Surprise!!), boountiful beaches, sleeping on the beaches at sunset, alligator and bird watching in state parks and swamps and elaborate dinners.

We drove through the Seven mile highway to Keywest which is ensconced comfortably in the southernmost part of Florida , just 90 miles away from Cuba and its infamous cigar - where Fidel Castro once ruled roost. The Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic kissed the road from both sides and each other with the sea grass tickling them and pulling them apart making not just the waters green but the onlooking humans too!
The seagrass do more than photosynthesize they sympathize you for a photo too. So we went click, click and more click till it was time for parasailing.

Parasailing offers a panoramic view of the beach and a chance for you to take a fresh look at pole dancers, refresh your respect for them possibly even manifolding it, for their extreme balance in addition to the extreme entertainment that they provide all while looking Lara Croft-y the Tomb raider -ish. Such admiration for them is inevitable when you are seated delicately balanced on a rod several hundred feet above the deep blue waters taking in a spectacular panoramic view if the vast expanse of the sea below with a rope tethering you and the hand that controls the rope occasionally shaking you and everything out of you.

Parasailing – Will do, Again!

A cruise into the sunset waiting, we eagerly jumped on board with hats, sunglasses and much needed thirst quenchers. I am standing by the railing admiring the blue and orange hues freezing the moment in my head when I detect the presence of a Peruvian babe (PB) next to me.

PB: Nice sandals. I like them
L/reva: Thanks. So where are you from?
PB: Peru. I'm vacationing in North America
L/reva: Cool! I'm vacationing too.
PB: I like your outfit
L/reva: Thanks. So do you like florida?
PB: Its cool. I like your sunglasses
L/reva: Thanks. So is this your first time on a cruise?
PB: I like you (leans over saying so)
L/reva (thinking): What? Maybe? Shae..No!! Is she? But! Should I? Obama said Change is good….Crap!!!! I made a “straight” dash to my mates.

Much sleep,lattes, music and driving later - NASA. Think Nasa. Think Swades. Think SRK. And don't think KKR!

A threesome of sun, rain and thunder provided the much needed spark to the marriage with reality on the drive back home.

A Picture is worth a thousand words. So why did I have to make you read a 1000 instead of posting a few pictures? Because without the words there wouldn’t be a story and without a story there wouldn’t be a lafemmereva. And if there were no lafemmereva …..Crap!! I cannot even finish that sentence. I, lafemmereva, am at a loss of words. I am emosunal now peoples.

P.S. Notice to kids on a pool in Florida:

Welcome to the ool (notice the “pee” missing)

That title is not the name of a new flu or some exotic mandarin dancer in Vegas. Patience is a virtue peoples. Me will elucidate, wait.

For the one last time - One more email about whether the swine flu is the reason for my absence from the Internet, from anyone, and I will bawl and wail and thank you for the unconditional love and support you guys show. Let me not say unconditional since almost all emails to lafemmereva end with "We hope you get better and start blogging again".

Sifting through emails after an unintentional sabbatical I chanced upon what this person sent me. Now I had long stopped and made known that I will refrain from guest posts. Bah, too many requests - Hard to oblige all and spread the love.

But we Indian Junta are known for second chances. Ask Singh. We made him a King again. So read on what might well be the last guest post in this space in a loooong time to come. Lasts - How they come eventually. Prabhakaran would agree.

This is what Ramesh has to say, in response to the post : "It's raining Men - Hallelujah!"

DISCLAIMER: L/reva washes her hands off all of the words below and will be vacationing starting this weekend for a few days unable to accept the eggs or tomatoes that you might want to shower on her "poor self" for publishing this. All comments will be published promptly and responded to, though! But please take the time out to consider my preferences - I don't mind designer sandals being thrown at me. Gladiators are my fav model.

Piao liang de nu hai

Our lafemme needs a prod. So here’s a riposte to her “super post”, with a twist. And yes, its from a member of the male species.

Indian damsels – eat your heart out. You don’t stand a chance in front of the Chinese beauties I am privileged to live with – you see I live in the Middle Kingdom. Here are five reasons why

You have to redefine slimness when you see a Chinese lassie. They are uniformly pencil slim. Not an ounce of fat. And our own belles . Remarkably “healthy” . And after the baby comes – Eeeks.

You have to define youth too . The number of times I have mistaken a mother for a school girl is not funny (I am not making this up). Everybody looks sixteen and lovely.

Wow, they dress up. What outfits. And our own coder, Vlakshi. Gimme a break. I’ll run a mile. Surely the salwar kameez must be the worst outfit ever invented.

What lovely hair. There are three times more hair dressing salons in China than there are saree shops in India. In fact three every street corner. Impeccably groomed these Chinese girls are. And our own coder – my dear, washing your waist length hair once a month just won’t do.

But here’s the clincher. Chinese women love foreigners. The whiter you are the better, but brown will do too. They think we males (as long as we are not Chinese) are God’s gift to mankind. At long last somebody somewhere has got this universal truth. And our beauty wants us to talk to her mother. Ugh !

Just kidding. We desis love our lafemmes. Have to say that, don’t I. Actually the real reason why , is because there just isn’t a lafemmereva in the Middle Kingdom. There just can’t be.

But still, still, Oh man ! how gorgeous these Chinese damsels are.

Just in case you are wondering – the title means Beautiful Girls in Mandarin.

Part 1 is here.

Such wishful thinking occupied my thoughts until the cab came to a halt in my portico and I paid the cab driver the fare when he asked "Are you from India"?

"You are from India, right"?
L/r: (Making a intimidating gesture of taking the biryani back from the cabbie): Yes!
Cabbie: "Have you read Kamasutra?"

I stood there with horror, embarrassment, wrath and all the relatives in that family of words surfacing in me.

(I sported a look that I once saw on my dad's face when I asked him why it took him 7 years to make me after my sister was born. Of course I didn't ask him how they made me or her. Since we were both winter babies I know it must have been one of those hot, sweaty, summery afternoons).

Anyways, back to cabbie. In moments of such crisis we mallu women let actions speak louder than words. So I ran like he had ripped off a fart bomb. I never looked back once.

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

Putting back the day behind me I decided to put my feet up and watch a sitcom. But my bedmate of several years Murphy is very clingy. He always has his way. Like when he calls his laws and decides to have a threesome when you do don't want to.

So his laws did come calling in the form of a girl friend who was in an earth shattering crisis:

Friend: Do you think XYZ's food blogs are good? I think she takes a pic of the dishes at the restaurant she goes to every week and puts it up.

XYZ is a genuinely fab cook and has kept my taste buds engaged for over a year now.

Now if you are a MAN and if you were to solve this crisis what would you do?

I'll tell you. You'll tell the friend that a work call came up and hang up, turn on the sports channel and watch women wrestle on WWF.

But me? I woman up and face the crisis and resolve it. So I say:

"Do you know Macy's has a half off sale" and the food blog never came up in the 45 minute call again.

Call done and the feet ache to rest and I think that my day couldn't have been as bad as my sister's who had to be a donkey , elephant and a kangaroo all in the same day depending on whether Straw( my nephew) wanted to go on fours or get on her back.

*************************************************************************************
And I close my eyes and imagine a white vast expanse of shell filled beach, a beach house and a warm cuppa coffee. Fellas, I have to ask ye wise minds. Is there some Get-rich-Quick scheme that makes me all Warren Buffety in no time so I can relinquish this paycheck to paycheck existence and hang up my heels once in for all?

Now before you go all Warren Buffety on me and say "Predicting the rain doesn't matter, building the ark does" let me tell you tweeples - I bought my lottery ticket on the way back home!!

Bah!!!

Related Posts: Who wants to be a a billionaire?

Part 1 is here

Part 2 is here

Teaser is here

Part 3 is here

Freedom from the colonial rule has been procured but it needs to be preserved. So does money. And so I was in our ex-ruler's territory. The land where people's shirts and lips are stiff and the ilk of tailors designers viz. Prada, Gucci, AX, YSL, Louis Vuitton divide and rule harmoniously and make something other than Gagra Cholis and Lehengas filled with chamkees .

L/reva reaches Heathrow (London Airport):

With the stomach staging a mutiny again the need of the hour was to guzzle the elixir of life, namely coffee, down the oesophagus. Only - The credit was found lacking. But nothing kept the indomitable mallu cinderella-y spirit of l/reva from her evil twin sisters - ricory and chicory.
Being a loyal S/Bucks member has its perks. Like you get a free drink on your Bday. My best birthday gift ever - Size Grande.

I ambled along to the nearest park-your-bottom facility to rest. And I heard two raccoons women screeching talking in the most high pitched yet impeccable Queen's English:

W#1: Do you know what happened to my hair dresser?
(Craning my neck to see the woman (W#1) I noticed that the only other thing thinner than her hairline would either be Mandira Bedi's noodle straps or Kate Moss's legs. A poodle was resting near the woman's feet. The pooch's luxurious hairdo prodded moi to wonder if the hairdresser was the pooch's or the lady's)
W#2: Oh No!!! Good heavens. Do tell me
(sipping a whole mug of english tea whose color I don't even want to explain here. Let's say some suspicious yellow that may have warranted the attention of some men like Moraji Desai)
W#1: Oh!! she left her boyfriend (M#1) for a new man (M#2). She eventually got married.
W#2: So she showed her b/f the middle finger so she could give her finger to another? for the ring
W#1: Not quite. She married someone else (M#3).
W#2: Wow!! That's a woman who had a plethora of options.
W#1: I'll say! Apparently her doting boyfriend (M#1) found her cheating on him with his brother (M#2). And their mother wanted nothing of the woman (hairdresser). So she (hairdresser) went ahead and married her childhood sweetheart (M#3) who apparently did not have any qualms despite knowing her flings.
W#2: And what happened of the men (M# 1 & 2)?
W#1: The older brother(M#1) was married with a family of his own even while seeing my hairdresser so he asked his wife to take him back and the younger brother (M#2) married my hairdresser's sister.

@#$%^&&&$#$#$

W#2 and her tea went cold and all the color drained from them.

Another impeccable voice speaking the Queen's English commanded L/reva's attention that had unfaithfully strayed to the Harrods, Boots and duty free goodies!

"You may now board the fight flight bound to Chennai"

A Tata Indica ad said “We love to carry our world with us" So does Lafemmereva. L/reva, her duty free purchases and her entourage of baggage made a beeline to the flight which was pregnant (Emphasis: Flight was pregnant!!) and hurting with the painful labor of harboring wailing babies, soiled diapers and multi lingual songs blaring from Ipod which evoked the diversity vibes of India.

I burrowed my way through to my seat like a refugee avoiding missile misses from overstuffed cabin baggage which were threatening to fall off like those slimy creatures from the walls in movies like Mummy, Harry Potter et al.

In my biased and compromising opinion of a non-beneficiary, reservation is a very unfair advantage to the beneficiary. This is not how I viewed it when I was a beneficiary of one third of the perks in the not-so-distant past w.r.t college admissions. When one is not a beneficiary one will equate the whole grape-tasting-sour experience to watching KKRs play in IPL. And when one is, one propagates it with as much verve, enthusiasm and gusto as one does the Fake IPL Blog.

Without further digression, the flight junta was "reserving" extra (read co-passenger’s luggage space) spaces for cabin luggage above the seated area. They told every unsuspecting traveler that came to rightfully secure their bags in their “allocated” space that it was meant for their aged parent’s/young child’s “saamanam” (Tamil for things), thus slyly making anyone that doesn’t comply seem as pariah-ic as someone that refuses to offer his/her seat to any woman with-a-large-tummy in a bus by giving her the benefit of the doubt of being pregnant. BTW that is by far the only advantage I see of a woman having a challenging waistline. Pregnant or not, the fruit of labor is atleast a free seat. So, after all it is not always a man’s world.

I politely asked my co-passenger to move his luggage from my “allocated” space when he retorted with affected complaisance that his “aged” mother’s coat needed a resting place in case she felt cold.
Like the air hostess would come and open the windows of the plane when in mid air for some ventilation! Bah!

Me? I always look to corroborate claims with evidence. I looked to see a pretty young 20 something of a wife seated next to him. I did not sight a woman beyond her twenties in 3 rows of seats before and after mine. Needless to say there was no mother. This wasn’t the time to curse myself for not having premature grey hair to pass off for a senior or wish that the emergency oxygen masks were non existent under the seats of stone aged men and their stoned looking wives with neither grey hair nor integrity nor civility such as these two.

Any rebuttal to such an ill-formed and fallacious plea from the stone age man would mark my death from the killer looks of every other genuine “senior” on board. This wasn’t a time for facts to be corrected or name-calling or hair-pulling with stone age man or his stoned looking wife.

So I did what every self respecting mallu woman who stands up for her rights would do. I put my cabin baggage in the space meant for the passenger in front and consoled the enraged wooly spirit of the Calvin Klein coat in my hand which went under my seat. There! That’s a non violent, cooperative, neighborly way of sorting out things. When in deep shit pass the buck.

As I was prepared to squat for what would be my last leg of journey I was overpowered by a brilliant aroma that tickles one's pheromones and puts every 365X24X7 deodorant's claim-to-fame to shame -
Sweat - The human juice that is every athlete's envy and deodorant/sportswear company's pride and permeates through every unchartered crevice of the learned society.

Coming soon......

Part 4 - Homecoming series#4 - In-Flight entertainment
Part 5 - Homecoming series#5 - Lafemmereva in the wonderland of Lungis, Appams and
Chechis
Part 6 - Homecoming series#6 – Season Finale - City of Destiny, Downing Street, Uncle Sam.

Bah!! I haven't started a party and all.

Since polls are the order of the day in India I shall also pander to my audience's fancy by offering them with one:

What pisses you off incurs your wrath more?

Option 1: Staring a vacation series and not taking it to closure?

Option 2: Writing an excuse for a post such as this to apologise for it?

I will not judge your orientation you based on your choice above.

Lafemmereva pleads guilty of clocking 12 hrs everyday doing what, don't ask! and sincerely vows to once in for all blog about the remainder of her vacation series, no later than the end of this week, to explicate herself from the heinous crime of not entertaining her readership.
Bah, Lafemmereva is feeling compunctious and all. Compunctious is not to be understood as being punctual about commas.

But in the meantime for those that don't have a clue what I am talking about please fall prey to this third rate tactic that we (bloggers) use to ensure our older babbles posts are trashed read.

So the homework for this day is to read the following:

Part 1 : Homecoming Series #1 - Fasten your seat belts

Part 2 : Homecoming Series #2 - Wheels in motion, Mission Half accomplished!

Part 3: Coming soon.....

By the blogger, for the blogger, of the blogger. Totally. No! Seriously not contesting elections.

Related Posts:
Homecoming Series #1 - Fasten your seat belts
Homecoming Series #2 - Wheels in motion, Mission Half accomplished!

Run - For Cover: God made pants. And they were conjoined to the bodies of men from the day they were born.