Move ya baadi, Sheikh Yerbouti!

I find traffic signals very intriguing. They are these transits in temporal relastatics where people are forced to halt for a bit and dowse down the fireflies in their heads. Musically, its an ensemble of Halfordians who've continually listened to Freewheel Burning, Killing Machine and Turbo Lover for half their lifetime. The latest addition to the playlist being Breaking The Law! I admit to have found great thrill in jumping signals.
Its truly an art form how we scramble forward in signals and avoid plonking into each other despite such microscopic degrees of proximity.
I also think beating the signal is about the next most focussed human activity ever, after sex. The duality of this sentence is justified because we're all in a mad hurry to get home after sex.
I mean if we put half as much grit and focus into our jobs as into beating signals, we'd be fuckin world-beaters! Again, duality. We'd really be fucking world-beaters.
The other thing about traffic signals is the vanguard. The people at the forefront behind whom there's a terribly impatient pack of vehicles all waiting for the green. I just love the look on the face of the unfortunate soul at the front when his vehicle refuses to start and the bus right behind him honks a hellishly loud horn. Man, thats a sadist's dream come true!
On similar lines is when you bang right into the rear of lady's scooty. She's being all feminine and ultra-careful, keeping both feet in the air and trying to get the balance going and stuff. Suddenly you ram in from behind and she's so rattled. I find that terribly cute!

But then again, you don't find too many people spending a lot of their time trying to achieve spiritual enlightenment by waiting at traffic signals. These blokes go on a vacation. So I've decided to be part of this elastic tradition and thus stop ranting about traffic signal dee-da-do.
Yes, its that time of the year once again. And this time it is postively going to be the mother of all vacations. GOA!!!
With Adi and Amar flying off to the US for furthur studies and with most of the others already with a job-in-waiting, it is likely to be our last trip together. For how emotionally disturbing that thought is, I'm sure we're going to live it up large.
My muse to walk along the beaches under a star-lit sky, pants folded upto knee-length, beer in hand and hawt-someone in arm once again frees itself. Hope she's not stuck philandering with butterflies in Timbuk3 this time.
So here's me signin off, looking forward to five days of fun, spirituality, beer, topless firangs and no baths!
Cheers!

P.S: I realised how much I refute baths. I'm suddenly glad that I'm not Roman. Now there's a country thats fuckin synonymous with baths! Bleh.
P.P.S: I'm sporting such an evil grin right now, you have no idea! Buahaha.