Last night, your beloved Drops of Jupiter joined the permanent ranks of The Boundless Legions of the Uncool.
Yes. From now on, the Jups shall allow herself to be the butt of several nerd jokes, geek jabs, loser innuendos and everything in between. You see, The Jups no longer has the right to sit on that uber-cool pedestal that she normally sits and nonchalantly judges one and all from her pretentious perch.
The Boundless Legions of the Uncool (BLOTU)- What is it?
BLOTU’s origins can be traced back to secondary and higher secondary school. Back in those days, BLOTU was male-dominated with majority of its members being adolescent boys who continued to wear water-bottles around their necks well after the age of 10. More members were taken in as bespectacled boys read advanced calculus as recreational reading during lunch recess, no less. These were the pillars of the Boundless Legions- they were the members that had the minutest chance of leaving the legion.
BLOTU was never a legion that discriminated based on gender. No way, Jose. If you’re uncool, you make the legion. Sex no bar, age no bar. BLUTU’s female membership is dominated by females who refuse to shampoo their hair &/or shave their limbs. This is an all-encompassing vice that obliterates any qualities that might be perceived as cool. The legion also auto-initiates females (and males) who show up formally dressed at night-clubs, wear rubber slippers on an alarmingly regular basis and carry more than one bag at all times.
The BLOTU has changed with the times and now includes people who start and/or join random, futile communities on Orkut-type networks and people who wear cheap velvet.
Yes, there are several ways to get into the BLOTU and yet so few that allow you to leave.
How did the BLOTU find me? Well…
I’m going to Europe in a little over a week’s time. Alone. I am going to explore the mountains, the lakes and the nightclubs like the lone ranger I was born to be. I am going to stand atop a hill in Austria in a conservative dress and scream “The hills are aliiiiiiiiive with the sound of muuuuuusic”. I am going to skippety hop along the cheese markets of Volendam where hopefully a handsome non-overweight cheeselover will fall in love with me. I am going to sit on colourful park benches and smile at toddlers and puppies and make hearty conversation with artists and innkeepers and backpackers.
Except that my mommy is coming with me.
You heard me. I’m going to Europe with my mommy. Yes, I’m mid-twenties-ish.
I tried to stay out- tres forte.. I tried reallllly hard. Mom was gonna come for a week so I would get one week to myself. But now, as it appears I get the first two days alone which I will spend with my cousins anyway. Either that or I’ll be totally fucked up with the jetlag and walk deliriously in expanding circles.
And so, the Jups is happy to inform you that she will be 100% vegetarian, completely sober, decently dressed and in bed before ten thoughout her *cough cough* HUGELY ADVENTUROUS holiday in Europe. In the lands that gave us dirt-cheap beer and exotic sausages, the Jups will pay GOOD EUROPEAN MONEY to eat salades vertes, fruits, stupid packaged biscuits and drink Yaourt and Florida’s imported orange juice which normally retails at 7 dollars a litre at her local supermarket. The Jups will shyly look at her feet and start fidgitting everytime a hot European man eyes her.
And thus will be the Jups’ freedom-holiday, a supposed-once-in-a-lifetime holiday that the Jups was only too happy to wait two and a half years for and spend two and a half years’ worth of savings on. *fights back tears*
BLOTU, I surrender. You can have my soul, and my spirit. Stay away from my shoes though, I warn you.
Cool people, save yourselves, be alert at all times, for even though the Good Lord is kind and loving, he has a really cheap sense of humour. It’s just not funny.
Note to the Good Lord: this is so.not.over.