How Mature Can I Get?

 

 

 

Ryan and I always have this funny in sort of drunken way kind of exchanges. Seriously, he cracks me up. All. The. Time. Plus he says pussy. Hah!

The iDiot

The techiest I can do is clear cache and cookies. My mobile phone lives in my bedroom. My tablet Is a permanent fixture at home, does not go out, kinda antisocial. I use Skype but dread the video calls. Have I told you I don’t have a boyfriend? Hah!

Books, Anyone?

Because sleep is overrated.

My Comment On Fashion Pulis About A BV On A Corrupt Media Personality

Envelopmental journalism is prevalent, a sad reality in the media industry. Hypocritical self-righteous pricks who accepts payouts or negotiate favors don’t necessarily look like ogres or the bad guys. I mean, life would be so easy if the devil actually has horns, wears a cape and carries a trident wherever he goes; that way we would know who to believe and who to work with. But this also doesn’t mean that all the fuglies are saints. As the cliche goes, we’re human. So going back to the BI, my take is this could easily be any media practitioner. If fp is specifically referring to Mr. X on this blind, it doesnt mean Ms. Y is innocent or Mr. Z is a saint. But before we condemn them for abusing authority and fooling the people, think of the times you got off in a No Unloading zone or took a cab in a No Loading area or didn’t properly dispose trash or pay someone to hasten the processing of your driver’s license, etc. Now imagine yourself in their shoes being offered the world. Not even a split second of thinking how easy it is to just say yes and live an easy life? Now since you’ve established how pure at heart and saintly you are, go ahead and have fun casting stones.

PS. Let me be clear that I’m not an advocate nor do I condone corruption. I am painfully human, hopefully working to be more socially aware and responsible and still part-time self-righteous prick.

That Wine

Can you spot the infamous wine? And I’m sure you can smell Evert’s desperation to eat healthy and lose weight. Plus the stink of my perpetual denial of the need to diet.

Breakfast Epiphany

You know how it is when you’re totally convinced that it’s just another uneventful day and then wham! you bump into something and your life is changed forever. And I mean forever.

So after devoting time reading and blogging two entries, I had to drag myself out of bed because I can no longer ignore my grumbling stomach. I was thinking oatmeal because I’m not exactly the most devoted cook in the morning. Plus I’m not exactly keen on reheating leftover food from the Chinese new year “party” last night. Too much effort for lazy old me. So I opened the fridge after mouthing a silent prayer that I’d find some surprise food there fit for breakfast and more exciting than oatmeal. Hmmm. Tons of veggies Evert grabbed from the grocery because he thought they were cheap. My brother and I really like to pretend we eat healthy. Then there was the wine left from the new year’s eve party, not the Chinese new year but the Jan 1 party. I really should throw it out. Wrinkled blueberries. They got crinkly after that first time they got thawed. They had looked lonely since then. Miracle Whip. Oh wait, we have roasted chicken from last night. Can I dip it in Miracle Whip? Mmm. No, thanks. Not in the mood for cold chicken. That’s when I saw the leftover pizza neatly stacked on the big blue plate covered with my fave swirly red plate. Who says you can’t have leftover pizza for breakfast?

So cold pizza and milk for breakfast. It’s like the biggest discovery I’ve had since that time I found out I’ve been tying my shoelaces wrong. You can have junk food for breakfast because sometimes you have to show your tummy who’s boss. And you can’t do worse than cold pizza and milk. I’m pretty sure that in some parallel universe, it’s the breakfast of champions.

Apologies, Mate

I’m sorry I haven’t blogged since forever. I don’t even have a decent excuse for it. But this time I intend to keep my promise to write regularly. It’s not like I have a boyfriend to keep me preoccupied anyway. Not that I’m saying I’ll ditch you if and when I get a boyfriend. Geez, mate! 

The Boy Who Left

The title would have worked better if the past tense of leave is leaved. Get it? Haven’t heard of Harry Potter?

So this is about the boy who left. Well, not really as much as the girl. Same old story, they were friends. Nothing special about the friendship though. What she liked about him is that he listens or at least pretends to. He would ask her about everything from commuting to food to shoes to games. She was happy to oblige. He would flirt from time to time but she would dismiss it and thought it harmless. Then one day he kissed her. She felt odd that she was not surprised. She would say the kiss was nice because she really does not have other words to describe it. It was not spectacular or terrible or boring. It was just nice.

Happy ending, right? In the perfect world, your friend becomes your lover and you live happily ever after. Well, not so much in the not-so-perfect world. Plus the title gave the ending away, didn’t it?

So moving on with the story after they have kissed. The girl vanished, not in the vanished into thin air fashion although that would have been way cooler. Just the classic 21st century kind of disappearing act. No text messages. No calls. No instant messages. No emails. Then they saw each other again after a few months. He asked her why she left. She couldn’t think of a decent answer. She simply said, “because I’ve always had the taste for self-destruction.”

And so the boy left never to be heard from again.