Lima Peringkat

Apologies for the last post's outburst. As you could obviously tell, was not in the best of mental states.  Am glad to report that I am somewhat better and I've reached the acceptance stage of grief faster than I thought I would. The depression stage did a real fucking number though.

Here's what I've accepted:

• M1 was a shitty friend all along and that's a fact. We have met, loved and lost and it's time to move on in life because there is nothing else left between us.

• M2 was my good time girl for which her affections, most probably false, were taken as something, most likely infatuation, to fill the empty void in me because of the intense loneliness I feel from the lack of a romantic companion. We both live different lives and should be free to find our own happiness. Thanks for the memories but one should know when to face reality and cut ones losses. 

• I'm severely disappointed with myself for allowing myself to be blinded emotionally and disregarding any shred of common sense and rationality. Will strive to do better in future and maintain more calm and serenity in trying to avoid the pitfalls in life while pursuing happiness. 

If any of you have had to deal with depression, and I believe many of you have, you would know that the above is really pretty much an exercise in common sense and being rational and realistic about the facts of life. You would also know however that emotions have a tendency of presenting life in very rose tinted glasses.

Its been a struggle, of that I can assure you. From the waking nightmares to the lack of appetite and sleep. But talking about it, to anyone, really does help. It really isn't a cliche the Befrienders or some other mental health organization spout to be relevant. So if you know someone who's going through depression, the best you can do is lend an ear. We'll come around eventually, and you'll never know how valuable you've been to us as a pillar to lean on the emotional tempest that we go through.

I don't have to name names here but to the people who've helped me along the way, I love and thank you for everything. You've given me the will to live again and find happiness.

redux

Yesterday's affirmations of hope and absolution did not work in the slightest.

I sunk to a new low today. I called Befrienders . I spoke to Ashley. She said its because I'm feeling abandoned and worthless. How astute. I could have told you that Ashley. I must admit, that it felt good to talk about it to a complete stranger. But the good feels only lasted for like less than an hour.

I couldn't sleep. Try as I might it was basically me staring into darkness. Mind racing. Thoughts of her and her. I'm a selfish cunt. I want what others have. And when I don't get them I get all petulant. And for what? Two people who only have temporary permanence in my life? Both of them aren't even in the same country for God's sake. They don't owe me shit.

Why? Why? Why do I feel this way? It's fucking driving me nuts.

I must resolve to forget them. Forge ahead.
I must resolve to forget them. Forge ahead.
I must resolve to forget them. Forge ahead. 
I must resolve to forget them. Forge ahead.

Why? I'm supposed to be stronger than this goddamn it.  

The Profession

Being selfish, I've been told, is not one of the qualities which I'm known for. Those who say that, in retrospect, have not seen how I'm terribly selfish emotionally.

This is the story of the other M:

The Other M (henceforth M2) is my part time lover.  When I say that, I mean I'm only in love with her when I'm on the Island. And quite possibly for a month or two after I have departed the Island. And then, inevitably and because of the distance and difference in mindsets, we drift apart again. Until I return to the Island and we start over again.

I met M2 on my second time on the Island. She approached me in a crowded bar, as you do, and I haven't been able to forget her since then. Of the time I spent there on the second trip, I was with her for most of the nights. It was a transaction that became way too personal. I still can't explain the attraction there was between us, but attraction there was, genuine or otherwise.

I left the island in an M2-induced haze. You could say the sex was good, but I have before and since had way better. There was something about her I can't quite describe but there it was. In the months after I left the Island we kept in touch. Then she asked me for money with a sob story.

If you know me, that will do it. Off to Western Union we go. We kept talking after that, mostly sweet nothings. Enquiring about mundane shit like whether we have eaten and how our day was. It was a disgustingly domesticated and sordid way of keeping in touch. But we humored each other.

Then came the day she told me she ran out of money again. Because the trade she was in wasn't doing so well. I preempted it with a firm no. It was not because I was financially in dire straits myself. But it would not stand for her to make it a habit of asking me for money. She said she understood but then promptly sold her phone. Without telling me. I lost her then. And I went on with life with her being a distant but fond memory.

I returned to the Island recently. I initially had no intention of contacting M2 whatsoever. What were the chances she probably got married off and honoured up by quitting the Profession? I couldn't know that. Plus it's the Island. Looking for companionship is way more easier than it should be. Depending on how much paper you carried in your wallet anyway.

The first night I was there was a horrible alcohol induced haze of bad decisions and mediocre fucking. Mostly on my temporary companion's part. Maybe mine too. Forgettable to say the least.

The second night was an absolute bust, and I'm not talking about my nut here. It had more to do with the lack of professionalism with the Professionals in their slightly misconceived notion that only certain nationalities were a good and proper meal ticket.

The third day, I resolved not to repeat the first two nights' mistakes. I took a chance and looked for M2 on Facebook. Easy enough to find. The hard part would be seeing if she was willing to see her former part time lover again. She was. She would arrive the next day. Well no sense wasting another night just to wheat the appetite. The third night was a repeat of the second night, with fatigue thrown into the mix. It was another bust and I was tired. But no matter. At least the next day would be a sure thing.

And it was. On the fourth night we rekindled the lost attraction over pizza and beer and sex. It could that I was both emotionally and sexually starved but it was better this time. And not just the sex either. She was more intelligent than I last remembered and she carried herself and her conversations with me well. If you know me, brains on a woman is an extreme turn on. The night ended with the promise of more rekindling the next day.

On the fourth day, my indiscretion with midday partaking of copious amounts of alcohol left me incapable of meeting with her on this, the last night on the Island. Much to my regret.Here's a tip, don't take tequila. It will fuck you up.

I left the Island on the fifth day, with me and her saying our goodbyes and promising to keep in touch. As per usual.

I arrived back to steel and concrete jungle which I call home suffering from Island hangover, and probably M2 hangover as well. How I loathed returning to the shit and skullduggery of my purposeless life as a non-contributing member of society.

I guess that's why they call it a holiday. You go to forget to your problems and hopefully come back refreshed of body, soul and mind to face them.

And face them I did. Life was slightly better than it was before I left. I had a job interview lined up. I was losing weight and being relatively healthy, sans smoking habit. I was still in contact with M2, the usual sweet nothings and enquiries of well being. How copacetic.

Before we continue, I must point out that, at all times, I knew about her Profession. I knew it and I accepted it as part of her life. A means to an end. I understood. I really did. I was not angry that she warmed the bed of other anonymous men. It would be hypocritically of me to judge as I often warm the bed of mostly anonymous women. It's the Profession.

Then came the day I got my tattoo of Hermes's paw. That odd shaped paw print. I had been planning it for a long time and I finally got it done. Goodbye to working in frontline customer jobs but hello memorial tattoo of my best four legged furry friend/child. The day, as I seemed to recall it, was good. I remember planning out what to say during the job interview and managed to play a bit of Arkham Origins.

Then, at 3:30 AM, while listening to a Kevin Smith podcast, I got that fateful message from Michelle. You know what happened next.

What you didn't know was that I, stupidly, looked for some semblance of commiseration with M2. One thing led to another and I discovered her other Facebook page. And she posted a picture of her with some other guy and one picture in particular further inflamed my sense of despair. It was a picture of her holding a ring next to the said guy and saying "I can't wait!".

I reacted the only was I could. With passive aggressive sardonicism. I congratulated her on her upcoming nuptials. She replied that it was only a joke she wanted to share with her friends. She said she was too young to get married and was still in college anyway. I asked about the guy and she mentioned that he was her current boyfriend. Long distance. Then she said she could never marry, because of the Profession. The guy did not know about her Profession and if he did he would never marry her anyway.

I didn't know what to make of it. I just accepted it. Because it was then I came to the realization that whatever fucking pretense I was having with and about her was a goddamned lie. A lie that I created. Too soothe my poor, sorry lonesome ego. She was in the profession, I was a Mark. Put aside my delusions of companionship and that's all we really are. She has no obligation whatsoever to cradle and stroke my ego. She should be free to pursue her own happiness, whatever they may be.

The cold hard truth is this: we can never be more than anything other than part time lovers on the Island.

In my fragile state of mind that day, I unloaded on her, for once, emotionally rather than physically. And I kept up my delusion for a while like how a junkie takes a hit and promises himself that it's just one last hit to tide him over when he goes to rehab tomorrow.

Well, tomorrow arrived. She said she would like to keep in touch with me because she liked me and I reciprocated because you never know when I was going back to the Island. Though she doesn't have to know that.

It tugs my heart ever so faintly but I must learn to face the truth of the matter at hand. She can find her own happiness without me.  And I must seek my own.Whatever said and done, we'll always have our moment on the Island.

I think overall, this tattoo is symbolic of the emotional tribulation I've been through in the last week. It was itching like crazy and now, its starting to peel and it doesn't itch anymore. I'm slowly getting better with the passing of time.

I will end with one of my favorite quotes :      این نیز بگذرد

This too shall pass.

Reflection

It's been 9 years,3 months and 163 posts. Of those 9 years, I was inactive for 2 years. After the last post I decided to revisit all my posts. This is a bad thing, because I only blog when I'm extremely bored and/or depressed. And currently, I'm both.

Bored because I've currently been without work for the past 9 months though this situation will, hopefully, be remedied in short order following my interview on this coming Thursday with the same company I left 9 months ago. For a lower position and a lower pay. But lower pay is better than no pay. And it will at least allow me to focus on something other than all the negative shit that's been happening lately.

Which brings me to the depression. I've been hiding it for a good while now. Numbing myself in other stimuli like books, movies and games. Anything to distract me from the dreadful knowledge that I lived a life of no purpose, alone. I thought I kept the charade up pretty well. But then the shit went down last week and I guess the facade crumbled away.

It's been 4 days of living in a haze of melancholy. I don't really feel like eating (which has the great short term effect of helping to lose more weight; though in the long run, not really great) and sleep is akin to that of a cheap prostitute you paid for an overnight special but then bails after the 2nd hour. Exercising would have been great, what with all the release of endorphin, but the new tattoo of my dead dog's paw is still healing (and itchy like a crack whore).

Instead I'm spending most of my time awake either being a house steward or, especially in the night, on YouTube, listening to Ghost and other assorted metal bands. That's another sign by the way, of my descent into melancholy; incessant listening to metal (my emo rantings aside, you should listen to Ghost.Great band). 

I suppose I should be grateful that that's the extent of it. Upon reflection of my previous posts through the years, it was quite a more destructive path of copious amounts of booze and cigarettes and the occasional self scarring. I think I've graduated from messed up kid to messed up man-child. 

I've semi-stopped drinking (only on holidays) and I don't self scar unless it's done professionally and with ink. I still smoke like a motherfucker though. More now in fact since I have income. I find I'm not polemically angry (i.e. fuck the world) anymore but more melancholic (i.e. why are things fucked up and why can't I supposedly do anything about it?). Its like anger's lazier, more chilled out, stoner cousin. 

Yeah, I get sad, but I don't feel like slitting my wrists anymore. Work and income and the material things I can buy from said income have helped tremendously in that sense. That's why I didn't blog for over two years. I was working. Living. Semi happy or somewhat content with my lot in life. And now that I no longer have that, I look back at everything and have arrived back at the exact spot which I started. Alone, jobless, purposeless.

Maybe it's all temporary. Melancholy, happiness. One can't live without being defined by the other. Well, it's melancholy's reign now. After a long time it feels like an old, spiteful friend. Familiar but detested. And, to put it simply, it sucks balls. 

When I first started writing this post I went thorough the other post and I was thinking, fucking hell, nothing about me has changed one bit. Just older. But in the course of writing it, around maybe the 6th paragraph, I realized that it's not all that bad. I will get better eventually. Especially with that job lined up around the corner. I will eventually forget about the casus melancholia, namely the two Ms, and things will get better again. They have to. Otherwise, what the point of it all?

I find that it's becoming like a litany nowadays. I always have to keep telling myself that things will get better. It's becoming annoying. 

In conclusion, listen to Ghost!  And no, I'm not shamelessly plugging for them because I work for them. They've been the soundtrack to my melancholy. And its a damn good soundtrack. 

End

Its been 11 years since I started this blog. And before that I had another blog somewhere and I can't even remember the name of the blog host anymore since 2002. I started it as a way to share my feelings. With anyone who was willing to trawl through the wall of text. But, as you can tell, the blog postings became less and less frequent. Life took over. I didn't have time to write or rather share anything. I still have the feels.

You'd think at 31 life would just sort of start being automatic and preordained by society. Good job, wife, kids, house. All that good shit you were brought up on to believe that those are the necessary ingredients to a happy and fulfilling life. I don't have any of that. Only the first ingredient concerns me as it allows me to pay for shit I think I want but in reality, if I'm honest, I don't really need. But you know, capitalism and base desires and all that intellectual sounding bullcrap.

Like I said, life took over. I had 4 jobs in the last 8 years. Out of which I've only stayed at one for 3 years. The others rarely lasted more than a month. I could say that I was still searching for the right job but I know I'm not fooling anyone. I don't have my shit figured out. Life, which includes friends and family, have moved on way ahead of me and I'm still stuck here. By here I mean alone and awake at 2AM writing on a blog I hardly write on anymore, with no real purpose in life.

This melancholy this time was brought about the fact that Michelle is getting married. Fine. Get married. It's part of the journey or life or insert whatever cliche about life you want here. What has got me pissed off, illogically is this:

In regards to Michelle, her husband to be, surprise surprise, sees me as a threat and has asked Michelle to choose between me and him. Stop me if you haven't heard of that before. It's happened every fucking time with all her relationships. Yeah, yeah. We're good friends and I'm her unconditional security blanket and all that good shit. She was nice enough when she was single but after the relationship comes in, our friendship always gets puts on ice. To her credit, she did try to fight for it but in the end, inevitable, my friendship really didn't mean anything . And I'm sick of that shit. So that's the end of the friendship after 16 years. It was the second longest friendship I had after Jas. But sure, piss it all away. Because love-always-wins.

The above situation shouldn't really get me angry if I think about it logically. I mean, Michelle is far away from me and absence makes the heart grow colder. She doesn't really impact my life in any way other than friendship and camaraderie. So why the fuck am I angry then?

I'll tell you why; its because I have some screwed up false notion that she owes me some sort of obligation not to betray my trust and my feelings. I don't know where the fuck this comes from. Because she obviously doesn't. I'm clearly not someone who means a whole lot in her life either. And I think I found the crux of it. I'm mad at myself. For allowing myself to trust.

I'll be frank. Before I wrote this paragraph I had written a long angry, emo, 3 paragraph spiel about not trusting people because people will invariably hurt you one way or the other. After having to take a piss and a smoke, I deleted it. Because in a moment of epiphany, I realized that its just one person out of the 40 or so other people which I really care about and trust with all my heart. She doesn't
matter in the long run but the other 39 do (at least until they hurt you too but we'll cross that bridge when we get there).

Yeah, I'll still hurt for a while. Especially due to our long, shared past. But I'll get over it eventually. And knowing that that eventuality WILL come makes me feel slightly better. I could really use a Red Horse now though. But alas, I apparently don't drink anymore. At least when I'm not on vacation anyway.

I chose the subject title of this blog because when I first started writing, I wanted to close this blog. I
hardly write anymore and I'm pretty sure that half the people who are apparently my followers are in reality just fucking bots. Plus I keep a journal. You know, the old school type where you actually have to use a writing instrument to write your thoughts down on pages and stuff. But I find that I'm reluctant to do so now. I mean, it has been 11 years. Sentimentality is a hell of a feeling. So, I'm just
going to leave it open for now. I'll write in both mediums, time and thought permitting.

Those of you who actually do read this whole messy, spelling error littered, grammatical nightmare wall of text, thank you. Really. You could have been watching porn or stalking your crush but you actually took the time which you will never get back to read the emo rantings of some weird guy.

Thank you.
 

Poor man's Poe

I see you sometimes in the night
A haunting past, an apparition
Of wrong choices, a soul stalker
Of things left unsaid.

You chase my guilt in the familiar.
I am afraid of new potentials.
To think we've come so far
Only to come back again
To dark corridors of perdition.

A swirling mist of uncertainty
That settles and cloaks me
Like a tender kiss of death.
Icy tendrils, clawing, scratching;
A torturer's delight, gasps of agony.

A haunted forest hung with grim
Visages of past mistakes,
Rictus grins taunting, laughing
Mirthlessly, accusingly.
Mea culpa, Mea culpa, I plead;
Silence of the graves.

I'm not being emo. I just felt like doing some poetry. Not that I'm any good at it. But I feel that it is a rather elegant way of expressing one's feelings/emotions/thoughts on everything really.  Plus, you know, English Lit student and all that artsy razzle dazzle.

I wouldn't dare be that presumptuous and say I'm such a lover of Literature and the Arts because, besides course material and a few other choice works, I know diddly squat about that stuff. But that's the beauty of Art isn't it? Its universally appreciated subjectively. Feelings which can't be articulated into fancy and intelligent sounding words does not negate the actual feeling. Much like literature, and much like life in general. And I'm blabbering.

This poem/post was, surprisingly, soundtracked by Kanye West, specifically, ironically, from his My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy album. Did it serve as my muse? I can't say, honestly. I thought about this poem on a cab ride home from work and Kanye West certainly wasn't soundtracking that (Incubus was though, specifically A Crow Left of the Murder album).

Hello again

Um, yeah. So that was a really long sabbatical. Apologies (even though I highly doubt anyone is still reading this and hence the redundancy of an apology). Life has kept me somewhat preoccupied to really rant about anything.

Actually, preoccupation would be the wrong misnomer to my lack of ranting. I just really don't give a shit about stuff like I used to. I don't mean I've become heartless. Kittens, puppies, Hermes (my golden retriever), sad love stories still get me. But things I should rightly(?) get all self righteous about just don't seem to incite the similar urge to rant. You could say, I became more selfish. Besides friends and family, anything that doesn't affect me or is of use to, or anything which I'm unable to remedy by myself through proactive action or otherwise; I could not care less.

For example, I used to hate the whole hipster counter culture. I hated their whole condescending and Oh-I-Like-Things-That-Are-Not-The-Norm-I.e-I'm-Cooler(than you) attitude. Them and their Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, their free trade coffee, their typewriters and their stocking nets. You get the idea. Nowadays I don't even bat an eyelid. They do not serve any purpose towards me achieving my goals (getting laid, getting paid mostly preoccupy those goals. Nothing long term as yet). Plus, with the 20/20 vision of hindsight, being angry all the time is just tiring. Yes I know. Repeating myself. But I mean it this time. Really. Bar some ultra-mega-super-hyper traumatic incident happens which will revert me back to bitterness and self pity. Like Subway running out of meatballs on Meatball Wednesday.

Not everything has changed of course. I'm still significant other-less, still smoking and drinking like its a dying fad, still very much in love with Americana and still employed (with a 4 month stretch of non-employment based on labor solidarity). Still me, basically, just less ranty. I haven't given much thought about Ms Goodgame and MsTeenCristine, besides the occasional (very occasional) Facebook stalk. I still talk to Michelle as we have since entered a strictly platonic relationship (as we can see from precedent, we just do not work as a couple. Plus you know, lesbian, straight guy. Not going to Gigli it.

One thing I would like to address, since this post has gotten considerable real world traction, is the particular subject of the ode which I drunkenly wrote about in 2010. After three years, I feel the same about her. And I still wish her happiness with her current man, who is of course one of the nicest guys you can ever have the pleasure of meeting. He's my friend and will always be my friend. Also, let's get this straight: I'm not in love with her. I'm in love with the idea of her. She's the epitome of the eventual one. She's just not meant for me. Not in this life or maybe even the others. That's the way the karmic cookie crumbles. Move on and get over it.

Besides everything mentioned above, life is complacently copacetic. And I like it that way. I don't think I would like to divulge the copacetic-ness of my life details (anymore) as I still believe in a modicum of privacy. Besides, aren't my thoughts and opinions already personal enough?

May or may not post again. We'll see when the fancy to put thoughts to words hits again. Till then, keep it copacetic.

This post was written to the songs of Taylor Swift. Say what you will about her. She's just a good singer. She gives me the same feel-good sorta bittersweet reminisce of better times feelings that I felt when I heard Michelle Branch. And no, my ovaries have not dropped last I checked. I just appreciate good music (to me anyway). Whatever its source.

I Hati Scott Pilgrim

Scott 'effin Pilgrim. I honestly can't remember reading a more satisfying collection of comics besides Daredevil's Born Again arc. I will admit that I got into the comics due to the film staring one of Canada's better entertainment products, Michael Cera, which was just fucking fantastic. But you already know how I feel about film vs comics. I will never ever put them on the same pedestals because of the simple fact that they are two different mediums, and one will never reach the heights of the other. No, I'm not some fan boy hipster. That's just how I shield myself from disappointment.

Anyway coming back to Scott Pilgrim, it's simply just a great book due to the fact that I can relate to it. Fine, I don't play any musical instruments and I never dated a hipster nor have I ever had the amount of girlfriends that he ever had, but I was that 20 something under achiever looking for the love of his life while trying to live life day by day in my own world view that may or may not include friends, family and reality. Still am actually. I would go so far as to call Scott Pilgrim the greatest post modern romantic ever.

And I guess that's what we all aspire to be, the romantic, even though we try to deny it in an ever apathetic-because-its-cool attitude which over saturates everything in life these days. No, ladies and gentleman. Don't let post modernism steal your soul. We still want to feel and love and feel loved. Very much so.

What? You were expecting a general summary of the story? Don't be lazy. Ask Uncle Google. Or better yet, go buy the collection. You will not regret it. Unless you hate everything and/or/up and including comics. Then go kill yourself. No. No.. Suicide is not something to be laughed at or made light of. Just... go away and sit in the quiet corner and meditate on mayhem and nihilism.

Bottom line. I heart Scott Pilgrim
.

Alright, just one more image since I've so fallen in love with print screen. What? I've just learnt to use it ok?

What we all ultimately aspire to reach.

If you need more reasons to read Scott Pilgrim, the you, sir/madam, are a most blase person. And I bet you don't even know what that means without referring to a dictionary. Or you're secretly part of a race of aliens who's one weakness is appreciating good shit (literally and metaphorically.. oh man.. nothing like a good shit at the end of the day).

Bryan Lee O'Malley, sir, please don't sue me for copyright infringement. I only wanted to share one minute but immensely important part of your work with your masses. And I know you don't have time to trawl through the blogs but in the rare almost never ever gonna happen no chance in hell instance you do visit here, thanks for reading! I read radiomaru.com too! And yeah, please don't sue me.

I'm quite bored

Yeah. Like the title says. But you already knew that when I start writing an entry here. Perhaps all is not as contentful as it should or appears to be eh? And I know the source of this boredom/ discontent. Its the lack of female companionship at this stage in life. Let's face it. I'm 26. I got a good (hopefully long term), well paying job, good family, good friends and a roof over my head. But sometimes, sometimes the urge to just have that non platonic and somewhat sexy relationship is very strong.

I laugh it off and try to compartmentalize it as some silly biological urge to go forth and multiply. Or that I try to justify my singlehood as the last resistance to the the chains of marriage. But who am I kidding eh? I want a Mrs. Ju-Rants. Ok well, marriage is still a bit off at least until the cut off point of age 35, but you know, someone to share stuff with. From pizzas to how much time I spend with my friends. The whole shebang. Hell, I'm putting driving on the table here (those of you that know me know that driving is.. a problem). And I'll probably quit smoking. Probably. If it bothers you that much.

I guess that explains why a majority of the posts here are about the women I had affections for, namely Michelle, MsGoodGame, and Ms CounterStrike. Those three, despite the various infatuations I've had with several other girls of the week, are the ones I suppose have affected me the most. They are/were, the ones that got away. Speaking of which, I did this at work (on a really fucking slow day, so don't get your labour law panties in a bunch)


A very accurate meme of my love life even if I do say so myself. And yes, 9gag stole my soul. It will steal yours too.

And I can already here the whole "oh, falling in love isn't hard. You have to wait for the right one to come along" or "you have to put yourself out there". Ignoring the fact that both statements actually contradict each other, I have in fact tried to be normally adjusted to society given my sociopathic tendencies of staring intensely at people who catch my attention and copious amounts of smoking and frowning. I'm not angry about shit, I just frown when I'm thinking. Ergo, I think a lot. Sometimes about work but mostly dialogue I will never have with people I will never meet.

But yes, I try to meet girls out there. Strangely enough, the one's I'm interested in are always unavailable (i.e. they have a fucking boyfriend). And no, the fact that they are already committed to someone else is not the dealmaker for me to be interested in someone. That's just fucking sick. I just don't do well at closing the deal. And I'm incredibly shy and self conscious around everything I'm unfamiliar with. So... Vietnamese mail order brides?

Unrelated Anecdote : There this one time I was in Bristol having a drink in a bar with my Malaysian friend and his roommate and the roommate's girlfriend and girlfriend's friend. So we were all sitting outside at the table bench and the girls had to take their leave. So as they were getting up, the roommate's girlfriend, somehow, managed to flash us (the Malaysians) her panties. I did not snigger or laugh or be a creep about but politely looked away. To which she said (and you have to say this in your head with the most English-fied accent you can imagine), "Oh no, I've done gone an flashed my fanny to everyone".

Now, to my American culture influenced brain, I translated "fanny" to mean "ass/backside". And i think my perplexity was apparent on my face when my friend whispered to me in Malay, "Fanny kepada meraka bermakna pantat, bukan belakang mereka". A quiet smile was shared as I sipped my Stella.

So yeah, loneliness and boredom tends to produce shit entries like these sometimes. Harping about the same bloody issues over and over again.

Happy New Year by the way. I hope you get laid.

Selamat Hari Natal

Merry Christmas dear reader. I hope you got an Iphone4s and/or laid for Christmas. I did not get either but instead got somewhat drunk on beer at a German bar run by Myanmarese. And that's what the holiday's about. Materialism and inebriation on Jesus's birthday which is incidentally a continuation of pre-Christian pagan winter solstice celebration . Happy birthday Lord. Thus ends this year's Christmas message.

On another somewhat hilarious and/or shocking note, I have with me photographic evidence of Ms CounterStrike being a somewhat unbalanced and/or airheaded person which, in light of this evidence and further past transgressions, has me thinking , "what the hell did i fucking see in THAT?" I mean yeah, attractive body aside, there's no way in hell we could have sustained a theoretical relationship, aside from constant mind numbing sex. Call it high standards if you will, but no.. just... no.

For the uninitiated, Ms CounterStrike is currently dating her ex boyfriend of 9 years, Mr Danny. This is the very same boyfriend who, from very reliable sources, used to force himself on her and has even physically battered her on occasion. A regular fucking saint this one. I submit to you proof of the current folly that is their relationship ala facebook relationship status.


Clear so far? After the events mentioned above, I have deleted Ms CounterStrike from any social interaction but for the life of me she still remains a "friend" on the facebook of yours truly. This has afforded me the opportunity to provide "vigilant surveillance" on her well being in the hypothetical but real threat of her current boyfriend going Chris Brown on her. You may call it stalking, sir, but my altruistic intentions defeats all your legal and moral arguments. Furthermore, go fuck yourself, sir.

Coming back to tangent subject, I have recently found the following on her wall.



Wait for it......












N.B: I wanted to find something more interesting on the net, but 9gag was of no help and typing "funny + incest" leads to very very very very very very strange websites and pictures.....

WAS I DRUNK THE WHOLE TIME I WAS ATTRACTED TO HER??

Anyway..

Merry Christmas!