morose musings

doubts...

2007-03-29T21:59:00.000+10:00

He doesn't seem to take this very seriously. It's like the only time he really pays attention is when he thinks I'm about to up and leave.

All I really want is for him to know how to watch himself. Life as isn't easy as things go. Less so if the world labels you a sexual deviant. Which is fine by me, because I'm not really interested in staying around to see what happens later in life. But he's full of it. He's so full of life.

Why does he frustrate me so? The more I feel I love him, the more he infuriates me. Maybe it's because I feel that he doesn't do for himself the best he can. Or maybe because I know I won't be around forever to watch him. The darker side of me says it's because I know I won't love him forever. And I cannot make any kind of promise to the contrary.

Or maybe it really is that I have secretly selfish wants that are not apparent to me. I've always prided myself of being at least as conciously selfless as I can be, at least where love is concerned. And being absolutely conciously selfish on an overall scale, I tried to stay out of it.

And he pulled me right in. Just like that.

The first time, I thought to myself, phew, I stepped out of the trap. Then he had to fall in love.

I don't know what I want him to do. Maybe I want him to grow up. But would that be for his sake or mine?

I already know what his parents will do when they find out about him. His dad already threatened to disown him. His family has a history of excommunicating their family fairies. Is it to shield him from this, or is it to cover for my own failings?

I don't know what I want. I don't even know if this is really all in my head, or just too much black pepper for dinner.

momma says...

2007-03-13T10:38:00.000+11:00

Boi's parents have been here for about 10 days now. They are rather an exasperating set of traditionalist Chinese parents. Again, it is said that nobody likes the mother-in-law, and for good reason.

"Mother-in-law": I can't wait for my boy to get married and have kids.

Me: I don't plan to get married. I don't believe in having kids

"M-i-l": That's rather selfish of you.

She does have a severe phobia of the "homosexual predator". In fact, she made me promise to keep him away from gay folk. Naturally, it is in my best interest to keep him away from the eville eville gay wolves, and so I will.

I don't know what to think. It's pretty frustrating all in all, but I put up with it. Talk about severe homophobia. I don't think his mom would mind so much him getting somebody pregnant (like THAT's gonna happen), but she wants him to have nothing to do with the pouffes. So convinced is she that "they will psycho you, better watch out for them."

I can just hear the new army CIA recruitment campaign writing itself out in my head.

"Are you a gay? Then we want you! We need your supernatural demonic abilities to corrupt people to your side! Top pay offered in our interrogation division. Homophobia risk factor in pay! Get up to double standard agent renumeration for coming out of the closet!"

While I think it's important that they like me (all the while not knowing what I am DOING with their precious boyboy), I somehow find it's difficult to do the opposite.

ransom...

2007-03-09T08:07:00.000+11:00

I think I've got a serial kidnapper for a boyfriend. And always kidnaps the same thing.

Emotional ransom is very sneaky, princess.

secks...

2007-03-03T22:30:00.001+11:00

As far as being in a sexually charged relationship, there's such a thing as too much. Then you get used to it, and become a depraved, sex driven maniac.

Never knew he was such a nympho. Or how physically perfect he could be. As far as natural perfection goes.

I do wish, however, he would take certain artificial improvements to his general appearance, one of which I am not at liberty to state. Pending that, I would have to say he'll be one step short of absolute deliciousness I could not resist.

Then we can let the secks begin.

va-jay-jay day...

2007-02-16T02:38:00.000+11:00

The boi was missing most of the day, pandering to an older sister's whims at her office.

Was looking forward to some sort of relaxing evening cup of coffee or tea or juice or whatever with him, but turns out I had to beg (as far as I ever stoop to such degrading activity) for an hour after 10.

Boutique coffee being what it is, and Valentine's Day being what it was, it was sort of surprising that the local neighbourhood Starbucks wasn't squished full of either horny jalapenos, but just a light dusting of singles' clubs.

And as luck would have it, we ran into one from school. Three chicks.

Blah blah, one hour of how the accepted printed symbol for the heart actually orginated from a butt print and making stupid jokes like, "Oh, I ass you so much..." and other aimless shit, I took the boi back.

I felt suitably ignored that night. One consolation is that this is so totally keeping in line with my history of crap V-days.

Three va-jay-jays. Who'd have thunk?

kinky...

2007-02-05T03:10:00.000+11:00

And they said the Japs were uptight.

Wonder what the boi was trying to say by this.

sunrise...

2007-01-30T18:32:00.000+11:00

Again I find myself thinking what I wake up for in the morning.

I won't split hairs. I don't like being alive. I am impatiently awaiting the day I stop waiting.

The only way I find it less of a pain is if I'm living so someone else can.

Dreams and aspirations are ground into dust. No matter how far you get, you will always fall. Time is the biggest feeder.

So until I pass into another period of painfully unwanted existence, here's to waking up to you.

getaway...

2007-01-29T12:17:00.000+11:00

And all along I thought that I could get some "things" done this weekend. Turns out the only thing he woke me up for this weekend was because he had a nightmare, and that he was sniffling his head off. Poor thing.

I meant me. I think I got some germs from him.

toes...

2007-01-24T16:38:00.000+11:00

You never know how much you miss your toes until you trip on a stationary escalator while wearing open toe sandals and basically ripping open a huge gash on two toes, the two biggest toes on one foot, then not having a clean and sanitary place to wash them so you walk around in your own blood pooled up in your sandals until it starts coagulating and there's a squishy squishy sensation. And stings like fuck.

Yup, that's how much you'll miss your toes. Especially when they come back looking all funny blue-black and discoloured from the broken blood vessels and blood clots.

dirt sandwich...

2007-01-17T19:49:00.000+11:00

It's a bit of a let down when another pile of hopes and dreams bites the dust.

I've always been one for the underdog, mostly because it's nice to turn the tables (furniture fanatics, rally to me!) once in awhile. Or most of the time. Keeps things fresh.

Remarkable is remarkable be, but know as long as you've made a choice, it's still between you and he.

There are worse things than having plans cut off and aspirations shattered. It's the inability to have them.

And besides, broken goods means you can go shopping again.

Take care, you rodent.

and make merry...

2007-01-12T11:45:00.000+11:00

The world would be a lot more interesting if everyone was happy.

What a gay ol' time we'd be having.

pineapple report...

2007-01-10T16:17:00.000+11:00

As far as flavour goes, I cannot say for sure. But it sure doesn't change the consistency of the subject. Pineapples.

In fried rice, of course.

canadia..?

2007-01-08T04:23:00.000+11:00

The boy just called. He apologizes for not posting, but he has been stuck in a pretty gay city, then shipped over to the land they call Canadia, then somewhere slightly more toasty. Then he says he'll be doing a pretty couple of posts and stuff.

What he didn't say was mushy stuff that I sorta kinda wanna expected to hear, but it's okay, cuz I think I heard people talking in the background.

Damn, I'm horny. Pineapples rock.

fruit...

2007-01-05T15:29:00.001+11:00

One resolution for 07: eat more fruit. Especially pineapple.

just below the screen...

2006-12-23T01:09:00.000+11:00

Got myself a temp job. Today at lunch with one of the other temps' colleagues, the less-than-sensitive gaydar was running while. Nothing particularly gay about the dress style or faces, but the moment the three blokes opened their mouth, alarms were everywhere.

Also, one of them had particularly nice manicured nails. The other two had very tittering laughter. And all three did the stereotypical limp wrist thing, not so much in the underdeveloped-musculature sense but the flaming queen manner.

The other chick who was with them either did not notice or was the fag hag. The other two temps at the table were either totally oblivious to the matter, or were very good at feigning ignorance.

On the train back from work today, I noticed this twinky twinky boi with big anime hair walking and holding hands and doing the whole lovey dovey thing with this short-ish chick. Both looked like anime-come-to-life-in-a-visually-painful way.

They missed their stop on the train, which was one before mine. They walked right up to the door, which was where I was standing. And I swear, I swear I wasn't purposefully looking for it, but I noticed two things. One, he was wearing an otherwise unnoticeable but absolutely very very gay looking pair of chequered pants in the strangest colour combinations of dirty green and purple. Also, they were tight pants. And was showing a particularly huge bulge in the front.

May explain why the chocolate and vanilla twinkies are together.

christmas...

2006-12-18T02:22:00.000+11:00

I'm gonna be doing Christmas without my boy.

Sigh.

something edible...

2006-12-09T17:09:00.000+11:00

Slurp.

holi-holiday...

2006-12-06T12:10:00.000+11:00

... not.

I'm incredulously, insanely, irrevocably bored. The definition of a holiday is a span of time which you can fritter away unconciously by doing any of the below:

~ ogling hotties in barely there threads.

~ walking around malls aimlessly while chatting with random folk you happen to know while fattening yourself on random shit like good ol' Cadbury chocs and Haagen-Dazs' ice cream and then going for lunch at Madam Kwan's and two movies with extra large popcorns and two cokes and dinner at Friday's then moan about your ever not-diminishing waistline.

~ sleeping.

~ making ~~love~~ music.

~ playing stupid RPGs from 7 am to 11 pm and not notice it's time to go back to bed anyway.

~ toying around with the toy boi, or boyfriend, or both, in certain cases.

~ sleeping.

~ sleeping.

~ zzz...

just a slice...

2006-11-20T01:55:00.000+11:00

Ever saw life on the streets walk past you, and decided to yourself, "I want a piece of that"?

Sometimes, it's a guy walking by with a triple decker double bacon double cheese quarter pounder burger with extra mayo, or someone with a spanking new PS3 box skivving away from the circus sideshow that is the promotional exhibit in the void area of the mall, or even that delicious pair of shoes that I would wear even with colour clashing outfits. Hell, even people with cars on a rainy day.

I got me a piece of something that I've been trying to get for the past half a year or so. And I got my brand on ~~him~~ it.

Hooh.

home again home again...

2006-11-10T21:21:00.000+11:00

I've been here barely 36 hours and already my family have begun to tick the hell out of me. I am absolutely reminded of the reason I was so relaxed and calm in Melbourne. And all along I thought it was because I was lazy. Hah.

Anyway, won't have anything to do for the next three weeks. Feel free to harass me if you're in KL or anywhere. Whee.

two weeks...

2006-10-25T22:24:00.000+10:00

I'll be back in exactly two weeks. I have papers on the 2nd, 6th, 7th, and 8th. I fly back on the night of the 8th.

The room is really clean, if messy. A whole pile of freshly sun-spruced laundry is lying in a heap behind me. Smells great. A suitcase lies to the side, open like a hungry hungry cumwhore. Or something like that.

Some late night-early morning handicraft produced a restaurant calling card curtain.

Never noticed how bare my walls look when the room is clean.

Got an offer to move in with K next year. His roomie is moving out and he has no standing tenants. For somewhere in the middle of the city, his pricing is quite flexible. Meaning, I name the price. Wondering if I should take it up.

Deciding what to pack when you're going home for 4 months is a bit more difficult than deciding what to pack to COME here. Electronics and related charge cables or battery rechargers, passports and banking documents, any number of medications and toiletries, especially that bottle of shampoo I ABSOLUTELY must have but am running out of. Wonder if they sell it back home.

Will anybody miss me here? Will anybody be enthusiastic about meeting me back home? Will anybody call up to arrange to meet me over a coffee? Will anybody email me saying they miss me already?

I'll miss this place. And maybe I won't have time to. I'll find out in two weeks.

gift giving...

2006-10-23T11:02:00.000+10:00

Is it just me, but when it comes to sharing presents, it's because most people aren't willing to shell out just a bit more for people who at other times of the year are the best things in your life?

I always thought that gift sharing was because we wanted to get ONE good present rather than many tiny but otherwise unremarkable gifts. While this is probably a big part of it, sometimes I think people just want to skimp on presents.

I mean, honestly, unless you're poverty stricken, you could at LEAST spend a bit more on a gift. It's not like you do it everyday. It's once in a bloody year, dammit. What's that extra dollar or two a person that will expand the possibilities of gift giving?

Maybe it's just me. I like my gifts to be things that people will keep and enjoy. Or at least friggin remember.

As opposed to a 2 inch tall stuffed Mr Bean teddy shared by half the bloody campus population.

Maybe that's where people will be remembered, no?

investment...

2006-10-14T12:26:00.000+10:00

I was chatting with my dad the other day. Seems that the investments he made with my money had a 15% return over the past 8 months, as compared to my fixed deposit with a measly 3%. Kinda pointless, since it doesn't even keep up with inflation.

In lectures, one thing became apparent to me; our most important tradable asset is our time. Whether or not we want to, we keep spending it. In finance, we learn that there's many investment methods, and not all give a sizeable return, indeed if at all.

We all make investments. Sometimes, we learn quickly that the investment is pointless and we terminate them to cut our losses. But honestly, how much time investment can we afford to fritter away before we don't have enough left?

The way I see it, although I have plenty left before my supply of time-currency runs out, not many investments I've made up to date have been worth much. It wouldn't even be so bad if I learnt something from them, but I haven't.

I've decided firmly against making that big lump-sum time investment (READ: marriage). I've seen my share of failed investments, and less than equitable equity. Sure, it will be spent anyway, but do I really want to put it all there? Can I really afford to pump more into that equity than I put in initially?

Some losses are just too great to cut off.

could...

2006-09-29T21:33:00.000+10:00

...you ever want something so bad you'll give it up? Love something so much that you'll die before seeing it burn?

I never thought I could.

sayonara...

2006-09-18T08:19:00.000+10:00

... k. Have fun where you're going. And don't forget to write to you know who. And you know where your next holiday WILL be.

... money. Expenses are far outstripping your growth rate, which is about negative, at any rate. Damnable bank charges.

... sanity. When the thin veneer of collectedness corrodes away, the inner self is exposed to the elements. But it still looks fine, because of the thin but incomplete oxide layer shielding sight, but not ions. Hah. Scientific analogies only make sense to the gibberish inclined or the equally insane.

... dreams. Reality rushes to greet you like the ground when you fall from a tree. With fractured hopes it's kind of difficult to understand what you're living for.

when it rains...

2006-09-10T23:10:00.000+10:00

...it pours.

And so I have confirmed to myself yet again a platonic relationship should NEVER take on romantic overtones. Even if I could not help it. Even if he is that perfect. Even if the only thing standing in our way is our long time friendship. Actually, more BECAUSE of it.

And also it turns out spring break for me is one week after theirs. And also that we started a week earlier than they did. And again, I'll spend my holidays alone because their exam preps start the week after. Fuck.

Again, it will not matter. It appears that higher powers do not like the idea of me being happy. Or even the much lower magnitude of forgetting the fucked-up curdled piece of fetid hobbit snot that is my life.

In the very few times in my life that I could ever feel like crying, I think I can add this to the list. On the upside, it would mean I can legitimately keep my platonic distance away from him. I do not care to have my already quite mangled heart mushed further.

afflictions...

2006-09-05T11:30:00.000+10:00

It seems to me every so often I'll put myself into situations where I'm being beaten to a pulp, both physically and metaphorically. I'm not what you'd typically call a masochist, but the fact that I don't seem to avoid such situations makes me wonder.

I think I've sunken my feet in too deep this time. It's a tad bad when your ideal situation begins to blur into what's really happening. It's really bad when other people toy with you like a cat and a mouse carcass, or children with tiny animals, or Dubya with his 'anti-gay' supporters (hoohas to those who got that). It gets a mite infuriating if you're the one putting your heart under the can crusher. Smooshed well, heart doesn't even make an appetising entree.

The idea of punishment is retribution for an action that is either misplaced or badly received. This self flagellation is probably the subconcious telling me to drop dead.

I hate matters of the heart. There are no solution scripts for you to check your answers.

documentary...

2006-08-29T00:00:00.000+10:00

Someone once said that watching porn with me is like watching a documentary. Plenty of social and textbook-like commentary, with very professional sounding opinions on the reasons for the acts of the, erm, wildlife.

Either that or much technical opinion on the angle and lighting methods used. Also on how face acting was off for someone who was supposed to be being beaten into submission and all. And how the storylines were absolutely improbable and no one in even the skankiest of situations would ever do that in real life.

Very cold and methodical.

Kinda explains my lack of suitors.

soundtracks...

2006-08-27T19:04:00.000+10:00

At a time when I realize that my heart has no direction, the Pirates and Jurassic Park soundtracks can be so soothing.

birth surprise...

2006-08-24T20:46:00.000+10:00

Mine's gone past more than a couple of months back. But it only really occurred to me. How sad it is that all my birthday parties have always been organized by me. It just makes me wonder, if I'm that good a friend as they claim I am, is it really too hard to surprise me with something on that ONE day? Does it always have to be me that does the surprising? Maybe that's why I'm the good friend. It's just that I'm not the best.

Well, gotta buck up and forget about that. Other birthdays are coming up and I have some shoppping to do. Whooo.

ripped...

2006-08-20T18:46:00.000+10:00

It's quite a bad thing to have yourself in tiny tiny shreds. It's worse when you're the on doing it to yourself. It's even more horrendous when you have a group assignment due on some footbridge spanning some obscure part of your campus that doesn't really matter since nobody uses the existing footbridge anyway, much less the one you're going to build. It seems to be some sort of footbridge fetish the faculty has, seeing how they're busy stringing together long tubular steel trusses together and pouring concrete all over the place.

Oh. I got lost with random train of thought.

The fact that I should NOT be mulling over this issue anymore because it's technically settled doesn't stop me from butting it head on. I had a talk with him. And while logic agrees with the conclusion we have come to, apparently there are internal organs that do not agree with the analytical methods. He did mention feeling physical pain from having dealt with similar issues, and I think I'm beginning to see how.

I suppose the real problem is that I have an abnormally high tolerance for pain. So much so it almost got me killed once. Try walking around with a ruptured appendix for two weeks and with deliciously delirium-inducing septicemia (that's blood poisoning for the less medically inclined) setting in, all while not noticing anything more than a dull ache. In reference to my overall inability to operate in a sufficiently sufficient manner in terms of the distasteful academia and other physical pusuits, it was almost unfortunate that I did not succumb to the little problem.

Medical science has not found a way to stitch together a broken heart. Time has. But what if you tear your own heart apart? Does the time-insurace factor cover that? Damnable promises of non-suicide causing activities. Damnable pride on keeping promises. Damnable weakness of being too strong to die. Damnable everything.

I tried to go softly into that sweet goodnight. Apparently, it was a no shirt, no shoes, no tie, no service affair. I wonder if bitter death is still open.

the problem...

2006-08-10T11:18:00.000+10:00

... with being gay is that potential suitors are also potential competition.

dreamspawn...

2006-08-06T19:18:00.000+10:00

Besides the usual absurd dreams where I'm a 5 feet tall chocolatier with foot-long chocolate organs of the suck-and-lick-able sort, or as a pilot of phallic planes and the random like, I've actually begun to have actual dreams of sex. As in, outright visual and other sensory images of sex, not the implied underlying imagery. Damn you, Freud!

Apart from that interesting threesome-jackhammer dream I had sometime back, I've NEVER had dreams of actual sex. These days they seem to be occuring almost every fucking dream, literally. Curiously, upon regaining conciousness in the morning, there are no physical signs of such dreams having occured, if you catch my drift, although most of the bed accessories like pillows and stuff end up on the floor. Hooh.

I have a niggling suspicion of the cause of these dreams. Naturally, these are too private to reveal to even the scurrilious occasional readers of this here blog. Gosh, I speak of imaginary characters even in lucid writing. At any rate, with my imagination all run amok, I must concur somewhat that my most deeply entrenched depression might have a hand to play in all this. That, and some other scandalicious details that would drop my grandmother dead if she ever caught wind of it. For her sake, I'll keep it out of circulation.

Curious, even to a mind that's slowly crumbling into tiny particles, much like how you would crumble graham crackers or digestive cookies to make a baked cheesecake base. The only real difference is that my efforts of compacting the bits together like what they do with the cheesecake isn't producing much of an effect but smooshing the bits even further. I think it's because I didn't put in the oil. Hmm, fish and chips sounding quite good right now.

Life being what it is, and what it shouldn't be, I find it increasingly difficult to write out anything. It's harder when you have to write to imaginary readers and imagine yourself imagining their responses to it. If it wasn't deflating enough as it is, it certainly is doing NOTHING to relief the depression. I think I'll go hang myself...

... a duck. To roast. Hmm.

rejected...

2006-08-04T21:18:00.000+10:00

I feel so rejected lately. Not in romantic prospects, mind you. After a certain unexpected event, I have no intention on pursuing such paths. At least not within the forseeable future. Best to let things lie, and for that other person to decide about the best course of action where personal issues not mine will be settled. Till then, I'll bide time.

Of course, the rejection. Not as in outwardly, but I've always been sensitive to subcutaneous and mostly unexpressed feeling. Most of the time, people give off vibes they don't even know they have, expressing opinions they may not be even concious about. I'm hoping I'm mostly imagining things, and that my sensory percursors need a little calibrating themselves, but I cannot shake the niggling feeling that people do not enjoy being in my immediate proximity.

It almost feels deliberate how easily I am pushed into a corner of exclusion. I used to think I was always the one starting conversations. Maybe it's because people were mostly not interested in talking to me. Sigh.

I certainly hope all this deflating reasoning is caused by endorphin level drops from chocolate highs wearing off. It's a temporary fix, but it's the only kind I can get. What I really need is a human connection of the third kind.

thief...

2006-07-29T20:11:00.000+10:00

I'll be quite frank. To some it may be nothing, to some it may be a heinous crime against human nature. I do not admit to any sort of innocence from the act of taking what was not mine. Physically, I have shoplifted before, and interestingly, right under the nose of the shopkeeper. Twice. I've stolen words before, but then stealing ideas isn't exactly half as criminal as stealing things, unless they were copyrighted. But hey, that never stopped anyone. I've stolen thoughts, but since you usually keep stolen thoughts, I think more of it as sharing.

The thing is, these things can all be returned. But what happens when you've stolen something that cannot be given back? What happens when your hands are irrevocably stained, and for once in your life, you actualy feel remotely sorry for it? Believe me, I am not someone who will take orders, and Mr Conscience holds no exceptions. So why is he being particularly loud and clear right now? Wait. That's not him. I think he died a few years ago from neglect.

Under a smile, hides a mind that no longer knows what it's doing, or cares where it's going. Even given choices impossible to take other from rhetorical means, I am not even sure if I would have done otherwise. These thieving hands have started to think on their own. I would cut them off, but despite the utterly impish tendencies, I am quite fond of them, and I would not permit being seperated under any circumstance.

Heh. Maybe I should really learn to keep my hands to myself. That way, at least I'll know where they're going.

tea...

2006-07-26T20:26:00.000+10:00

Love is like tea.

Sometimes it's sweet, sometimes it's bitter. It all depends on how much sugar you put in. Of course, not all teas can be honeyed up, and that's just the way they're taken.

The finest teas are pricey. Some teas you get at the corner store. The classier the tea, the more you pay for it. But just because it's expensive doesn't mean it will taste good. Different folks, different strokes, but you get what you pay for.

Some teas age well. Some just lose their flavour. And the maturity of a tea all depends on how it was dried and tossed. And what you taste also depends on how you brew it. Some teas need boiling water to make a delightful drink. Others need something slightly cooler to keep the sweet aromas. It's all in knowing how to treat your tea.

Some teas come in those tiny tiny pots, with those fragile handles. Others are best served in those old tin kettles grandma used to brew them in, chunky and solid. But really, it's only presentation. The only real thing that matters is how good the tea is.

Ultimately, there's a tea to suit everyone. And if you really can't find one, there's always coffee, hey?

helpless...

2006-07-25T17:39:00.000+10:00

I must say, there's a certain degree of helplessness you feel when you see some good friends bash themselves up over some little convoluted problems of an emotional sort. This is even more apparent when you have been usually the one who gave out mostly random but somehow appropriate babblings that either gave proper insight or sufficiently distracted from the matter.

Recently, I've sorta run out of words to say to other people. Haven't been able to say anything much, let alone functional phrases. And this inwardly is more tragic. I take it as a sign that I'm probably unconciously facing the selfsame issues, and maybe rendering words into meaningless air vibrations.

At this point, I really don't know what I want. Like, take angry boy issue. Right now, I don't even know what I was thinking, or why I do at all. In retrospect, it appears that all I wanted was to want something, or in this case, someone. Then I start to question if I really want what I think I do, or if I just have a need to want.

Real helplessness isn't not being able to help other people. It's having the full capacity to help everyone and yourself, but not knowing how or why.

one...

2006-07-20T22:25:00.000+10:00

...of the most fun things you can do while being ignored otherwise on instant messenger clients is getting a gay friendly female friend of yours to imagine her very straight and innnocent boyfriend getting jackhammered up the rear.

round two...

2006-07-18T16:08:00.000+10:00

...and on Monday, I had a technical knockout. It's insane. What sort of timetable makes you stay at campus from 8 to 4? That's just medieval.

That said, the rest of the days are pretty relaxed. 8 to 11 on Tuesdays, 9 to 2 on Thursdays, and 9 to 11 on Fridays. It's Wednesdays that have a shit weird 1 to 6 straight. Okay, so it seems that I have a few fucked up days. But the timetable leaves plenty of time to find a job. If I wanted a job at those hours, that is. Stupid stupid timetable.

The timetable would have been a lot better if they didn't have fixed lectures at 8 in the fucking morning and more fixed lectures at 3, and on the same days. It just don't make sense, ya know?

Like, it totally impinges on my eye washing times.

how do you...

2006-07-15T14:46:00.000+10:00

...heal someone else's broken heart?

google-isms...

2006-07-12T20:45:00.000+10:00

You know how people go around making lists of all the perfect criteria for the perfect lover? Things don't happen that way unless you have them custom made.

Think Google. When searching for the answer, there are only so many search words you can input for hope of finding any useful result. I like to think finding a partner is something similar. We set down maybe one or two criteria, then sift through our options.

Sometimes, we may find that other people already own those pages, so we go to the next best ones, or wait until they become available. So basically, if we list too many terms, we may get no hits. Heh.

self-slapping...

2006-07-09T13:00:00.000+10:00

You know how there are some things you know you want, and at the same time don't want? It's even worse when you don't know exactly what you want, but you know that you couldn't live with it if you got it.

Gah.

blog-hitch...

2006-07-06T23:10:00.000+10:00

Like a few other bloggers pointing out, there seems to be an inordinate amount of PLU bloggers that have gotten latched onto. Here, give me a second while I remove the image of bloodsucking lampreys reducing the market scope for me. Grrr...

Okay, THAT said, it makes one wonder if it's bloggers who inadvertently get hooked in the big fishing game, or it's that only happily preoccupied people who are more likely to write. But if you read carefully, short of disgustingly mushy blogs, most of the ones I've come across started writing BEFORE they found their Mc Daves and CFs. So, the logical conclusion is that BLOGGERS are more likely to get hitched.

Now, assuming we can take the estimate of a person whose job deals with many people of varying nature as reliable, about two thirds of us should be somewhat busy with a significant other. My own personal estimate, from my collection of blog links, hovers more around, say, 65%.

Since we use our blog links as raw data, we need to ask next, do we just LIKE to read blogs about couples more than we like to read blogs about single, available, desperate, and horny people (like me)?

Ignoring all that statistical questions, I have just one more. Where the hell is MINE?

choice?

2006-07-02T10:33:00.000+10:00

It's strange. What is it with people and automatically assuming that bisexual blokes are a promiscious bunch? Following basic logic, I can see how being able to pick from what must be a fantabulously gargantuan mall of tricks should be getting us laid every damn night. Of course, truth is often stranger than fiction, and in this case, a whole lot more tragic.

Heterosexual females have the tendency to NOT like to hang around fence sitters, seeing as to how they may lose them to some GUY, and the same is true for homosexual males. Understanding that either side holds at least some level of prejudice to the other, no one really thinks about the guy stuck in the middle.

For example, straight persons tend to have the perception that our gay brothers are "abominations, an affront to the natural order, off colour, going-to-hell", although we must say the female variety tends to have a softer view on things. SOME queens do not help with the dialog, what with the "bigots, sanctimonious straight trash, overzealous judgmental humbugs" and so on and so forth (not a very good list, but I've heard more colourful ones). While this is happening, what happens to people like me?

Often, we are chastised by both sides for "colluding with the enemy". Yeah, true. We can go either way, and there are SOME who do take advantage of that much to my annoyance and the detriment of the category. Still, are these also not traits you see in both sides? There are straight people who sleep with what I can only describe as random (especially when you see their faces) fucks, and pretty much the same for our queers. Then there are people like many of us who actually LIKE having long term relationships. Do you not THINK this is possible? Having a choice doesn't necessarily mean we'll exercise it.

Then again, with multiple rejections from both sides, there really isn't much of a choice. While I do not really expect the average straight human to understand much of this type of persecution, I am quite disappointed with some of our homosexual brothers for perpetuating such prejudice. Apparently, in some cases at least, experience does not automatically entail any level of empathy. Ah well.

At least I have my electronics.

boring...

2006-06-30T00:54:00.000+10:00

...post.

I was bored. So I wrote this. Whee.

who's the ass?

2006-06-28T09:53:00.000+10:00

I'm kinda shocked over how quickly I've gotten over this incident. It's like evidence I'm either the unfaithful type or have a really short attention span or just plain weird. And it's both bothering me, and making me as happy as a cherry. Cherries are happy because they're all cute and sweet and sitting pretty. And they have healthy looking cheeks, don't you think?

However, another incident has gotten me so raving mad I actually continuously slept for most of the day yesterday. Now, no matter how much I say I will, I usually can't nap for more than four hours in a stretch, nor can I stay asleep for more than 12 hours. But this time, gah. I fell asleep straight after lunch, woke up at around dinner, went back to bed, sort of.

That's total lethargy, or I'm just plain pissed.

Why? Well, I wasn't initially planning on going home, IF I could find a job or something. And it seems that there are no jobs worth getting in a reachable radius (short of working in a supermarket but their hours are fucked), and what few friends I have here have basically evaporated. I can't wait till it rains.

I had planned on going back, and so my parents said I could, but they'd rather I didn't. You know the way they will go, "I'll leave it up to you, but I want you to do this..." And they used words like "building experience, integrating with life here, good for resume", all perfectly valid, which is NOT the point. The point is I wanted to go back. After another round of "you can come home, but we'd rather you spend your holiday doing menial labour", father-of-mine finally sent a message that said basically: DON'T COME HOME.

It's like that whole donkey and the carrot on a stick trick. Guess who's the ass?

do not think...

2006-06-25T01:27:00.000+10:00

You bastard. You know it and you're just taking advantage of it, aren't you? Gah.

Why the hell am I angry? There isn't the chance in the world of things making sense right now. Good thing I'll have lots of time to do lots of NOT thinking. Walking aimlessly in freezing wind sounds like lots of great fun. Good thing that there are mucho roads in this place.

It always has to be a fucked up situation with me, doesn't it? Nothing has worked out since I moved here. Nothing. Well, maybe just the house, but if it didn't I'd have fucking killed myself by now.

I feel a strong urge to strangle myself. I thought it was all fine by this morning, and it fucking hell was. I should stop sitting up; that's when all the trouble starts again.

Bloody hell proves my point for celibacy. Conflicted? Very. Fuck it.

mental reformat...

2006-06-24T01:40:00.000+10:00

I need to clear my system of this recurring pop-up. So here goes.

I know you're reading this. I was mistaken. He's actually about a head shorter than I am. And he's obviously interested in too many propositions. I've had a talk with him, and he's most outrightly pointed out he's wary of any propositions from fence-sitters such as I. Oh damn. I'm even watching my grammar.

He hasn't been too subtle in trying to interest me though. And damned if I almost gave in to such suggestions. I don't really know why, but he's just so fucking cute. His face, his mannerisms, his voice. Gah.

Damn you. You've fucked up my life in a way I wasn't ready to allow so quickly. You've creeped into my waking thoughts, and you've actually caused a lost of appetite. What's WITH this?!

Sigh. To that friend who helped with this, thanks. I don't think I should allow you to feel bad about this anymore, so I think we should just let what's-his-name front me with this. Or something.

conflicted...

2006-06-21T09:37:00.000+10:00

You know the feeling of being conflicted? Like you know you want something really bad, but you know you also really really shouldn't? Like that last calorie-ridden-triple fudge-creme-caramel-inch-high-iced-heart-attack-surprise sitting on the plate right in front of you. Or that gorgeous-STD-infected-stud-who-NEVER-wears-protection (surprise surprise). There's that whole saying of having cakes and eating them and all that jazz, but really, would we want a cake and not eat it?

The conflict now comes in wanting something not-very-badly, but badly enough for me to start berating myself in my sleep. How badly do I want this guy that I will break my own self-imposed celibacy, and all that rules about not having romances with friends? Of course, factoring the fact that he's already interested in someone else, I should really back down, but stubborn ol' me just CANNOT walk away from a challenge. At least not subconciously.

And it ALWAYS boils down to this: in the end I'll never go for the things I want, because I know the tradeoffs just simply do not balance. And there's always what will happen after things go sour. I was lucky with E that she didn't want to rip my throat out, but I cannot be sure of this one anymore. Argh. Maybe I should just continue talking in my sleep and forget about this whole thing.

i am...

2006-06-17T15:06:00.000+10:00

... more than the sum of my parts. So much I have realized. There are more important things to identify yourself by than your job, your age, your gender, your sexuality. There is more than one way to cut a diamond, more than one way to skin a cat, but in the end it will still be that diamond, that feline carcass. I will NOT be defined by any one trait, simply because there are things words cannot do.

That said, we are still less than the product of our parts. Gah. I hate maths.

one more to slash...

2006-06-16T17:50:00.000+10:00

Wrists? Nope. Scared of pointy things. More like, a paper off the list. Today's was pretty good. Did it like I was jump starting my non-existent love life: panic caused a slow start, familiarity kicked into action, finished quick, ready for the next. Oh crap. Now I sound like some sort of serial monogamist. Or too prone to premature ejaculation. Gah.

Monday, bloody Monday. Hurry up, have a quickie, then I'm fucking free! Hmm, I should really stop making my exams sound like one night stands. After all, it isn't safe to flirt with disaster, which is what I sort of anticipate. Damnation!

Okay, now to make some creamy white salty gooey sauce to go with pasta tonight. Ah. Fettucine al Fredo. Fabulous.

cooked...

2006-06-12T23:11:00.000+10:00

I think I am. When frying chicken, avoid dropping the wet meat onto a FLAT pan of boiling oil. Now, I think I smell a bit too delicious. Like meat pie. It's pretty bad when you start chewing on your hand. Gah.

Reminder to self: do NOT scald yourself with boiling oil anymore! Even if it doesn't leave marks.

meem-ed...

2006-06-11T22:55:00.000+10:00

Gah! Damn you defiant!!11elevenoneone

Okay, okay. Meem-ed. Like, me-me is so silly. Meme, as in meem, sounds so much better. Meem.

My Top 10 List of Life's Simple Pleasures

1. Chocolate. There has been no greater blessing on mankind than chocolate. No. Not even sex.

2. Hugs. Because no matter who gives them, they're always a relief at the end of the day. Only it's all the better if a special someone gives them to you. Sigh.

3. A warm shower. Especially good for unwinding, for relieving headaches, and oh so exquisite in this fucked up cold weather. Also good to have sex under.

4. Lookers. Because sometimes what we see in the mirror just doesn't match up to our expectations. Besides, we all need inspirations, right?

5. Cooking. Because sometimes you want to give someone a good grilling, but you can't legally do it. So you find substitutes.

6. Music. Sometimes, you want to pound the keyboard, other times you want to gently caress them like you would the tender curves of well defined ~~breasts~~ ~~pecs~~ electronics. And then you also like to just sit back and relax and hear the gentle flow of music, or the tempestuous crescendos reminescent of an orgasmic rush.

7. Rocks, or other small heavy projectiles. For times when you know you need to throw something at some people.

8. Masturbating. Because it's not always that easy to get laid. And there's no better way to spend quality alone time. Ahahaha!

9. Sleeping. When the world is being particularly cruel, or the weather is just perfect, or after sex.

10. Empty expanses of time, like end-of-semester breaks. The perfect time to go cruising and stuff. Or just walk. Or something. Man, I seriously need plans.

eight things...

2006-06-09T14:09:00.000+10:00

...I want in a lover. (Don't you just hate memes?)

Must speak English.

One of the worst things that can happen to you is the inability to communicate with your other half, besides contracting AIDS or penile cancer. And as is, it's difficult enough when you speak the same language. I've had my fair share of arguments, in multiple languages. So, one important rule is MUST SPEAK ENGLISH. Writing is a plus.

Likes to snuggle.

I don't really think this is a problem, since with all this padding on me, I actually make quite a huggable pillow thingy.

Kinky. Somewhat.

Because life's never straight. Ooh. Sounds like that Twisties ad.

Can cook, or at least appreciate good food.

Just, like, don't poison me. I'm pretty capable of that myself.

Within 4 inches of my height.

It's a simple calculation of kissing height. Any greater deviation would cause unnecessary inconvenience to smooching.

Can, or at least would like to try, dancing or playing an instrument. Or singing. But not badly.

I cannot stress how important it is to have this soul-binding artistic things in a relationship. At least this way, you can have the all-expected "our song" thing. I mean, what use is having a song if you can't do anything with it?

Thinks that, at least sometimes, chocolate is better than sex.

But at least make it a point to agree with me on that point at any time in question. "Hey honey, let's have sex." "No, I want Godiva." Gah.

Wouldn't break a mirror by looking at it.

I'd be fucking lying if I said looks don't matter, but since I'm no Greek god myself, it would be pretty bad if my requirements won't fit me, right? Of course, not all Greek legends are a good thing. I don't want a gorgon, but I don't need Adonis either.

Can count.

Because apparently, I can't.

sex fixations...

2006-06-08T01:26:00.000+10:00

I have this weird fixation with not being fixated. I hate the idea that I have to rely on anything/anyone for any amount of pleasure or relief. It sorta goes without saying that people hate being dependant. Me, I have this pissedly obsessive obsession about not being obsessed.

Besides the normal obsesions with games, sex, work, money, clothes, sex, shoes, sex, TV, sex, food, chocolate, sex, there's also, without a doubt, sex. Especially given that recent dream thing. I've been spending quite a bit of time thinking about what it would be like.

A quick look in that deperessing full length mirror on my wardrobe serves to remind me that any sort of sexual attracting that I'll be doing is fully clothed. A whole lump of teen years spent as a severely (think 150kg) overweight AND ugly kid didn't help much in the self esteem department. The only real tool to my advantage was my brain, which I didn't quite use to full potential, come to think of it.

I had this talk about S about scratching together an emergency stash of sorts like the one defiant keeps, stocked full of colourful boxes of latex products and water based fluids. Then I noticed that these things have expiry dates on them, so I said "Hmm, maybe I shouldn't bother right now, since these things have expiry dates on them, and it's not liable that I'll use them up within that time."

"But they keep for five years!"

"My point precisely."

Quite saddening really." Even sadder when at that point I even considered the possibility that I might not EVER need them. So sad, that hot steamy sex on call didn't even seem to interest me. Porn had never held so little allure.

I'm quite the sadist, in that sense, since I know I'm wanting something I think I'll never have, and making preparations for an event that will never happen.

Then again, they always say get ready for the unexpected, no?

randomer still...

2006-06-04T20:09:00.000+10:00

In that initial dream of a dream, I also remember waking up (in the dream) worrying about my state of virginity. Hooh.

random dream...

2006-06-04T12:28:00.000+10:00

Just a note to myself before I forget.

Two nights ago, I had the wierdest dream. It was a dream, of a dream, having what I would regard as the most socially unlikely manner of having sex.

Basically, it was this husband and wife couple who dragged me into their bedroom. The wife was a deadon ringer for some hot female actress I cannot remember the name of. The husband I do not recall. What I do recall was basically lots of grinding into a moaning actress-lookalike while being jackhammered in the rear by well chisled but forgettable-faced hubby. That was so weird.

Then after that, in that dream about a dream, I told a friend about it, who gasped at me being a in threesome. Then I awoke from that dream, but still dreaming, told that selfsame friend about my dream, who then said something about me being a closet gay. Then I awoke. For real.

Freaky.

question...

2006-05-31T23:14:00.000+10:00

Just a question. Is it true that height is considered attractive?

parents...

2006-05-28T22:47:00.000+10:00

Today I got my first real serious impression of how my parents would react to finding out that their eldest son is less than normal where sexuality is concerned, somewhat.

They came over to ~~harass~~ check up on me, and so I happily took them to the city to walk around. I had to go and look after a sick friend M with S and Kay, so they wandered around, testing the public transport system and others with my brother. I caught a two hour flu, sniffling away while brewing some really warm soup to nurse M back to some sense of solidity (no I did NOT infect the soup!). S left to meet a group of friends for some random uni assignment of sorts.

Leaving M to recuperate in the relative warmth of her apartment, Kay and I met up with my parents and S. Dinner was fantastic, somewhat. Quite good compared to some of the crap we've had from other places. Quite satisfying, and all.

K came along later to get that stuff S had gotten for him. It seems that my parents find it easy to talk to him. Still, they find that maybe he's slightly too old for her, but they definitely do not dislike him in character.

They did ask me if Kay was gay, in a rather direct manner; like why is he so effiminate, bla bla bla. I put it in as a matter of fact way as I could, so I suppose they stopped asking about him. Which was the good part. Then they asked about ME. With much social dexterity, I managed to truthfully, though cunningly, deflect most, if all, questions they had about me. It also kinda helped that my dad was the kind of person who would rather not know as long as I could make my own living. In fact, when my mom brought up the topic, he gave her this most disapproving stare. Either that, or he knows somewhat.

Hmm, I guess it didn't help that they knew that I knew and that I had stayed over at his place for awhile. Hooh.

Oh well. Being bisexual is like being ambidextrous. You can do both, but you may likely have a preference. For me, at least where this case is concerned, I'm not getting either of my hands dirty. Not for now at least.

biology...

2006-05-24T21:26:00.000+10:00

It occured to me the other day as I walked back from campus (passing by a pretty many hot bods), it doesn't make any sense that we should be attracted to pretty people. They're usually the type of people that have been spoiled stupid by the world for their good looks. They're usually the popular types that have no real understanding of true social dynamic, and spend most of their time staying pretty.

Why is then that we really want to be with people who are of some use besides their looks? A pretty face gets boring really quickly, but it's very easy to continuously be in love with someone who's thoughtful and kind and cleans and cooks. Why then do we fall for those perfectly chiseled outlines and sculpted forms?

Why all that oral fluid spilled on such scrumptious morsels, when we know that sooner or later we'll spit them out like that overly sung song on being individual (think Paul Anka)? Should we not be going for those homely types that cook, clean, bake, iron, and generally fix any random problem with electronics, carpentry and plumbing? Aside from that shameless self promotion, is it not the perfectly logical reaction to an otherwise carnal craving, irregardless of the lack of appearances?

Maybe it's the fact that there ARE oblivious cute nibbles that are ALSO homely. And they're the type we love and hate. Gah.

retraction...

2006-05-23T14:41:00.000+10:00

You know what? That part about not feeling so stupid anymore? Forget it. It seems I just fucked up an entire subject.

Loveless. Sob.

semester close...

2006-05-23T12:11:00.000+10:00

It seems that everyone else is in a rabid chase for catching up on lost course materials here. Back home, there are people just starting that treacherous gateway of higher education. If you ask me, private colleges are just some insidious and particularly profitable manner of making money.

It's quite interesting to be back in the groove I was back in year 12, where all the revelation would come unbidden, kinda like being some Level 35 Cleric of Death and Fire domains, randomly casting Turn Undead and the like. So much fun. But then again, I've always been a fan of Arcane rather than Divine magic. Total D&D geekdom!

Ooh. Looks like the brain's been fried. Guess I've become unused to mental outbursts. This might be a bit dangerous seeing how close it is to exam season. For all my years in a pure exam setting (and one year in a coursework one, thank the Higher Powers), I have never ever sat down to do a moment's purposeful study, or at least how most people define it. Like, how you guys can actually sit there glaring at that books for hours on end and actually end up with more than you started is beyond me.

Either that, or I'm just plain lazy. I've always been more of a hands-on guy (think pyromanic megalomaniac), and anything I can't actually DO, I tend to forget. Like, who gives a fuck about if the gear ratios don't match if you don't actually see them turning round and round and round like some insane clock of doom! Bwahahahahah!

Parents are coming over with my brother on Thursday. Hmm.

Okay, literal translations aside, I'm quite happy that the semester's ending. All the more time to pick up where I've stopped. The world outside is gonna be a pretty shade of gloom, and it's more than high time since the DSLR got a workout. Animals are a favourite, but they're gonna be hard to find in this cold weather. Maybe I can get pics of the two legged variety, eh?

protector...

2006-05-20T22:01:00.000+10:00

The reason many people look for pairs is not so much the biological need to reproduce (as is evidenced by many of us here), but more because we want a special person. A person to focus and invest in, and hopefully, just hopefully, have dividends. Some people have a need to be protected from the world, and others, like me, have a need to protect others.

Stone hearted as I normally am, there are a few people I feel I should protect. Like, Kay, for instance. He's actually a pretty small guy, and looks so fragile especially when he's sleeping. And today, for some reason, I was beginning to show a concern that I never thought would crop up anytime soon. Not after that emotionally scarring previous time.

I'd like to think that I'm just taking on the role of a guardian. I think I've always projected that kind of aura. Once, a friend told me she could never find me sexually attractive, because I was like a father figure. It was an interesting moment of extremely depressing information and a very pleasing one all at once.

I really should move on from what has happened. And in my head, I'm all prepared. But every time I come across someone I think I can give my heart to, I stop and tell myself, I know better than to open up that kind of box again. And I do it every, single, fucking time. It's like, I don't know, walking in front of a Famous Amos repeatedly without buying anything. Or like lots of hot sensual foreplay without any sex.

At least, for now, I think I'll spend my time protecting my friends. They're the type of long-term, low-risk, medium-return type of investments. Lovers are more of a short-term, high-risk, high-return type. It will be a long time till I feel ready to go back diving in that big ocean, and when I do, I hope I won't drown or get washed away in the current.

goodbye cruel world...

2006-05-17T11:14:00.000+10:00

...till until I awake from a well deserved nap.

till death rend us apart...

2006-05-15T21:55:00.000+10:00

Hootchies. It's been a long time since I've felt lonely and ignored and suicidal. In fact, the last time I was suicidal, I stepped in front of a speeding bus. As is probably evident, I didn't stand there very long.

In fact, I think I've had quite a few close brushes with death. When I was three, I had something like chronic pneumonia or some other. My mom told me a few years later I was THAT close to just dropping dead.

A few weeks before my 14th birthday or something, I came down with a very weird fever. It fluctuated for about two weeks or something, and it was a bit hard walking up four flights of stairs to get to my classroom. On the night of my 14th birthday, I was in the hospital. The day after, I got what is probably the largest appendectomy scar in the world. Who the hell gets a 7 inch incision to remove an appendix anyway? Ah, then again, not many people survive two weeks after their appendix ruptures and with septicemia and not be suffering in absolute agony anyway?

Sometime in my 16th year, also near my birthday, I was much forced into a church camp that I most adamantly DID NOT want to go to. And unlike most church camps where you stayed in hotels and whatnot, this was literally a church camp. In the forest. It had been raining, so half the tents were soaked, so we had to take turns sleeping. There were a few benches in the middle of the camp, so I sat there waiting for my turn to sleep. I was so tired, I nodded off, my head on my left shoulder. A few minutes and a loud crack later, a branch fell on my right shoulder.

I noticed that these are quite characteristic close shaves with death, and it might give away who I am, so I would like to ask anyone who DOES figure out who I am to keep it to themselves. I've abandoned so many blogs already because I didn't have a place to share secret thoughts because SOME PEOPLE COULDN'T FUCKING KEEP THEIR MOUTHS SHUT.

Anyway, since there's mention about close shaves and whatnot, here's a random personal grooming question: how many of you shave your pubes?

meh...

2006-05-12T16:57:00.000+10:00

Today, I just lost a 'friend'. Who happens to be a housemate. Seems that she doesn't like being with selfish people.

I'm quite obviously selfish, and make no effort to hide that. I always believed that nobody else is going to be selfish for you, so you have to make that your own effort. I've been shortchanged too often, and I'm a bit short on spare coins. Time to make up that difference, no?

Not that I cannot be selfless. But I understand how the very act of wanting to be selfless is usually to alleviate some sort of guilt, which in itself is selfish. All I'm doing is really just making it an open fact that I AM selfish.

This 'friend' is one of those born-again Christians, which my mom also is, incidentally. I'd have nothing against them being Christian (which I was until I decided I want to find out more) except for the fact that people who have recently been baptized tend to start thinking that since they're now saved, they get to go around preaching moral mores to other people, with neither proof or logical argument, nor practice. Saying that everything is "because the Bible says so" is not only immature, it's a very bad example to other people who you are trying to get to appreciate the whole thing.

In the end, I don't think I lost much by way of a friend, since she only really hung out with me because the other housemates are not moral enough for her. Like, how at least two pairs are spending much time humping each other. Or how an Indian housemate freaks her out.

Nope, haven't lost much. She didn't even make an interesting verbal sparring partner.

note to self...

2006-05-10T18:28:00.000+10:00

It is not safe to masturbate with sound effects when your housemates are in.

That is all.

moving...

2006-05-07T20:31:00.000+10:00

E was my first. And she was great. Everyone said we made a cute couple. I still think we do. But there was just something about it that made it feel unreal. We almost never argued over anything. It could be the very infrequent amount of time we spent together or something. On her part, I think it was because her family was a bit dysfunctional.

Just now, as I was about to send her a message, I realized that I had forgotten her number. Of course, I know it's quite stupid to place too much importance to this, but I suppose it's sorta symbolic.

S was quite right, I think, when she said I'd never gotten over E. And maybe my forgetting her number is a sign that I'm finally over it? I don't know.

So it looks since I have no baggage left over, I'm free to explore the other half of me that I can't easily explore back home. It kinda sucks being the eldest kid. Even worse if you're male, and even harder when your mother is somewhat a pillar of religious preaching-type-person-gah.

Contemplating that, I suppose she did have her suspicions of me being gay, or at least, the absolute wave of relief that washed over her face when she found out I was dating E indicated. Not that I'd blame her really. I do very little to assert what is generally considered male pattern behaviour. For instance, I love shopping a whole lot more than any of my sisters, I show almost no interest in sports, and have an above average level of competence with an instrument generally relegated to being a female skill at least where ethnic norms are concerned. And given how conservative my parents actually are, my cultivating of long nails and hair and constant talk of wanting to get nail polish (BLACK, nothing else) kinda scared them a bit.

No, I don't think my mom could tolerate any notion of her eldest kid being anything less than ramrod straight. Given that in any sort of capacity, I could subcede to her wanting me to get married with kids, that's not the kind of life I want.

For her sake, I sure as hell hope that my kid brother grows up so straight that she'd pray that he'd have a few bends. And given what he looks like now, I suppose he'll make a positively droolworthy mate (much unlike his older brother).

starvation...

2006-05-05T00:48:00.000+10:00

...is free. So that's what you do when you don't want to spend.

I ran out of edibles in the pantry recently. All the meat's gone. Pretty much nothing in the fridge except 8 miniature eggs (probably smaller than mine, sad to say). Besides that, a lemon left over from a month or so back, plus some random assorted limes and an orange. I think I have a jar of sambal somewhere at the back. No milk, no cheese. If I dig deep enough, I might find a withered lettuce leaf or something.

I have a fully stocked spice box, half bottles of Worcestershire sauce and oyster sauce. There's a few remaining packs of instant noodles (I think past expiry), a fresh can of baking cocoa. Flour, sugar, vanilla essence. I have a portion of a fresh loaf somewhere. A new jar of mayonnaise and a fresh bottle of olive oil. One large potato, tons of garlic, and a lone onion. A scrap of butter left, and one piece of ageing ginger. Ooh, and a new pack of spaghetti.

Apparently, the possible edible permutations allowed by that selection don't hold much appeal to me. I'm kinda starving myself a lot right now, mostly because the weather's been a bit too cold recently for me to walk half an hour to the stores and back uphill weighed down by 10 kilos of groceries. And given the grocery fiasco last week, I don't think I'm inclined to spend that much on groceries again.

Sure, I could eat that potato, finish off the noodles. Eat the spaghetti with garlic oil. But don't you think it's a bit sacriligeous to eat so much carb without any proteins? Given, S and friends are like screaming their heads off for me to go out and eat something. I'd like to think they're just jealous of my improving silhoutte. I'd flip my ridiculously ditzy long blonde hair in a totally bimbotic fashion, except that my mop more resembles that of a university student fresh out of Year 12 (highlights and all) who will not pay for a hair cut.

If my parents found out that I'm not spending money they're more than willing to give me for nutritional supplies, they'd totally flip (and not in a bimbotic way). At one point, during the fat phase, Mom kinda accused me of having some sort of eating disorder (I don't see how that's possible since I was polishing off a whole chicken. Wait. Oh.), and my Dad was always one for eating right, what with all the eat your veggies.

But then again, why spend money on inconsequential things like food when there are other lucious things to buy like iPods and leather (me like...) jackets and shoes and... Hmm. Dear me, I think I MIGHT be anorexic.

Either this low sugar level is getting to me, or I think I really becoming bimbotic.

My, my. Are those abs I see? What with winter coming too. Hmm.

lazy...

2006-05-03T15:40:00.000+10:00

It's the goal of almost EVERY male to have a drool worthy bod (some more than others). Those who claim otherwise are either very stupid/arrogant/already have them. Kinda like me back in high school. Let's just say, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who was so comfortable in his obese and downright cringe-inducing 140 kilo form.

Was an interesting experience, to say the least. Now, I think (I still refuse to keep a weighing scale around) I'm around a nice healthy 80+, relatively livelier, and can still whoop some ass (minus all that really useful mass x acceleration thing). And according to at least a handful of people, I'm still pretty much shrinking.

A year ago, I'd be elated. Right now, I think I'm more alarmed. See, I've not become much more physically active than I used to be (well, yes, all that additional walking to campus and whatnot), but I'm continuing to decrease in existence (well, mass IS a sign of existing, right?). Uhoh. Loosing muscle mass. Must be. And all that feeling very weak is quite troubling.

Right now, I'm skipping a frisbee training session because it's too cold out. Yup. Weak weak weak weak weak. It looks like rain too. And even indoors with heating and all, I'm fucking shivering like a bitch in the rain.

Back when I was 13 or so, I used to be a martial arts instructor, fuglyness and all. Those days I could do like 50 military pushups without breaking a sweat. Yeah, fat and everything (and shorter too), but definitely a lot more powerful than I am now. I used to be able to break 5 inch stacks of planks, but now it's quite difficult to split up those disposable chopstick things. Hell, I have trouble opening one of those packs of instant noodles.

S commented that I'm well on my way to getting that booty-licious bod I've been wanting so badly. But I'm getting weak! Imagine, a very nice ripped bod that can't even lift his ramen. Sigh. I guess there's a tradeoff.

On an interesting note, a study has shown that for about every 15 pounds lost, a guy can stand to gain up to an inch of penis, up to a point. Assuming that is true, I'd have added an aditional, err, 7 and a half inches. Woah.

Wait. No, I haven't.

slacking...

2006-05-01T09:19:00.000+10:00

I got back an assignment the other day. Something something commerce stats. It was an 8/10. Which isn't too bad. Until I saw other people getting 9s and 9.5s. A short history lesson: I NEVER accept getting average scores. NEVER. Well, never, since last year where I basically aced Year 12 without trying.

I sometimes wonder if I'm slacking. Hell, I probably am. I've never picked up a textbook to 'study' (what IS it with people and studying, hell, what the fuck does that word mean anyway?), like, ever. I got through high school pretty much filling in exam sheets with things out of my head, and the one thing I've learnt is that half the time you can make things up as long as you have 'credible' proof of your statements.

Right now, I'm kinda skipping a computing tute to sit in a rather empty lab, typing something other than the new stats assigment. Whee.

Yup. I'm slacking. A lot. Oh, I'll definitely graduate, that goes without saying. Just whether I'll get that first class honours (and that juicy scholarship/reimbursement along with it) is another thing entirely. I think I'm just not enjoying the course as much as I thought I would.

On Saturday, I'll be over at Kay's. A whole bunch of friends are coming over, and I'll be cooking up a storm. And it will be the perfect oppurtunity to teach Kay how to be that perfect houseboi that he so wants to be. Like, the boy can't cook or clean to save his life, and his taste in porn is so passe. Not to mention his fear of using a double platinum card and his total lack of gaydar. Seems that he needs proper educating from a 'straight'-er friend. Heh.

Ignoring that aside, I think one of the reasons I'm staying is because of the environment. Like, there is more eye candy here than I'd actually need to stay alive. Heh.

singular...

2006-04-29T18:52:00.000+10:00

... is how I was for most of my life, and it seems that the short break from that condition last year is just that. A short break.

For the past few days, I've been getting the characteristically limited contact with familiar faces/voices/writing. I've met met a few people at uni, but mostly because they wanted things from me, as usual. I've chatted with a few people online, but mostly because THEY were bored, as usual. Yet, this time, the loneliness hit particularly hard.

After quite a long while of random complaining about being single and all the guys she thinks she might be crushing on and whatnot, S got together with K (not to be confused with Kay). Undoubtedly, we were all quite happy for her (not least because it would mean an end to that constant niggling over said issues). There were other issues, such as how K was taking a bit of time getting used to holding hands in public and whatnot. But that was quite minor, I suppose, given how happy she was.

I've met the guy, and I must say he's a positively interesting character, quite fun to be around. And we've been friends through some interesting situations (as you can probably tell), S and I. As such, she wanted my approval, if anything just for the comfort. (On a side note, I must say that I do have a few insane friends; crazy people who trust my judgment.) And after meeting him the first time, I could not honestly say that I disapproved in the slightest (no, he's not THAT cute, but from what she said, he's VERY gentle).

About a week or two later, K called it of, the issue relating mostly to their age difference. He's doing his PhD in some random field that I don't recall, and she's in her first year of undergrad. Also, there was the fact that he'd be leaving the country at the end of the year. Being the overly logical person she is, she agreed. As a measure of security, I suppose, they agreed to stay friends.

Interestingly enough, they began seeing each other a lot more frequently after the stripping of official titles. Suffice to say, they got to a point where certain unclasping was required (which is a pretty big deal for S). She conceded that it's just better to screw social convention and just enjoy herself.

No surprise now that she's not around very often anymore. And I don't blame her in the least. Hell, if it's only gonna last awhile more, take full advantage no?

I guess what makes me truly lonely is the knowledge that people will only come to me for help. Otherwise, I'm not a very fun person to be around, apparently. The only invitations I get are to attend church with my housemates (given that she IS quite cute), or to go for other church-related things. In general, nothing else.

Yes, Leggie, Harvey. I agree, if given the choice, go with the flow. At least, that's where logical solutions lie, no? But then again, the reason people come to me at all is because I've always farted in the general direction of convention. Fuck it. If I can rape society AND have fun doing it, I will. I guess I'm probably very lucky that I have the choice. But it's no real choice in the end. You cannot deny what you are, you can only work around it.

That is why I have the utmost respect for the both of you, and everyone else who have been faced with this prospect. Not everyone was born equal. If we were, then everyone would look exactly the same anyway.

Have you hugged someone today? I haven't. Sigh.

and so...

2006-04-27T21:23:00.000+10:00

... it turns out nothing iffy happened. Not like it could anyway. Especially since his housemate and friends were around. And they don't know he's gay, which he would most rather not have. Sensibly enough.

And as for his collection of 'fascinating' materials, it isn't very extensive. And nothing really graphic about it either, most extreme one being his lone copy of DNA. For a gay mag, I sure say that Men's Health is a little bit sharper on the homo edge, especially since it was written for a, erm, 'straight', audience.

Okay, true enough, his constant pleas for a loving boyfriend and whatnot do get a bit annoying. And given his rather sheltered childhood, I'd say I wouldn't blame him. Still, for someone who lives in a city apartment where he doesn't have to pay rent, I'm wondering if he'll actually survive out in the world alone. Then again, nothing like a double platinum credit card to cure those doubts, eh?

I'm having recurring thoughts about my ex, E, again. It's like, I don't know how to say. It's been a little more than six months since we broke up. I'd say around seven.

A friend, S, once commented on my declaring a 5 year period of off-market status. She says I'd never really gotten over E. S has met E, and she concurs, she's a really special girl. Of course, it takes a very special person to stand me as long as she did (even a half hour period is pretty streneous for a saint), and then still want me after we broke up.

A bit of history before I move on; I had this humongous crush on S since the third year of high school, but the funny thing was that I was the only one who didn't notice. S left for Boston the year after that, but we kept contact. After I left highschool, I told her, full in the knowledge that it wasn't meant to happen. She told me she appreciated that, and a whole lot of mushy things were said.

A few months later, I met E. I had started college, and she was basically waiting for her exam results. I had given my blog link to a college friend, who so happened to be her friend. In one of her periods of absolute boredom, she had clicked on one of his new links. She liked what she read, so we become IM buddies. We agreed to watch a movie together, and from that point onwards, I'd say we became pretty close.

The breakup actually came about because of practical measures. She had to go to another state to take up a government teaching course, and had a bond for the next 10 years or so. Me, I had to move here for uni. From an intial distance of about 15 miles, to 400, now to about 5000. Sure, she was pretty special. Not outstandingly hot, but her heart was in the right place. In a place where I knew I couldn't risk breaking it. So I broke it off about 6 months into it.

I didn't quite feel the effects of such until a few months later. It's quite strange to go on a walk one day and feel this crushing weight for no apparent reason. It seems that I've always had pretty slow responses. Sigh.

I have no idea if this self imposed 5 years of monk-hood is because of her, or because I'm very confused. To be sure, I hadn't readily accepted that I was also attracted to guys until very recently. I guess I just want to settle myself before I emotionally scar myself. Again. Argh.

classes...

2006-04-24T10:06:00.000+10:00

Easter break has been kind to me. Relative to concentration camp inmates, that is. Was boring as hell, and the few things that I DID do left me feeling even more alone. Like, whatever.

So I was thinking, hooray. Classes start today. And I even discovered the perfect drink for keeping me awake. Black tea with lotsa sugar and milk. Wonderful for maintaining conciousness, but hardly useful for keeping focus it seems.

Tomorrow's another holiday. Something to do with celebrating the nation's soldiers' deaths in Turkey or some other. I don't recall. So Kay, this gay friend of mine, invited me to do something at his place. WHAT, he didn't mention. So I playfully said I'd go over and peruse his interesting collection of homoerotic literature, to which he most enthusiastically replied. Maybe TOO enthusiastic.

This is clearly his taking advantage of my bisexuality, and most obviously, he has some devious things in mind, given his penchant for looking at popsicles as blowjob practice. Not that he's actually had any experience of the sort. Still, I find it quite disturbing and all, what with our other friends not being free enough to actually do anything useful.

Back to the classes and concentration, I was sitting in my computing tutorial and noticed that thoughts kept drifting back to Kay and his plans for tomorrow. And much to my chagrin, and amusement, I found myself suitably turned on by the implications. Argh. The worst part is, I wouldn't label him as very attractive. At least, not physically. He's the type that you would keep around for his usefulness rather than his aesthetic value, given that this use isn't much in the way of cooking or craft or even basic housekeeping. Rather, he has access to a considerable amount of money, which in itself, is something worth considering.

Sigh. I SERIOUSLY hope that the only thing we end up doing is running the PS2. Otherwise, it appears that my promise of 5 years of TOTAL celibacy might come to naught.

stupidity...

2006-04-23T12:35:00.000+10:00

...runs in circles. That's only because it cannot find it's own way out. Similarly, this will be about the 5th blog I'm trying to maintain that hasn't crashed yet.

There's a certain lure that anonymous blogs have, namely that probability that it's someone you know, especially since all those tantalizing stories start being less appealing when you notice they parallel you in too many places. But therein lies the fun, no?

So why keep people in the dark? Mostly, because I do have another blog. A pretty well known one in it's own right. And the problem is it's known by people you generally don't want to read your diaries (READ: parents, friends, random acquaintances that will be around a bit more than you're comfortable with). And just once in awhile, you want to write things that will come across as pretty traumatic/controversial/just plain messy for said people.

Like, how you can never really tell your parents that you're gay but you want to write about it. Or that you've joined a cult or something like that. You get the idea.

Introductions are just so complicated, I decided, fuck it, I'm not going to bother. And if you DO decide to stay around, I suppose you can expect rather regular updates.

Have safe sex.