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I got this message today in my Friendster account:
If indeed he is as interested in me as he claims, and if he did read my profile, he would have already known my age, location and occupation.
Oh, but he says he doesn’t give importance to age, religion, location and race right? So I guess he overlooked them.
Oh, but then he also asks.
Huh?
But hey, since he says he is my one and only true friend, I guess everyone else I know are suckers. So I better stick with him.
I mean, he’s got the model looks; is from Istanbul, Turkey (how exotic! I’ve always wanted to go to Turkey!); and he trades gemstones! (ooh…the money!).
Plus, his profile also says:
[I] want a true honest woman to mary for ever with lvoe and joy.
Forgive his spelling mistakes. His first language is not English ok? (He’s from Turkey! *gasp*)
Yes, I’m true (huh?) and I’m honest (well, most of the time) and I’d certainly like some “lvoe and joy”.
Plus, I’d love to get married forever! I mean, I don’t want to get married for like, 4 months, or 2 years, right?
Anyone wants to write to Aamir? Feel free. (Pssst. Remember the gemstones!)
What else do you want me to say?
To tell you that last night I sat in a pub, in my flip flops, drank a screwdriver, stared at my toes and comtemplated the meaning of life?
No, not really. Well, I did do all of the above, only that I was doing it with someone else. So I guess that takes a bit of the screwed-up-ness out of the scenario.
So what do two twenty-somethings talk about? Work, love, life, relationships, family.
Gees. You see how self-absorbed our generation is? What happened to the rest of the world?
Ironically, we were sitting in one of those artsy-type places. Where photographers, artists, activists, rally-marchers, and placard-holders go to discuss society and how they can change it.
And while we were staring at our footwear and discussing our relationships with our parents, right opposite us is a counter full of postcards, leaflets and brochures advocating issues such as arms control and the mandatory labelling of GM food, or promoting events such as the latest run of the Vagina Monologues.
My train of thought went something like this: Arms control?! Cool. Never heard of it before. Hmm…I wonder if it’s an organization. Are they hiring?
My friend stared at me.
Ok. Change of thoughts. I wonder if I should have another drink?
I didn’t.
We played a boardgame, tallied our scores on our cellphones, and went home.
So much for Greenpeace, Oxfam, Amnesty International and their campaigns.
Was just reading this at work:
Legislation in Singapore requires that all imported consignments of condoms are not to be sold on the local market without prior batch testing by the Health Sciences Authority.
Hmmm….at this moment, I wouldn’t mind becoming a condom tester.
No. Not on me, stupid.
The days are long, but the years are short.
Check out this one-minute movie here.
Puts things in perspective. Makes you value the present. Urges you to live in the now.
Yet, at the same time, my day right now is so unbearably long, I can’t wait for it to be over.
Ironic isn’t it? When you’re trying to live in the present, but your post title is counting down to a day in the future.
When you want to value the time you have now, but yet can’t wait for time to pass faster.
I currently have this argument in my head:
The rational Dora:
Look, you can’t do this anymore. You’re just going no where with this. With all this willing-the-day-to-go-faster business. Coz you’re just gonna come back tomorrow, and will the same thing. How long do you want this to go on for? Are you going to do this every single day? You say you have time right? Then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
The Dora who stares either at the computer monitor or outside the window:
Arrrgh. I really can’t be bothered! It just fucking sucks to sit here. Yeah, I have stuff to do, but I just can’t be bothered anymore! I really don’t want to sit here. I can’t come here every morning and sit here in this friggin chair anymore! All I can will myself to do is stare outside my window. I just cannot bring myself to do the stuff I’m supposed to do! I don’t know what’s wrong! I just want to go outside! I have no motivation anymore! Don’t tell me to take a holiday! I’ve been taking more holidays than I’ve ever taken in my entire life! I can’t! I can’t!
And what do I do?
I record my thoughts here, and dread the end of this post. Because that means I now have to figure out a way to motivate myself some more, or give up and continue staring out the window.
.
.
.
I’m still here.
.
.
.
Still.
.
.
.
Shit. Ok. I’ll leave.
.
.
The End.
The star baker.
A shoulder.
The dodgy dude who tried to hit on anybody and everybody.
Looks like she’s on drugs. But she’s not. Perhaps the camera is. Or the photographer.
COME ON PEOPLE! LET’S SEE YOUR HANDS!
A pout.
One too many shots of tequila.
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