#500.

#500.

Welcome to the five hundredth post of funkyhippopotamus. It’s been amazing that it’s lasted this long, and at the same time, it’s also amazing that not more people have taken notice of it. That’s right…I’ve discovered that I’m a slave to internet popularity. Although people plead to be anonymous on the internet, there’re some of us who just want to be known. After many failed attempts to make it big in music and television, I came to the conclusion that the internet was the place to be. However, there were a few problems that I’ve encountered. Namely, I can’t write well enough to be noticed. My attempts at being witty have failed. And I don’t have a group of friends who I drag in to read the blog, which would be good…because a revolving cast of regular characters would help. As well as a digital camera. And maybe a life that would be worthy of being blogged about. And let’s not forget that I need an angle…but I don’t think “the adventures of an underachieving 21 (soon to be 22) year old” rates highly upon topics of interest for most people. This is just a farty blog. But, dammit, it’s mine.

Actually, by right, this isn’t the five hundredth post, but something that figures more. Don’t forget that month where the blog went off-tangent and I started a new one because I wanted to leave all this rubbish behind me in preference for a more introspective blog. But then again, this could be considered #500 because of all the junk that I usually put on. I am self-conscious over the single-lined entries that don’t really count as posts. And the statements that I failed to make that nobody would’ve understood, anyway. And despite my best efforts, my lack of a life beyond the internet has led me to post at irregular intervals, despite making a commitment to deliver daily (or at least rotational-daily) postings.

Oh my God. I’m being anal over this.

Anyway, the weekend so far has been…better than most. Friday night was spent at Hartamas, where I met up with Matt, Sean, Helmi, Ben and…Chian Tyng (I dig that “y”). Chian Tyng’s supposed to be an old family friend of Sean’s. Her banter about pornography and hanging genitals notwithstanding, she made good slacking company. We were at Spicy (my first time in fucking months), and then we proceeded to Cristro’s (ditto), where I had an Iced Mocha while everyone just…drank. Liver conditions are the shits.

Saturday was better. I met up with Matt and had lunch at McD’s. And then we proceeded to look for lepers in Sungai Buloh (the story goes that there was a leper colony in Sungai Buloh but they were all cured…and I thought that the world was rid of leprosy)…but not before we digressed to pick Helmi up at Subang, where we sat at Darussalam and just…bummed. (Yup…we didn’t get to see the lepers). Mamak living returns. We then went to Ampang to meet up with Helmi’s friends (and went to a mamak, no less), and amidst conversations regarding auditing, how oil prices affect the global economy and emigration policies to Australia, I managed to put in a few (un)witty lines. I wish I was born funny. We then proceeded to go to 1 Utama to meet Sean and Ben for a movie.

(I’d just like to say that at this point, Sean was at home, playing World of Warcraft).

Sean never showed up, despite it being his idea to go watch The War of the Worlds. We had dinner at Nando’s (my first time!), and then we proceeded to go to Bangsar, where we went to the T Club or whatever it’s called (it’s shite boring). Helmi bowed out, and then the rest of us went to the Castle (which was formerly The Roof, and let me just say that The Roof was so much more memorable to be in). And then we went to McD’s, and parted ways.

I don’t understand why Chian Tyng wouldn’t let me take her home. I mean, I was taking Matt back anyway. Just because Ben drives a Civic, has manly arms, is a decent guy and works at RHB…it doesn’t mean that he has carriage rights for the night. Unfair. What do I have that he doesn’t? (Insert smiley-tongue emoticon here).

Yea, well. It was a good two days’ worth of whatever you want to call it. Forgive the parenthesis. And here’s to 500 more. For me, anyway.