random early morning mullings.

i love holidays, but my finals are three weeks away and i'm hardly prepared. and i'm only sitting for two papers. it should be a cakewalk for the initiated, but, as usual, i'm signing on the dotted line for the express bus for eternal damnation. the (non)revelation that my cgpa is too low even for the menialest of menial jobs hasn't quite settled in yet, because of a certain parachute that'll take me out of harm's way...a job with either HELP's admin or Marketing staff. oh god. five long years, only to be capped off with a few more.

however, there's hope. for starters, helen didn't fare too well either, yet she had an internship with mediacorp, only to quit (the silly cow). i could probably actually enjoy my time offering movie and music reviews, but i suppose that only teenyboppers read lime. that, and i'm convinced that my only true exemplarary piece of teenybopper cred is actually knowing who bed and breakfast are. besides that, i'm just as into teenybopperism as anyone else. i dug Take That (i can see some of you younglings going 'take who?'), though that the backstreet boys were simply classier than *nsync, and am belatedly appreciating the wonders of Girl Power that the spice girls wreathed upon us.

which leads me to ask: are the Click Five really a perfect fit between a rock group and a boyband? the moffatts didn't quite cut it for me (Dave's the gay one!...the shock, the horror; on another note, i can imagine some of you going 'mofo-who?'). either way, thank god for emrie house.

back to my point.

i cannot work at HELP, but, looking at how i'd be starting from the ground up in (very) familiar surroundings, i shouldn't really complain much. education's a lucrative field......if you run the damn thing.

which brings to mind the fact that, out of the many professions i've professed to prefer, rock superstar is still #1 on my list. hell, i'd even be willing to turn sexually ambiguous for it, if it guaranteed multi-platinum albums, smash singles and a house in the Hills. but, woe, that'd mean selling my soul to the devil, and as i found out from james brown, i don't want to fuck with gary oldman.

(i think only one person here would even understand that reference).

either way, graduating would be preferable. and how'm i suppose to graduate? step one would be to clear the papers i have that're three weeks away. then we'll talk.

------------------------------------------

don't you just hate it when you meet a person over a few days, up to the point where he or she becomes obnoxiously close to you, and before you know it, hands you their number, says sayonara and something short of 'see you around if our paths cross'. now, mind you, you've got the number, but you don't quite know what to do or how to initiate any further encounters without looking like a total cad.

when's the appropriate post-meet time to contact them? a week? two? three?

i remember after meeting elaine for that first night, many christmas parties ago, she called me up within three days (i was a lot thinner then) and asked me out. no effort required on my part, aside from continuously calling her to get the flow going. the ins and outs of it all, you might say. we dated for a year++, within periods of her leaving me for Jesus and then coming back coz her mother said it was okay. but i am cool with elaine, and we used to talk until last year.

if you're married already, el, congratulations, and i hope the baby grows up to be taller than you.

anyway, what's the etiquette around this? with number in hand, and cell credit fully loaded, what're you gonna do, punk? or do you lack the balls to see it through? it's not like it's a date, is it? isn't that why you're calling, though? for a date?

what's it gonna be, punk?

a) "oh, y'know, i'd really like to see you again. i didn't really get a chance to know you those few days, and i think it'd be great to get to know you better".
b) "do you like mojitos?"
c) "um.......i think we might make a good match".
d) "i like pink thongs. especially on women".

it's endless, the things you can say.

------------------------------------------

here's the lowdown for how interlagos is gonna start, as briefly as i can.

massa = pole. alonso = fucker. schumi = 10th (possibly 20th if they change his engine). once again, when he needed it, ferrari reliability just wasn't there. who's gonna beat alonso now?

------------------------------------------

i feel that a certain sector of my life has gone to the shits and stayed there.

i believe that there's a lot of fun brewing my way if i'm diligent and patient.

i also like bacon. a lot.

the best part of being single is the fact that you're open to alternatives. you've got opportunities. options. choices. variety.

what happens when you've mowed yourself into a wall with another eye on a glimmering, shimmering hope?

you're in the shits, that's what you're in.

now, how do you get out of the shits? you can't play your cards right. you don't have a poker-face anymore. you've dug a hole so big that you can't get out of. you're in the Hotseat. oh yeah, you're not exactly at gary oldman proportions but you feel that you're getting there. and it isn't good.

what're you gonna do, punk?

why do i associate sex with love? for example: if i was with someone who fucked someone without any emotional attachments to him, why'm i prone to feel very, very uneasy with it? now, it's the fucking...if she was simply dating him behind my back, i'd feel more than comfortable. despite the reassurances that it meant "nothing", why would i still have that hinge of queasiness?

or is it just me?

could i touch her the same way? could i bring myself to? would i be repulsed at how she'd feel that she was guiltless in that sense? would i feel inadequate? would i feel that i'd have to live up to a benchmark of sorts? would i wish to be jay kay?

kids these days.

and i thought that worrying over plucked nose hairs was bad. uh. yes, i do pluck my nose hairs. uh. sometimes.

does it come down to that inertia cost again? just not wanting to move? staying in the same place, hoping for a change, only...heaping your hopes on nothing in the end.

i suppose, that if you walk into the saloon with doubts, you wouldn't come out alive.

but honestly: is there anyone left that i can trust?

------------------------------------------

i miss it when my world was bright and sunny and not sepia-tinged. all i had to worry about back then was being 17. and 18. and 19.

all i want to be is...to feel happy. and complete. and content. i wish i could meditate on it but i'm scared that i'll see things that i don't want to see. when i was younger, i'd imagine that Jesus was chasing me in the dark. funny, but utterly, true. i'd imagine that he was going to grab me and force me to atone for my sins simply because i wouldn't willingly admit to them. and it made me guilty. it still does, even though i've stopped feeling scared to look behind my shoulder whilst walking in the dark.

------------------------------------------

the tribe has spoken. you can go about your business. these aren't the droids we're looking for.

stormtroopers, huh?