it's all about me...

Once in awhile, we must allow the Narcissus in us to emerge, not so much because we must, but because it's amusing to do it. And as we all know, amusement is more important than survival.

A quick aside, the story of Narcissus goes something like this: This leng zhai called Narcissus was a bloody showoff, and all the village girls (and guys) were falling in love with him. He was so the pretty boi that the people said he rivalled even Aphrodite's beauty, who was the Goddess of Love and Sexual Debauchery or something like that. So, she was kau pissed at him, and decided to chiun kau him. So one day, he was walking along this road, and he saw his own reflection. So Aphrodite made him fall in love with himself. Besides, he was so leng zhai, and he was somehow too poor to afford mirrors that he tak kenal sendiri, so he thought there was some beautiful water nymph in there. So he stayed there night and day flirting and getting hot and horny with his own reflection. He didn't leave, cuz he was to syok sendiri with his own face. So, sure enough, he died. Of course la, don't eat, and see your own face all the time, don't die kau fake la. The gods pitied this stupid, but leng zhai idiot, which is kinda characteristic of stupid pretty bois, and turned his gorgeous corpse into a flower.

Meh. So long for an aside. Like I was saying, this post is about me. I got my hair cut. Wait. Did I mention that already? I did? Oh well. Like I said, I cut my hair. First in such a long time. It's really thin now, so it flows easily, and bends and shapes nicely. The problem is, TOO nicely. If I do that ditzy-wave-hair-in-wind-in-an-ostentatious-flirty-manner thing, it gets in my eyes. Ouch. But I must say, the frizz is gone, and I look SOOO much better. But actually, since no one can tell the difference because the length is still the same, doesn't matter. But I can use less shampoo now.

Hmm, should I be worried? I think I turn myself on. It's so weird. Either that, or I'm finally appreciating my less-than-perfect-and-nowhere-near-good-enough looks. Yeah. I notice it only occurs when I'm wearing new clothes, usually loose midlength pants, and tight, tight, tight, dark colored shirts, especially sleeveless ones. Incidentally, I find myself shopping for clothes a lot this past few weeks. And wandering a lot near the underwear section, especially the newer releases where they have sheer (read: transparent) materials, or really tight, minimal material kinds. Could it be? That I find myself (all together now: GASP!) sexy?!? Is it even possible? No. It's probably cuz I just need new clothes. And I'm probably up for trying something different, just for fucks.

Dance performance on Friday at OUG Cub. Getting quite good at the retarded routine, which isn't as retarded as I make it sound, but more like too long and repetitive for the first part, and too short and not enough repeats for the second. Why can't the world be less complicated and bow down to my every whim? Hmm, I'd have to decide on what to whim for first, eh? At any rate, it's giving me nicer dancer legs (and dancers have the sexiest legs, wakakaka!) and it's a good workout. Too bad I had to pay 90 bucks to get in. I'm broke broke broke. At least an 8 course Chinese dinner is thrown in as part of the deal. It better be good. Now, question is, which camera to bring?

I realise, that I do look good from the front. But I look fat from the side. Erk. On the other hand, I could turn all that extra material into solid muscle. In that way, it's easier than having to put on the pounds first then convert it. Nice. Now to find some willpower to go with that statement, and we might find ourselves the stud baking brownies in the buff. Might.

Seems that there are interesting things in 4U after all. Take for instance Green Eggs and Hamlet:

I ask to be, or not to be.
That is the question, I ask of me.
This sullied life, it makes me shudder.
My uncle's boffing dear, sweet mother.
Would I, could I, take my life?
Could I, should I, end this strife?
Should I jump out of a plane?
Or throw myself before a train?
Should I from a cliff just leap?
Could I put myself to sleep?
Shoot myself, or take some poison?
Maybe try self immolation?
To shudder of this mortal coil,
I could stab myself with a fencing foil.
Slash my wrists while in the bath?
Would it end my angst and wrath?
To sleep, to dream, now there's the rub.
I could drop a toaster in my tub.
Would all be glad, if I were dead?
Could I perhaps kill them instead?
This line of thought takes consideration-
For I'm the king of procrastination.

I do realise that Darien mentioned he likes my intellectual writing. I think he's high on something. Intellectual. I can write like any ah beng any day I like, okay?

Wait.

I can't.

Meh.