argh...

What the hell is wrong with me?!?!??!!?

dream interpretation...

I had one of the kinkiest dreams of my life last night, at least, one of the kinkiest I do remember. The details are a bit too, erm, gory, to describe in public publishing, but all that you need to know was that it was a gay orgy with very, erm, familiar, people, following up by a rather extreme bondage session.

Ever notice how real your dreams feel at the point? And in my case, at least, it always feels perfectly normal, as if you'd do it all the time in real life. Like the dream I had where I could fly. There was no questioning, like it was an expected thing. And when you wake up, it's a different thing entirely, and it's almost disappointing that it wasn't real.

Lucid dreaming, that strange ability some of us have where we can control our actions in a dream. How many of you have lucid dreams? Do you like to direct your own night action sequences, or do you normally sit and stay for a preplanned ride? With me, it almost always is a directed shot.

So all that said, ever wonder what your dreams mean, if they mean anything at all? Taking into account last night's dream, the fact that it was real as real can be, and that I could basically have decided to change the dream had I wanted to, what did last night mean? Assuming, as many psychologists do, that dreams are a manifestation of our deepest and darkest desires/fears/wants/needs/blah, that would mean I'm a closet gay, even to my own conciousness.

Aiya, dunno la. You psychology students help me la.

Okay, that done, I'll make this a nonsensically long post by doing a little something I found at the Old Jeans Depot.

In italics are my opinions on generically female opinions. Haha. Opiniated opinions.

1. Don't tell us when you think other girls are hot.
You'd rather we just ogle?

2. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.
Depends really. I rarely keep my thoughts to myself. If you can't stand it, you'd best make sure you find someone you can.

3. If you don't act like soap-opera guys, don't expect us to dress like Victoria's Secret Models.
If we did act like soap opera guys, you'd think we wanted a fuck all the time. And if you did dress like Victoria's Secret models, we would, lolz.

4. Mark anniversaries on the calendar.
You like men ruled by a stack of papers? I thought electronics and sports kinda killed the appeal, let alone inanimate, nonresponsive objects.

5. We think about you all the time.
Then you gotta seriously either get a dog, or pick up knitting.

6. This is how we see it : Don't call = Don't care.
We see it as giving you personal space. Or we ran out of credit.

7. Which also means that if we don't call, take a hint.
Very few guys wait by the phone. Those who do are probably sexually deprived stalkers.

8. We like you to be a little jealous. But overly possessive is not necessary.
Make up your mind...

9. Being able to make us laugh is so much more important than knowing how much you can bench-press.
Being confident enough to bench press 100 allows us to make stupid nonsensical jokes.

10. We're allowed to be late. You're not.
Also the same way guys are allowed to sleep around, eh?

11. Eye contact is the key.
Yes, but eye contact with whom?

12. Don't take longer to get ready than we do.
I don't see how that's even remotely possible.

13. Laugh at our jokes.
The male sense of humour is something that most girls do NOT want to be acquainted with, believe me.

14. 3 words: honesty, honesty, honesty!
Likewise, eh?

15. Girls can be groupies. Guy groupies are stalkers.
Any guy who would go groupie is definitely suffering from a testosterone deficiency, and therefore hardly could be defined as male.

16. Do not start with us. You will not win.
Do not start with ME. Being female does NOT give you the winning edge. Mwahahaha.

17. Would you like it if a guy treated your sister that way? Didn't think so.
You really think that would make a difference?

18 If you ask nicely, we'll answer the same way.
Maybe.

19. We will never have enough clothes or shoes.
And we'll never have enough sex either.

20. We have an excuse for being bitchy at least once a month.
I suppose that's the same reason rapists can use as well...

21. Open the door for us no matter where we are.
It's a habit for me.

22. We love surprises.
Some things are best left unknown, really.

23. We like to be kissed softly. Not with an iron tongue.
Iron tongue? Sadness.

24. Pay attention to the little things we do, because they mean the most.
Subtleties only really work when the big things are flops, leh.

25. Boxers and maybe boxer briefs sometimes.Never tighty-whities!
Why not?

26. Always brush your teeth before you see us. A fresh mouth and white teeth are a neccessity.
Understood.

27. Clean your room before we come over.
My room is cleaner than most girls' leh.

28. Even though you're sometimes insensitive and hurt us, we still love you with everything we are.
Erm, okay. Now I feel like a jerk.

29. Don't act hard around your friends.
Tak faham leh.

30. Sometimes "NO" really means "NO!".
I always assume that No means No.

31. "Wife beaters" are not an adequate form of fashion.
What's a wife beater?

32. If we wanted to be on video tape, we'd be a porn star. NOT your girlfriend.
If we wanted porn stars, we'd buy video tapes.

33. Sensitive guys are great.. but crying more than we do in a movie just isn't right.
Make up your minds...

34. Don't let ex-girlfriends cause drama, relationships are stressful enough.
I thought it was more of a female field where the ex-es caused high profile soap operas?

35. It takes a special kind of stupid to forget birthdays.
Well, yes, but since I forget my own birthday as well, you can hardly expect me to remember anything else.

36. Guys who are good cuddlers = guys who know how to satisfy a woman.
Eh, oh-kay...

37. "Fat chicks" have feelings, too.
I don't stereotype leh. And your feelings are also subject to mine, as in, I think what I think, you feel what you feel.

38. Silent treatment, shoulder shrugs, tears, yelling, & nasty looks add up to = YOU DID SOMETHING WRONG.
I noticed...

39. The excuse "I can't dance" is unacceptable.We'll appreciate the simple fact that you're trying.
I CAN dance.

40. Just because a girl doesn't pick up on the first ring, doesn't mean she's not waiting by the phone.
Waiting by the phone? Why would you do that? Get the phone to wait beside you.

41. You don't have to spend a lot; if it means a lot.
Especially if you're always broke like me.

42. Don't say you love me if you don't mean it.
Then again, if we didn't say anything...

43. Don't lie to us. We will catch you.
And then?

44. When the girls get together, we talk about everything. meaning, my best friends know everything about you.
Yes, and all that stuff about penis size and what have you. Is it genetic that girls should have one shared conciousness?

I'd do my own list of girls-must-haves, but I'm really not picky. Maybe someone out there would like to take that up, eh?

tagging...

Blog tags, I think, are kind of like toe tags. Getting one is a sure sign that you have no life. This particular death herald is from Liz.

1) Write an entry of between 100-200 words, with these words have to be included once, and only once:

- I
- me
- blowjob
- grapes
- random
- power
- loneliness
- water
- robot
- blue

2) Out of the 10 words, you can only change 2 words.

I changed 'I' to 'cherries', and 'me' to 'flowering'.


3) Your essay must make some kind of sense. If it's not cool, then it won't get published.


4) Send to 5 people.

Suet.

PokX.

Suan.

Adam.

Kai.

Here we go. This is rather more explicit than others, so you know what to do.

The pastry chef had enough. This was the seventh time this week that a customer had returned the souffle. It wasn't his fault that the head waiter moaned so loudly in the broom closet during each of his daily blowjobs that the hostess was bribing him with for the dinner shift. Each time, just as the light sugary fluffiness that was the Bistro's special was perfecting, Jorge had to make this unearthly groaning and the resulting sound waves flattened the flowering dessert.

"I'm telling you, Jorge, this is the final fucking time I'm putting up with your broom closet antics. It's a good thing that you don't go down on her."

"I tell you Hans, that girl has one of the most beautiful cherries of his fine city's orchards," the sniggering head waiter, err, sniggered.

"Fucking in the staff rest room, I can take. But this random excursions to the broom closet are extremely disruptive to the dessert production. Mess it up for me one more time, and I'll see to it that the only 'cherries' you ever get in this city's 'orchards' are sour grapes."

Meanwhile, in the back alleys, Hilde and Fran were chatting over a Cuban joint.

"I tell you, Fran, that Jorge is a tiring man to please. If it wasn't that my rent was several times the GDP of a small African country, I wouldn't try to get the dinner shift so often."

"Well, dahling, at least you're seeing some action. My old man's like a robot, so there's nothing a horny bitch like me can do. Hmm, maybe I should try for the dinner shift too..."

The hostess laughed at the barmaid's comment.

"As is, ol' Jorge ain't that much of a lover. With two of us going after him, he's gonna have some real watery cum!"

Back in the Bistro, Jose, the gay Mexican waiter, was sitting around, waiting for the lunch crowd to disperse. He was flipping a wine opener in his hands, staring blankly at the plainface brick wall. Myra walked up to him.

"Why so blue, Jose?"

"Mi novio se separó conmigo..."

"Well darling, if you weren't gay, I'd go out with you."

"Sí, and if I weren't gay, I'd fuck you, too, chica."

"Hmm, yes. Well, what say you we go for supper tonight. At least something for us both to forget our loneliness with?"

"¿Cuando amigos, sí?"

"Yes, Jose," laughed the curvaceous blonde Myra.

From within, the pissed off voice of Hans echoed like a bad wind out of a bean stuffed glutton.

"Myra! Will you please get the fucking hostess and head waiter out of the fucking broom closet! Do it now or I'll get out the power sander!"

Hmm, didn't make any sense. Joda.

questions...

There is really no direction. No way to go, no obvious alignment to take.

Lost is probably the best description for the situation. I no longer know where I'm going. I no longer know where I came from. I no longer know why I'm doing anything.

Why do I bother writing if I have nothing to say? What happened to the wit that was my one redeeming grace? In gathering the bits I do not have, I have lost the defining truth that was me. The sarcastic acid response that was trademark.

Where has the nonchalant don't-give-a-flying-fuck disappeared to? How do you adjust to a situation that has always been creeping on you unconciously? Help.

I'm lost within myself. I'm not as complete as I'd be comfortable with, let alone want to be. I'm not as well put together as I'd need to be to do any much. I'm not as balanced as I'd require if I were to walk the road I find myself treading. And then I have a sort of unexplained confidence in the steps.

Is this faith? I know what I believe in. Do you?

I had this same questions one year ago.

Happy Birthday, quicksilverlining.

speech patterns...

In an imperfect world, there are always going to be things that annoy beyond all understanding. One of the most insanely frustrating are speech patterns, colloquilisms, and the what-nots.

One particular speech pattern I cannot stand is something I have to put up with everyday. It seems that my sisters really like talking in half sentences. For example: I like... Like what? Sial, bloody annoying. And another one is when they insist on using complete names for games and restaurants. Like, they can't just say that Taipan Klang Bak Kut Teh shop. They must say The Under the Klang Bridge Bak Kut Teh (there's more, but I couldn't be bothered). Yes, it's extremely important to be specific, but what the fuck, there are only so many bak kut tehs in Taipan. And it's always Manhattan Fish Market. They can't stick with the simple Manhattan. So freaking annoying...

Sometimes, my parents' speech patterns also annoy me. Now, for some reason, I can't really put my finger on what it is that's annoying, but then again, it just is. Then again, basically everyone I know is annoyed by something about their parents, even though they don't really know what.

Biologically, people are designed to be irritated by their families once they reach a certain age. Brain chemistry makes everything family members do seem extremely annoying, irrational as it is. A likely hypothesis is that it's so we move out and start our own families, sorta completing the circle. An interesting side effect to note is that even after leaving, we will still feel irritated by our parents (you can usually observe this by seeing your parents' reactions towards your grandparents). If this sounds too ridiculous to be true, just wait until you get married. Mwahahah!

I was just thinking, Kenny Sia's huge coconuts may actually be inguinal hernias.

Like, whatever...

ah...

It looks like it's Monash for me. Anyone interested in sharing a place?

Sharing beds will not be necessary.

argh...

Monosyllabic is a long word.

I'm wondering. Why is it that girls can get away with ogling other guys at say work or play, while their boyfriends must always keep their eyes only on them? Socially speaking la. Normally, I notice both parties tengok tengok kat orang lain, regardless of. And in some unusual cases, Suet and Baz, for example, both parties will take in the gorgeous chicks around them. Baz, I jeles kat you la.

Seriously, and although this is hardly an original topic, gender equality is somewhat of a misnomer, if the public understanding of the issue is to be taken as definition. One commonplace myth is that it is easier for guys to be handsome than it is for girls to be pretty. As far as I see it, thanks to those pretty boys out there that are apparently quite popular, the male definition of beauty --- smooth face, broad chest, chiseled finish --- is a bit harder to get than the female definition of curves in the right places. For us, we mostly have to work for those definitions, while you girls just keep to your diets. Of course, I could have discounted that female metabolisms tend to like fats, and that testosterone laden males do build muscle quickly, or that this is the male idea of male and female beauty and that the female ideal is more towards a perfect inside, or stuff like that. But you cannot say I'm wrong that you girls like seeing a pretty boy with a hot bod. Unless of course, erm, wait. I don't want to even think that.

I've been a bit bent out of shape recently. Like, emotionally. Assuming, of course, that the emotion, as something of a discernable shape, can be misshapen. I prefer to pronounce that is miss-happen, rather than mis-shapen. It's funnier that way, to think that it should not have happened, rather than given a bad shape.

I burned a soup. If it wasn't such a fantastically bad testimonial of my culinary proficiencies, I'd probably laugh. Then again, I know people who can burn water. That said, it wasn't my fault that there was a 1 hour jam from Sunway back to my place.

People who expouse the wonders of wearing boxers should try going without undies. It's pretty much the same effect, although getting your little friend caught in a zip is probably quite painful (yes, I know girls who wear boxers for fun too, but there is always a similar, although practically infinitely diminished, chance that you'd get caught in them).

My posts are beginning to become very themeless and nonsensical. I blame the music Darien sends me. They have no coherence whatsoever. I wonder why Asy posts his songs up. I wonder why I even bother thinking about these things.

Tomorrow's the day I find out if I'm getting into Uni Melb or not. And I'm still quite annoyed at a Leow Pok. Maner itu bowling dan yum char? Eh, Li-Ann. Can you get your brother to like go out or something? Maybe on Wednesday. So I got a reason to spend money, lolz.

"Time's fun when you're having flies." - Kermit the Frog.