| The Singapore Chronicles Part One |
May 10, 2008 6:56 pm
448 Views |  | Warning: Rampaging Food Addiction Very Evident In This Post
As WHF already detailed Day One of our Singapore food binge, except for the fact that hubby insisted on going straight to our favorite laksa joint fresh off the airport, I won't repeat that anymore.
It was just wonderful to see her again, after all these years. Even more wonderful was the fact that we just picked up where we left off, as if there was no time apart, talking and laughing like people who have known each other for most of our lives. We didn't notice time passing and bemusedly noted that the hotel where we were having our milkshakes already had people vacuuming the lounge where we had parked ourselves. I looked at my watch and was shocked to find that it was already way past 2 AM!!
On our second day, hubby, nephew and I had breakfast at a nearby food court near our hotel, where nephew and I had the quintessential Singaporean breakfast--kopi C (very strong coffee with condensed milk), kaya toast and very soft boiled eggs--and hubby had some fish noodles. Lunch on our second day was spent in Little India because I had wanted to go to Mustafa's, THE ultimate Indian supermarket/department store/treasure trove in Singapore. We met WHF and off we went to Little India, but when we got to the place where she wanted to take us out to lunch, the bloody place was gone. It was apparently a typical situation in Singapore, she said--places you used to visit suddenly packing up and leaving one day because of sky-high rent and cutthroat competition. At her suggestion, we trooped over to the Indian vegetarian place called Komala, where I ended up filching food from everybody else's plate because everything THEY ordered was so much better than mine. My nephew had wonderful bhattura, a puffed up bread dusted with some sugar, served with an assortment of vegetarian stews/sauces to dip it in. WHF had the paper dhosa, which was scrumptious with its potato filling. Hubby had a wonderful, aromatic biryani. I had lentil doughnuts. Don't ask.
We then hied off to the kitchenware place, where I was practically in throes of ecstasy just looking at all the choices of equipment I could get for my kitchen, as if I was a kid let loose in a toy store. Don't get me wrong, I do like shopping for clothes and shoes and other girly stuff, but give me a choice between trying on a dress or test-driving a chef's knife, and well...let's just say we would have stayed on in that kitchenware place far longer, with far more damage to my credit card, if it hadn't closed early. We saw a HUGE pie dish and I quipped that all I had to do was get onto it and holler, "Tart is served!" 
Hubby, nephew and I went back to the hotel with my loot while WHF went off to her uncle's cafe where we would meet her for dinner. When we got there we saw that a beautiful carpet had been laid out on the side of the street. We ordered food while she smoked her shisha, the scent of which intrigued and captivated me, and while the aroma of the wonderful lamb meshwi hubby had ordered made my mouth water, everything else was forgotten when WHF stepped onto that carpet to dance.
I've seen "bellydancers" before in Manila and on TV ("bellydancing" not even an accurate term, said WHF, considering how every part of the body moved. She preferred to call it "Middle Eastern dance") but I was not prepared for the grace and sheer joy in dancing she exhibited. Was she good? Undoubtedly--and even to my untrained eye, I could tell she was superb (more on how I realized just how much better she was than other so called middle eastern dancers later). But what touched me, moved me more was that she put such passion, such soul into every move. She literally stopped traffic on the street, with cars backing up because every single one that passed by just braked in front of her with the driver watching for as long as he could. Pedestrians stopped in their tracks to watch. Tourists took her picture while she danced. And she did it for us. To say that I am humbled and honored by this wonderful gift she chose to share with us would be sheer understatement. She made this whole trip unforgettable.
We finally had wonderful Turkish coffee after we were sufficiently roused from our open mouthed wonderment to eat the food placed in front of us. Eventually we staggered back to our hotel at almost 2 AM again, still dazed and happy at the memory of that amazing, amazing night. |
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| On Turning 40 |
May 6, 2008 10:17 am
913 Views |  | My first day of being officially middle-aged, and I think back to things I wish I knew then that I know now, and things I've realized about myself and learned in the 40 years I've been a shining epitome of all that's prim and proper.
Did I hear someone chortle?
Moving along, I now share with you the wisdom culled from four decades of existence. I mean, if elricardo can give me enlightenment about attached blondes, I can definitely impart what I know of root perms.
Which would be--
Don't have one--I did it when I was 18 and I resembled The Bride Of Frankenstein on a bad hair day. A root perm is well, when they perm nothing but your roots. I succumbed to the temptation because boyfriend back then (the butt ugly lead guitarist) had rabid fantasies of turning me into his little Asian version of Nancy Wilson--well, if not her boobs, then at least her hair. The upside of this catastrophe was that I saved the ozone layer from further thinning because I didn't need any hairspray for the next few weeks to tease my hair up anymore--I looked like I had just stuck my finger in a socket.
High as my forehead is, if I did it now that I'm starting to develop lines on my forehead, I'd actually look worse than a Klingon with a receding hairline and a bad case of the frizzies.
Which is why I will always have bangs.
I'll never be a poet--I've also realized that I'm never going to be a Serious Writer, in the mold of, say, Salman Rushdie, or Edith Wharton, or Haruki Murakami, though I do enjoy reading them, and love how they craft sentences, brilliant in their wordplay, masters in their game. I string my sentences helter skelter as I think them, put them down on paper, and refuse to (because I'm a lazy bugger) edit.
I'm aiming for Nora Ephron now, minus the neck wattle.
I was born with them double chins, and I am gonna die with them double chins--In ten years I'll have double chins PLUS neck wattle, which will guarantee that Manila will suddenly have a shortage of turtlenecks. Of course they can't be very tight turtlenecks, otherwise I'd be walking around with triple chins. Maybe I should just wear a scarf, though it would look silly, especially in the summers.
Massaging my double chins downwards (which stubbornly stayed with me even at 88 lbs, and would probably take a cannula the size of a drainpipe to suck it all out if I ever considered liposuction) will not make that globule of fat migrate low enough to increase my cup size. With my luck, it'll most likely get stuck in the middle of my neck, making me resemble a trannie with a jiggly Adam's Apple.
Oh, and yes, always wear sunblock.
And no, I didn't just learn this much--but those were pretty much the highlights.
This pointless post was inspired by gowerboy's, only I haven't had a haircut yet. |
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| Intermission |
May 3, 2008 8:26 pm
1032 Views | Back from Singapore, but the pics haven't been uploaded onto my computer as yet, and nephew's supposed to put a band on all of our eyes before I post one of them, so in the meantime, a joke for all of you wonderful, prim, proper, upright, butter-can't-melt-in-your-mouth folks out there.
(OK, I went over the top, sorry)
Where Babies Come From
A teenage girl comes home from school and asks her mother.
"Is it true what Rita just told me? Babies come out of the same place where boys put their pen1ses?"
"Yes, dear," replies her mother, pleased that the subject had finally come up and she wouldn't have to explain it to her daughter.
"But then when I have a baby," the teenager pondered, "won't it knock all my teeth out?"
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| Heartwrung, Heartsick |
Apr 26, 2008 10:28 am
1403 Views | I keep playing Iceblink Luck by Cocteau Twins, my make-me-happy-get-me-in-a-good-mood song.
It isn't working.
It's been a rough week for me, being with my best friend whose 2 year old boy, my godson, was in the hospital since Tuesday. He was just discharged today. I've been with them everyday, lending support as much as I can.
JT is my best friend's miracle baby, born after six years of waiting, their only child, their pride and joy, their dream come true. But the dream is turning into a nightmare. You see, JT was born with not just one, but two life-threatening heart conditions--one, called TGA, or Transposition of the Great Arteries, a cyanotic congenital heart disease where the primary arteries, the aorta and the pulmonary artery, are transposed, or switched. The other is a hole tucked deep into his heart, a condition called VSD, or Ventricular Septal Defect.
Normally, with TGA, a surgery is scheduled as early as possible, usually around 2-3 months after birth, to correct the defect. They couldn't do that with JT simply because the hole in his heart was too deeply tucked in that they needed him to grow up a little more.
So Tuesday, I pop in to visit my godson who was in the hospital to undergo cardiac catheterization, and was heartbroken to see how blue his lips, fingertips and toes were. Despite all this, he was in good spirits, breaking into such a beautiful smile when he saw the blue toy motorcycle I brought him. He kept trying to yank his IV tube off, though, and my best friend kept restraining him. When he fell asleep my law partner Gin, who also dropped by, and I dragged my best friend off to lunch, since her sister, sister-in-law and the boy's nanny were there watching over him anyway.
She looked haggard and worn, and we sat her down and made her eat. She told us about how JT, who's undergone more medical procedures than I have ever had in my lifetime kept freaking out every time he saw a doctor or a nurse, and how he kept screaming, "Why, Mommy, why???" while they were holding him down to try and insert an IV tube for the transfusion needed to thin his blood.
Wednesday and Thursday we kept waiting for his blood to stabilize enough so that cardiac catheterization could proceed. Eventually the procedure was scheduled yesterday, so I rushed to the hospital and made it in time to see JT about to be wheeled off. He was clinging tightly to his mother, whimpering, having an inkling that something was afoot. He looked terrified and my heart kept breaking. When they wheeled him into the Operating Room he kept screaming that he wanted to go home.
Eventually his cardiologist came out, and sighing heavily, told my best friend and the rest of us that JT's case was the hardest he'd ever encountered, and that the TGA procedure might not be able to wait anymore, despite the fact that he had that hole in his heart. So in May, when JT's surgeon from the US comes over, she and her husband would have to discuss it with him and decide if they would take the risk and schedule the operation already, even though his heart is still too small for that hole, which is tucked deep within, to be fixed.
I hate it when children suffer. I get a crisis of faith every time that happens. And for this to happen to a child my best friend and her husband waited six years for, only to risk losing him, seems like a cruel joke.
So I'll just play Iceblink Luck again, if you don't mind. | |
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| My Beautiful Mommy |
Apr 23, 2008 6:25 am
1466 Views |  | Is it just me, or does anyone else think this sends a wrong message? Somebody please help me pick up my jaw from the floor, too--I dropped it while reading this article.
From ABC News
Kids' Book About Tummy Tucks, Nose Jobs
Plastic Surgeon Writes Book Explaining 'What Happened to Mommy'
By EMILY FRIEDMAN
April 18, 2008
Forget bedtime stories featuring "Winnie the Pooh" or "The Cat in the Hat"; one new children's book stars mommy — and her new nose job.
"My Beautiful Mommy," written by Florida-based plastic surgeon Dr. Michael Salzhauer, is billed by its author as the first book that explains plastic surgery to kids, an issue with which he says many of his patients struggle.
"More than half the women that come in for procedures bring their children with them," he said. "And most parents go into denial about the surgery with regard to their children."
"My Beautiful Mommy" focuses on a mother explaining an impending nose job and tummy tuck to her young daughter, who is scared that her mommy may look different. Mommy also undergoes a breast enhancement in the book, a fact depicted only through the illustrations so as not to get too graphic for child readers.
While some may jump to say that any tale about cosmetic surgery — breast, nose or tummy — isn't appropriate reading material for young kids, many members of the plastic surgery community are welcoming the new-age bedtime story. Some say they just wish they'd thought of the book idea first.
"It's a narrow niche, but there is a need for it," said N.Y.-based plastic surgeon Dr. Darrick Antell, who said he had considered writing a similar book before he heard about Salzhauer's. "There are patients who frequently will ask what they should tell their kids when they're bruised for a few days."
"Plastic surgery today is much more out of the closet than it was years ago, people are much more open about it," said Antell, who said he isn't concerned the book will send the wrong message to children. "While it's clearly not for everyone, when a person has decided they want to go ahead and improve their appearance, they want to introduce it into the family setting so the child won't be concerned."
Preparing For Mommy's Downtime
Salzhauer said the book can help families prepare for the recovery time women need after plastic surgery.
"When mom goes down everyone in the house is effected — especially the kids," said Salzhauer, who added that many kids get upset when their mother seems sick or too tired to play. "They know something is going on and she has bandages, so they start to ask, 'What's wrong with mommy?'"
That's exactly the question Salzhauer's book tries to answer, chronicling the journey of a mother and her child as they visit the fictional office of the fictional, strapping "Dr. Michael" for cosmetic surgery.
"Why are you going to look different?" asks the daughter of her mother in the car ride back from the doctor's office.
"Not just different, my dear — prettier!" exclaims the mother.
When prodded by her daughter as to why she's getting an operation — after all, the girl says, she's already "the prettiest mommy in the whole wide world" — the mom explains how her clothes don't fit properly anymore because of her stretched out stomach, presumably a result of childbirth.
By the end of the story, the mother's formerly wrinkled tummy and crooked nose are flat and straight and, despite never saying anything about her chest in the plot, the mother's breasts appear perkier too.
"I tried to avoid any graphic medical details because they'd go over the child's head and I think it's unnecessary," said Salzhauer of his whimsically written book, set to hit bookstores on Mother's Day. "She does get a bo_ob job, I skirt that issue because I think that's the parents' choice whether they want to address that particular part of the operation with their children."
Book Fills Void in Cosmetic Surgery Lit
Dr. Richard D'Amico, president of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, told ABCNEWS that while some may find the message offensive, he thinks the book's text is quite realistic.
"More and more women when they're done having kids are saying, 'Hey wait a minute, I'm dieting and exercising but there are some things I can't do myself,'" said D'Amico. "I think the book [sends the message] that the surgeon is going to help mommy with some things she can't do alone."
However, D'Amico said the illustrations are definitely not ideal and may be more offensive than the plot line itself.
"I understand they are cartoon figures, but I thought that the mommy's breasts were just a little too big and she was a little too stylized," said D'Amico of the book's lead character, who wears belly-shirts and tight-fitting pants. "I would have liked it much better if mommy looked like a real person."
Does Book Glorify Surgery or Teach Lesson?
Not everyone is ready to recommend this book to their patients. Craniofacial specialist and reconstructive surgeon Dr. Pete Costantino told ABCNEWS that he doesn't think cosmetic surgery is a child-friendly topic.
"Children are still in the process of developing concepts of self-image and beauty and ugliness and so forth," said Costantino. "They're in a formative phase, and I don't think it's valuable to children to push aesthetic surgery in their face."
"It's something that is an adult decision and should be dealt with as such," Costantino added. "There is no great motivator for kids to know about this."
Image expert and psychologist Debbie Then told ABCNEWS that the book "mortified" her and could be potentially harmful to children.
"The whole idea of this book falls into the category of 'too much information for a child to comprehend,'" she said. "There is a concern that if we focus the attention of young children on this topic, we will encourage very young girls to start obsessing about their looks at an even earlier age than they already do."
"Beauty obsession is a societal problem, and as such, a tormenting topic for women of all ages," added Then. "So let the youngest members of our society read books about all sorts of topics, but please, not about mom's new bo_obs."
Wonder what's coming up next--"I Have 8 Moms Even Though My Dad Isn't Larry King"--a book for kids in polygamist sects? |
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| This Is What Instant Karma Looks Like |
Apr 20, 2008 10:40 am
1722 Views |  | *Picture is of A Flock Of Seagulls performing live
Saturday afternoon en route home, and we're passing by this huge billboard along Manila's main thoroughfare announcing a one-night-only-not-to-be-missed concert by A Flock Of Seagulls, with When In Rome and Real Life thrown in for good measure. I point it out to hubby and we both snicker, wondering at who on earth would waste good money watching middle-aged has-been new wavers.
To top it off, the concert was billed as "Lost 80s Live!!!"--which didn't seem promising at all. I mean, I liked it that the 80s got lost, with its shoulder pads and Aqua Net and horrid fashion. I wish it would stay lost. Who was the twit who went looking for it and found it anyway??
We were just having dinner when my cellphone rang. It was my good friend M, the wife of hubby's best friend P, and she was calling to say--
M: You've got to watch A Flock Of Seagulls with us now!!
Me: Eh?
M: Come on, you two---a good friend of ours sponsored the concert but couldn't make it, gave us FOUR tickets to the concert, free, and each of them cost Php2,500 (about US$60) so it would be such a waste if nobody used it.
Php2,500??? Somebody actually PAID good money to watch THAT concert??
Hubby was shaking his head, saying he had a headache, but P called him, too, and was saying that the concert hadn't even begun yet, even though it was already way past 8PM, the supposed starting time.
Me: Well? Real Life's there, and I do like Catch Me I'm Falling.
Hubby: You want to?
Me: Hey, it's free, what the heck, we're not doing anything anyway, right?
So off we went, to find P waiting for us at the venue lobby, taking a cigarette break. He hands us the tickets and off we go to find M inside. Just in time to catch When In Rome start their set. I look around. Wow, not anybody a shade below 35.
It was horrible.
For starters, it wasn't the original vocalist anymore, and while his back up band was pretty OK, he just ruined the whole thing. It was bad enough that he kept singing one obscure song after another, practically zonking out the entire audience, but when he finally got to the only song that most of the audience knew, which was The Promise, he just had to flub it. He was totally out of tune, sang the dang song way too high, so that when he got to the chorus he was practically screaming the lyrics out shrilly.
Jehosaphat, I whisper to hubby furiously--I hope Real Life's better than this.
Well, not by much.
It was kind of off-putting to realize that the "band"--and I use this term loosely--was only composed of the vocalist, who wasn't even the original one either (original one eventually became a lawyer, too--talk about irony), and he had to borrow When In Rome's backup band just so he could perform. He started his set with some obscure songs as well, but for some reason his guitar kept drowning out his voice, so that you could hardly hear the lyrics. When he finally did sing Catch Me I'm Falling, the audience was finally roused sufficiently to hoot and clap, with some standing up to dance. In fairness to the guy, he did sound almost like the original singer, so it wasn't that excruciating to watch him.
The opening act, some Filipino band whose name I didn't quite catch, went onstage during the intermission to play some games with the audience, giving away some gift packs from the ad sponsors. I was practically asleep by then. Whoever heard of games during a concert intermission?
Finally, A Flock Of Seagulls came on, and there were sporadic hoots and catcalls from the audience. Michael Score was still the vocalist, but hubby said Score's concert get-up reminded him of 60something expat retirees hanging out in Cebu with his yellow shirt and cap. His drummer, though, probably channeling some heavy metal fantasy, was shirtless. It didn't bode too well.
They were actually the best of the three, and when they finally played The More You Live The More You Love, the audience, already in a stupor after being bored witless with a line up of more obscure (again) original songs from the band (hubby and I were surfing the Net with our phones by then, P kept having cigarette breaks, M kept texting someone), managed to wake up sufficiently to show some token enthusiasm. Robust applause for the band after the song was done.
Then half of the audience started filing out.
As in, leaving.
And in less than 15 minutes, the entire coliseum was half empty. It was as if all that most of the audience was waiting for was THAT song, and when it was done, off they went.
Didn't even hang around for Space Age Love Song, I Ran and Telecommunication the way we did, the ingrates.
Eventually they concluded their set, and after a half-hearted burst of applause, we all got up to leave.
P was going, "Gee, I wouldn't even pay 500 (US$12.50) bucks to watch this."
I said, "You kidding?? I'm ruing the fact we had to shell out 40 bucks (about US$1) for parking!!!"
Now, get this--during the concert intermission they constantly announced the fact that Rick Astley was coming over to perform in Manila again.
Me, I've learned my lesson. I hereby solemnly promise never to so much as snigger if I ever see the billboard announcing Rick Astley's concert here.
God knows, I might find myself watching him, too. |
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| Search Party, Or, Where's Jake? |
Apr 16, 2008 9:01 pm
1985 Views | Anybody seen Jake, the Scotsman?
Haven't seen him around and am wondering where he's gone off to. Some theories abound--
1. He's hibernating in between slcplunkett's baldy blokes;
2. A giant squirrel grabbed him and made him part of its nut collection;
3. He's found religion in a jar of marmite after reading what gowerboy did with it;
4. He finally got arrested for those flashing belisha beacons;
5. He's enrolled himself in a 12 step program with Kiltlovers Anonymous;
6. He finally got abducted by a Giant Alien Chicken who got ticked off about his constant claims that chickens aren't real. He is now the subject of a lab experiment in a chicken galaxy 2500 light years away.*
Seriously though, anyone hearing from him, please tell him his hen Morag sends a hullo, and hope he's doing fine. We miss him round these parts.
*Only remembered to put this in after royalpurple talked about chickens--thanks Lei! | |
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| An Open Letter To Online Players |
Apr 15, 2008 3:08 am
2854 Views | Dear Online Player,
I don't know who you are, and I don't think I do want to get to know you at all. I got up close and personal with some of you (or was it just one of you?) when I was a newbie, when you thought it was great sport to pretend to be this brilliant young lady who didn't think it enough to dazzle me with imaginary accomplishments (and so managed to hook me into having wonderfully stimulating conversations with you where I felt fortunate to have become friends with one so gifted), but you just had to concoct an entire cast of supporting characters to keep up with the ruse. Silly me back then, naively thinking everyone would be as honest and as up front as I was with who and what they were online. After a while though, I began to see that the pieces you so carefully crafted didn't fit. So I kept up with your ruse, along with a couple of my authentic online friends whom you tried to bamboozle as well, and eventually we turned the tables on you and kicked your sorry arse back to the rathole from whence you came.
We were fortunate in that sense, because you only tried to hook us with friendship, knowing that anything romantic wouldn't fly with me, being married. But after that one incident, I began to develop a healthy cynicism about people online. And I began to see that you were legion, with so many manifestations in so many different people it's difficult to keep track.
You came in the guise of one so charming and nice you had women eating out of your hand in the chatroom while promising each and every one of them they were the only one for you, and that all those rumors about other women being linked to you were nothing more than rumor-mongering from jealous gossips who had nothing better to do. You were so manipulative you made up this elaborate drama about killing yourself, then emailing your then online fiancee, pretending to be your sister and telling her that you were already dead. When nobody bought the ridiculous tale (because they were already suspecting you were nothing but an attention-seeking Drama Queen), you miraculously came back to life and claimed someone who had it in for you hacked into your computer to send that email and that the FBI were already investigating it. Why the FBI would even bother with some hick from the boondocks of Montana I would never know, but that was your story and you were sticking to it. Then you finally met your online fiancee who was so in love with you she couldn't see the forest for the trees, but you dumped her right off and then disappeared. When she finally realized what a lowdown lying snake you really were, she decided to move on and meet someone new, and that was when you saw fit to resurrect yourself and claim you still loved her. Poor you, she wasn't buying it anymore, so you moved on to a more vulnerable target, and when your ex-fiancee tried to warn her about you, you raged and ranted about how jealous the poor deluded woman was, badmouthing you like that. Eventually even your new target realized what a manipulative psycho you really were, and finally dumped you after you kept harassing her on her cellphone. You disappeared from chat, but we all know that like a snake, you're just biding your time, hibernating until you think the heat is off, so you can resurrect and play your little mind games on a new batch of women all over again, and wreak havoc with their emotions.
Oh but let's not forget, you can be women too. Women like that supposed German girl from Berlin who made a friend of mine in the UK buy a ticket to visit you, only to claim, two days before his flight, that you had to move out of your flat and that you would immediately email him your new address. Of course you never did--you were never heard from again--and my friend was left holding a ticket he couldn't refund because you made him buy it on sale for his own good.
You can be more than one woman as well, creating an entire new persona out of thin air, customizing it to fit the dreams of someone who turned you down, just so you could get back at him. You pretended to be someone blonde and blue-eyed from North Carolina, but who had to go to Kenya to be with your missionary father who unfortunately had an accident when the riots began there, so noble daughter that you were, you had to rush off to his rescue, but lo! And behold! You got into a car accident there yourself which necessitated brain surgery, no less! While your created persona was purportedly languishing in the hospital, you stepped in as yourself and, pretending to be your other persona's good friend, kept emailing the poor man with constant updates with how the poor woman from North Carolina was doing. You would have kept this soap opera going on and on and on, except that the man you tried to play who was another good friend of mine, wasn't as clueless as you thought, and managed to get software that tracked down both your email address and the one of the persona you created, and well--let's just say that with all his suspicions about you, he wasn't entirely surprised to find out you both were in Pretoria, South Africa, with the exact same ISP.
And now here you are again in another guise—a different person to be sure--but animated by the same motivation to play with people, emailing women on the blogs en masse, using the exact same words and the exact same approach, claiming to be writing to no one else but them, wanting to be with no one but them alone. I wonder what kick you must get out of this. (I wonder too if you just BCC every woman on your mailing list with the exact same romantic crap because you're too lazy to even email them individually)
Does it seem like the most gut-busting fun to your sort to play with people's emotions this way? Do you think this makes you cool, managing to turn people's heads with honeyed words and elaborately staged ploys? Do you think you're better than the poor deluded souls you've managed to string along? Smarter? Craftier? Superior?
I don't think so. I think you are a poor excuse of a human being whose pathetic ego needs such stroking and shoring up that you have to resort to schemes like these just to get satisfaction. I believe deep inside you hate yourself with such a vengeance that you must spread your bitterness and venom to others, because to keep it to yourself would be unbearable. I believe that you have a cruel, sick, nasty and twisted streak in you that provides you with the necessary conviction that it's fine to toy with people, it's absolutely OK to lie to them, because what are they worth to you anyway?
Would this even change your mind? I doubt it. Your kind is addicted to the thrill of taking people for a ride, to putting one over someone naïve enough to swallow everything you said hook, line and sinker. You will do this again and again, for as long as there are people who believe in the innate goodness of others.
I write this to vent, because I feel for my friends who have been lied to and manipulated, when their only “fault” was to wish that they would find in here someone to love, and be loved in return.
But you know what? Those you have strung along have it better than you a thousandfold, because they can still hope, they can still dream, they can move on. Someday they will find someone worthy of their love and loyalty, and so find true happiness.
You, however, are stuck in a rut, unable to climb up from the hole of hate and lies and pettiness you have dug for yourself. And so you must constantly do this over and over, unable to find true contentment, never at peace, constantly needing to reaffirm your own negligible worth by duping others. You are nothing more than an emotional con man, empty and hollow, and eventually—you can bet your bottom dollar on this, too--karma will catch up with you.
If it hasn't already.
Sgd.,
The Ticked Off MunchkinMatron | |
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| A Love Song (Well, Sort Of) I Sang To Fancypanties On Voice... |
Apr 10, 2008 6:09 am
2406 Views | ...but before I post the lyrics of that heart-tugging, soul-wrenching (sort of) love song, first, a shameless plug for all you wonderful people out there to vote for her entry in FriendFinder Success Stories Contest! so she can win a gold ball (which she will then let me fondle) and gowerboy can get his shirt.
You can vote for gowerboy too, as I did as well, but then since he only wants the shirt he'd have to give his gold ball to Fancyfree, which sounds quite painful. Plus the fact that I only have a thing for fondling Kiwi gal gold balls, not Welsh bloke ones. Blame it on the marmite.
Here now is that (sort of) love song I sang, complete with faux Mexican accent. Anyone who wants to hear me sing it to them on the yippee must send proof of voting.
Speedy Gonzales, eat your heart out.
Gay Caballero
I once was a gay caballero
I went to Rio de Janeiro
I carried with me one bambambadee
And two of my bambambaderos
I met a lovely senorita
One night at the local fiesta
She wanted to see my bambambadee
And two of my bambambaderos
That sonofagun senorita
Gave me bad case of gonorrhea
It crusted the tip of my bambambadee
And one of my bambambaderos
I went to the local medico
Who wanted to see my poor willow
He took off the tip of my bambambadee
And one of my bambambaderos
I once was a gay caballero
I came from Rio de Janeiro
I left there the tip of my bambambadee
And one of my bambambaderos.
Ole! | |
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67 Comments | |
| Yes Ma'am, I Really AM A Lawyer |
Apr 8, 2008 7:56 am
2614 Views | Met up with a new client tonight, one referred by another client who was, and still is, very happy with our firm's services. Old client and new client both being Chinese, and Chinese speaking lawyers here not really easy to find, I'm finding myself and our law firm being referred to more and more members of the Chinese community. Considering that blatant advertising of any sort is unethical practice for our profession here--thus verboten--word of mouth is really how we expand our client base.
Right off the bat I sense something is wrong when the new client sees me. She gives me a head to toe once over.
Client: (Suspiciously) You look very young to be a lawyer.
Me:(Mortified at being put on the spot and now needing to admit actual age) Oh, er, thank you but I'm actually turning 40 this year.
Client: (Very surprised) FORTY?? You could have fooled me, I thought you were a fresh graduate. From college.
Me: (Trying to keep my cool, sensing doubts as to my capabilities) I assure you, I've been practicing my profession for more than a decade, and I worked for the Supreme Court before.
Client: (Mollified at hearing "Supreme Court") Aaah, very good, very good. But you are still single, ha?
Me: (Getting a tad ticked off at client's nosiness, still keeping a smile but gritting my teeth) Um, no, I'm married.
Client: Aaah, but I bet no children yet, heya? You look so thin. Don't think you've ever been pregnant.
Me: (Gritting teeth) Actually, I have two sons. Now, about your legal problem?
You think it's easy being this short and looking this young considering my profession?
Sigh. | |
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76 Comments | |
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