I think I declared, a few posts ago, that I wasn’t going to extend this domain, and then today I realise that I did, in fact, extend it a few weeks ago upon forgetting that I had decided not to extend it. What is my brain? It was really hot last night, wasn’t it? I felt like I was sleeping in my toaster and my inner cheese was melting inside me all over my inner tomatoes while my inner chicken ham and my inner lettuce were plotting my death right in front of my slowly melting face. My bolster felt like a recently microwaved giant hotdog steaming like wildfire without any consideration for the fact that my poor overheated body is not, in fact, a giant hot dog bun meant to absorb all of its intense msg goodness at 17893674 degrees celsius. Actually, its morning now and I still feel hot so maybe its just me.
So I was scrolling through my Instagram feed yesterday and my dear dear most-beloved friends were having the most mind boggling breakfasts, like pomegrenate mango chihuahua smoothie bowls and oatmeal multigrain phoenix egg pancakes drizzled with the phantasmagoric aura of thunderclouds, or something like that I can’t recall the exact ingredients right now, and there I was sitting with this plastic round thing in my other hand, waiting this endless wait for it to finally beep and thus signal the coming of my plain freaking prata. Did we, as a society, suddenly decide to eat healthy and was I not invited to this discussion? I would have brought the appropriate style of suicide vest for such a meeting, my friends. I would have behaved, and exploded in perfect synchrony with your powerpoint slides. But okay, in all fairness, some of those smoothie bowls look pretty good, almost like works of art with the arrangement of the fruits on top, and the little berries here and there, and the delicate balance of self loathing and control freakdom – just a touch of both, of course, dangling invisibly in the air around it. Didn’t we use to DRINK our freaking smoothies, when did we start using bowls and spoons and perfectly cut fruits for our smoothies – I thought the whole point was to dump everything into a blender and down our throats – is this like a passive aggressive movement against plastic straws? What have plastic straws ever done to you and the sanctity of your life on earth, I would like to know.
So this whole chizza thing has been a bit of a shitstorm hasn’t it. We all saw the millions of instagram tags and we all knew it wasn’t going to be something life-changing, and then we all queued and queued for it anyway and then we all bitched about it like it was the most horrible life torment that happened to us. HAPPENED TO US. Upon willingly queueing for it and then willingly putting it in our mouths and then willingly chewing it and then willingly swallowing it. Haha really people. GET A FREAKING GRIP. I’m not part of that we, by the way, let me just tell you now that I absolutely loved the chizza #sorrynotsorry and it has made my life complete and I understand that bitching about other people bitching is like the godly level of bitching but hey, that’s my level. Get at my level. Actually, I’m just highly annoyed that everyone looks at me like I’m Donald Trump’s voodoo toe nail that has come to life to scratch you in the face anytime I mention that I’ve decided to devote my life (the life of my mouth; which tends to bring up the median excitement index of the life of my entire body in general) to chizza. I mean, yes, I know that looking at this photo alone, it looks like we’re watching the exorcism of chizza with chizza crawling all over the ceiling like a demented cheesy mess of ultimate demonic essence incarnate, but to me – it’s the best kind of horror that brings nightmares of sticky delight. Okay now lets have a good weekend!
Soooo this address is about to expire and I’m not stupid with money like I used to be (yay!) so I’m not extending it. But my words of subtle wisdom will be kept alive and raging – I think – at the original WordPress address which I now need to find out. Because I’ve sadly become slightly more stupid with all this computer stuff than I used to be. Life is good though, I think? I feel like writing again but I never have time with my laptop anymore. Maybe I’ll do some micro blogging, like once a week or something. It’s cathartic, like getting a massage but the fingers are my own fingers and the body is not my own body – so basically like a massage in that I’m the massuese and the one awkwardly suppressing physical displays of fireworks and joy downstairs is my phone. And my brain. Ah brain, my old friend. Remember last night, when butt was in pain from that stomachache and we were like, poor butt. I think he’s a lot better this morning, we can ask but he’s busy right now at this exact moment.
Its 7am on Sunday morning – our final Sunday morning before January starts for real tomorrow – and I just spent 3 minutes watching Taylor Swift getting chased by wolves that apparently just want to take turns biting off bits of her dress because they’re either genetically-devolved wolves that can’t seem to outrun a human girl or they exclusively eat fabric – I still don’t know what’s up with this video but I guess it was worth 3 minutes of my life to watch her fall again and again for absolutely no reason and flinch from snow falling on her skin like tiny little crystalline electric fences. It’s safe to hereby confirm that this girl most definitely needs to calm her taytays down.
I’ve been grappling with getting my mind back into the swing of work and the imprisonment that is, not being able to freely nap in installments throughout the day and live my life like a tv series of unconscious episodes of a sometimes horror, sometimes comedy, sometimes awkwardly horror-sexual-comedy dream sequences that I forget instantly when I wake up, and immediately wonder what time it is, and what time this particular nap started, and how hungry I should be, and if this justifies eating again.
Thankfully, I have 3 ways to deal with going-back-to-work anxiety:
Ironing my work clothes. I know, this sounds like it should be: getting my maid to iron my work clothes – but I live a maidless life and wonderfully so, because the act of dragging the ironing board to my room and locating the actual iron by asking each and every family member where the actual iron is, as if it was some super-active family cat that randomly goes salmon-hunting in the himalayas from time to time and everyone’s privy of its mysterious traveling schedule except for me, is somewhat therapeutic. Firstly, it helps me to get just a little bit sick of my own god-given family by having to shout at each family member at the top of my lungs not one but twice – once before I realise that they’re plugged in to their earphones which have become like their root system to deliver nutrients from either their laptop or tablet into their brains to survive – and once after they’ve realised I’m in front of them, giving me the most bewildered expressions in the world, as if I’ve been backpacking along the bottom of the indian ocean making life-long friendships with deep sea creatures and its positively incredulous that I’m standing right there in front of them asking for the iron. Also, the act of rubbing the hot iron on my clothes while picturing the faces of various demonic presences haunting my office life on my ironing board helps me decide that maybe its not going to be so bad. And you know what, nobody’s face is unmeltable!
The Gym Life. The gym life is about exercise! You don’t have to go to a gym to exercise of course, you could venture out into the world and run on the pavement like an animal if you’re unlike me and you don’t get hungry the second I start running such that I either start to form a trajectory in my head towards the nearest macs or I chew off people’s faces along the way, leaving a trail of death and gore. So, chew-marks on the gym treadmill aside, sweating it out and gasping for air like a deranged puffer-fish for about 1.5 hours is actually pretty great because it helps me appreciate being back in the office where I don’t even need silly reasons such as lack of oxygen to my lungs or the sensation of little piranhas attacking my kneecaps to chew people’s faces off, I just need to open my inbox.
Make weekend plans for next weekend. This part is vital to my sanity – depression is basically not being able to see a future for yourself. So, if you can see yourself eating any form of burger or laksa with your friends in approximately 5 days from today, you won’t be depressed. If I were, say, typing up a press release at my workspace and someone comes up to me and gently requests that I – true story – print out an extra copy of the report that I’m supposed to bring to this afternoon’s meeting so that we have an extra copy in case we lose the original copy – and then proceeds to staple both copies together after I’ve printed them out, I just tap into the special place in my brain that houses imaginings of me kicking back with salmon sashimi with my buddies on Saturday or me getting nasty with sambal sotong with my mom on Sunday – basically, having plans in the near future can get me through any kind of workplace mental trauma because it gives me hope that the world is so much MORE THAN THIS.
I might be late to the pho party but I just found out that So Pho’s now got a new outlet at Tampines Mall!
Not sure why my stomach decided to implode yesterday like a self-sustained terrarium of acid waterfalls and doomsday earthquakes so I took the tame route and got myself the chicken pho. No beef but still soo phobulous! We also shared this side thing of 3 different things – I can’t really say what they are but they were okay I guess.
What if I woke up one day and discovered I was suddenly allergic to coffee? I would most likely never wake up for reals for the rest of my life. I will float along the remaining 60 odd years of my time on earth with no inkling of my own self or others and I will probably use it as an excuse to eat sambal sotong for breakfast just to activate the required shutter speed on my eyeballs to make it through the day.
Alvin Chickenthigh is back in Singaporeland! He’s wrecking havoc on my heart with the very prospect of him leaving again soon in a few days, I’ve missed him and his pillow wives and his anime tentacle extensions so much – but I guess I will just have to survive.
Officially reunited again if only temporarily, the four of us had lunch yesterday – after the best time of our lives in a movie theatre watching Star Wars on IMAX seriously it is ridiculously fun watching on a giant screen that I can probably swim across if it was reborn in another life as a swimming pool filled with the blood of stormtroopers and just a hint of yoda juice – at this weird-looking place at Far East Plaza called Nana and the oyster omelette has changed my life.
You know what, I tried – I tried being healthy so I ordered the fish soup but guess what we didn’t know about the Thais? Their fish soup is basically fish and santan, it is like albino laksa.
By the way, major newsflash – did you know that Funan will be closing down for renovations or something (I don’t know the details, I’m not the deputy minister for geek haven developments) and we’re clearly so devastated that we’re tearing our faces off to reveal the soul-less demons that live beneath our human skin but we managed to pull ourselves together and enjoy one last afternoon at Mind’s Cafe, one of our favourite places to hang out together.
We played only two games this time – signs of aging – which were Dominion and Settlers of Catan and wowee I enjoyed both! Which is quite rare, usually I tend to hate at least one game we play and proceed to sacrifice a potato chip to the game gods as I curse the game to a crunchless eternity in chippy damnation. But yeah these two games, we’ll definitely play again – when we’re reunited again :(
We also checked out the Star Wars exhibits at Changi Airportland yesterday, they were cute although I don’t understand why we can’t touch them or get on them or rub ourselves all over them, I mean what’s the point then?
I love love love how C3P0 changed ONE FREAKING ARM COLOUR in this movie for absolutely zero reason (they didn’t even bother giving a reason, was it a home hair colouring accident, did he fall arm-first into someone’s maxipad, we never get to find out) just so we can now have a whole new range of C3P0 toys and figurines with a red arm. Excellent job, Disney!