Sunday, July 31, 2005


I bought a brand spanking new broken iPod mini that only worked for a day.....


I'm hoping that it's the iPod, and not my computer that screwed up.

No more iPod for the next 10 days.


Did you hear that?

That's me sobbing in my little corner.

Friday, July 29, 2005

What?! What did you just say? I can't hear you! You gotta speak up!

Sorry. What were you saying?

It's all my brand spanking new iPod mini's fault. It's TOO FREAKIN' LOUD!!!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have just acquired a brand new silver iPod mini. I know, I know, it's not a novelty anymore, but at least I am now considered hip enough to hang out with those hip folks at Starbucks, Ikea, Kabbalah center and Mr. Cruise's "You're GLIB" Scientology clinic that sells every single kind of vitamins imaginable.


No problem. Here, take these vitamin CON, vitamin STI, vitamin PA, and vitamin TED three times a day, each time right before you eat Lay's potato chips. These vitamins along with the "baked, not fried" and the "betcha can't eat just one, bitch" goodness of the chips will react chemically with your constipated poop and turn them into farts. Just let out a good long fart for about 44.6 seconds after that, and you will be good again.

See, I'm a poor college student. I live in a cardboard box under the London Bridge. I'm actually thinking of moving 'cause people keep telling me that London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. I can't afford underwears besides g-strings, and I eat spaghetti pasta with ketchup twice a day, everyday. Sometimes when I save up, I'll be able to toss some garlic and olive oils in it.

That's why acquiring an iPod mini is so big to me. You have no idea how much pain I went through just to save up for this baby. For the last couple weeks, instead of eating ketchup spaghetti pasta, I have been ordering take outs. Do you know what that's like? You say you do but I know you don't.

Truth is, as you might or might not have known, I recently sold my car. And since I just paid for my car insurance, I'm getting a refund enough to cover the iPod. I figured I should at least compensate myself with something worthwhile now that I'm carless.

Speaking of carless, it's been 23 days now and I still have not bitched about it. Wow. That's impressive! I think I'm gonna reward myself with a handjob or two tonight. Ooooo... I can't wait!

I went swimming today for the 1st time since Tuesday, and I broke my own personal record. I swam non-stop for 22 laps. That's like 1100m, people! How many miles is that? I know that by the time lap 22 was over, I was pretty sure I've swam from here all the way to
Digitalicat's neighborhood.

I have another impressive record today. Today is the daily-double day, according to Alex Trebek. Everything is twice as big, twice as impressive and twice as high today.

So, what's so impressive?

I'll tell you now.

I continously hiccupped for 2133 times today.

Started when I had really superbly greasy chinese food for lunch. Lunch ended at 11.40am, hiccups started at 11.41am. I timed it and found out that each hic (each cup?) is 9 seconds apart. And the first time I noticed they were gone was at 5pm, while I was at the pool. So (320 x 60) seconds/9 seconds = 2133.

Impressive, isn't it?

Told ya.

By the way, does anybody know how to use Matlab or Mathematica or Mathcad or anything resembling these programs? I have a bunch of data and I need to fit them into an equation. If you know how to do that, can you help? I'll offer a blowjob in return.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Me, myself and Mariah.

I'm super high.

I'm watching Mariah Carey's videos on Yahoo Music.

I have a midterm tomorrow morning at 8.30 am.

I have about 5 more days of reading to go.
I'm still watching Marich Carey.

I can't stop myself.
Still listening to Mariah.

And also searching for pictures of Dyson vacuum cleaner.

Those fuckers cost about 600 bucks!!

I think I'm getting an erection soon.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

I hate school. *updated twice!!*

No, actually I don't hate school.

I hate my classmates.

Fucking pre-meds.

They are single handedly flunking me out of my class.

Mother fuckers.

The school is not that much brighter. Making chemical engineers take a molecular cell biology class is just plain stupid. Not quite as stupid as gay republicans, but very close. Gay republicans are just plain fucking morons.

Doctors and physicians are SO overrated. And stupid. And have no life. Because they NEED an A in the stupidest class in the world. C'mon people, it's freakin' summer for Christ's sake! What are you doing studying day and night?!

And it definitely doesn't help that everyday I come home, my roommate greets me with, "wanna smoke?"

So now I have to go hide in a cave with no internet access and no weed and work my ass off so that I can get a fucking C-.

Please send me some luck if you have extra to spare. Because if I have to take this class over again, I swear I will go postal on all those bitches.


I thought going to school to study would be a good idea.

I was dead wrong.

There's a couch, a computer WITH INTERNET ACCESS, a box of Jenga and a dartboard in this room.

Think I'm gonna start by taking a nap first.


Check this out.

Someone googled OR OR speedo OR speedos locker, and spent 17 minutes here.

Hey, Mr. Googler, if you see this, drop me a line! I'm interested in talking to you.

Are you an alien?

Monday, July 25, 2005

This is the title.

I smoked hash(sp?) last night for the first time.

1st hit. I coughed my lungs out, followed by my liver and kidneys. 2 seconds later, my throat burst into flame.

2nd hit. I'm gone.

3rd hit. Something doesn't feel right.

30 minutes later, I was on my bed, crying. My heartbeats reached 649 pulse a minute. My feet tingles. My palms sweat. I see a light.

I'm going to die right now.

I passed out.

Hash = nasty little fucker.

Don't do it.

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

Friday, December twenty third, two thousand five will be a special day. At one ten in the morning, I'll be on a plane.

Destination: home*.

* Assuming the plane is not hijacked by kamikaze bastards.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Note to self...

Next time when you're high, DO NOT attempt to trim your pubic hair. 'Cause it'll end up looking like this:
Image hosted by
Goddamn! I'm such a talented artist. Van Gough will be proud.

A short and unnecessary update.

I'm feeling great today!

To all of you who cared:

From the heart of my bottom, I thank YOU. You guys = awesome.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Untitled. Again.

I got drunk and high and stupid last night.

Not drunk enough, as I remember what happened. Not high enough, as I was coherent. But I was definitely stupid enough.



"Are you drunk?"

"Me? No! I'm just high. And had a bunch of magaritas. Dude, have you ever had kosher sea salt? I don't know if it's the rabbi blessing or what, but man, they taste so fucking goooooooood!!"


"I'm serious. What you doing?"

"I was going to make some chicken, but I just realize that it's gonna take so long, like I won't be able to eat until 1 am."


"So then I just had some left over chinese."

"Why don't you come over here?"

"Nah... I'm going to Dragon later. I told Brian I would go."

"Fuck Dragon. Come over here and you'll have an orgasm."


"Seriously. Orgasm or Dragon?"

"No, I can't. I told him I would go."

"Why are you always like that? I asked you to give me a ride to Richmond and you say you got better things to do. Now I ask you to come over and apparently you have better things to do too!"

"I don't want to take you to Richmond because it's stupid. I don't understand why can't you just do it over the phone?"

"THAT'S BECAUSE I'VE NEVER DONE SOMETHING LIKE THIS! Plus I want to ask some questions. And it's not like it's a couple hundred bucks. It's 1100 bucks, dude."

"Okay, fine. I still don't understand why can't you ask questions over the phone and have them mail you the ticket."

"If you don't want to take me, just say you don't want to take me! Why do you have to chastise me like that?! Making me feel like an idiot."

"I'm not chastising you!"

"Then why can't you just say you don't want to take me?! Just say you can't and I'll back off! Why do you have to go through all this? What, you think I think that the whole world revolves around me and..."


"Oh my God. I can't believe you just said that. I cannot belive you just said that. After all these time. I cannot believe you just said that."

"Look, I really don't need to do this right now. Especially when you're intoxicated."

"What?! Do what?! I'm not doing anything!"

"Snakehead, I'm gonna hang up."

"Fuck yo..."


~~~ ~~~ ~~~


"Dude, you fucking suck."


~~~ ~~~ ~~~




"You ever liked me at all?"

"Yeah, I like you. You're fun. You're a fun guy to be around with."

"Like a friend."

"Yeah, just like friends."

"Just friends... nothing more."


"Then why did you call me and asked me to come over and spent the night with you when you thought you had HIV?"


"It's because I'm the closest, isn't it? I'm the most convenient one."

"Snakehead, that 2 weeks are the worst 2 weeks of my life and I WILL NOT TALK ABOUT IT ANYMORE!"

"Why didn't you call Howard? You still love him, don't you? You always have."

"...... Howard and I have a special bond."

"So why did you call me and not him?"

"Snakehead, you always bring these conversations up whenever you're intoxicated. And I don't want to talk to you when you're intoxicated. Let's talk about this when you're sober up."

"I don't think I can stomach it when I'm sober!"

"Okay, fair enough....... I called you because you have a high spirit. I needed someone to make me feel a little better. And you have that effect on me."

"I see.... I see."

"Snakehead, I'm gonna hang up now, okay?"




"I'm gonna hang up now, K?"




~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Remind me not to be so "high spirited" next time.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Falling leaves return to roots.

I have been debating if I should write about this for quite sometime now.

I think I needed to. I don't know if I wanted to.

But I need to know that it's okay. Even though I'm not sure if it is.

It's okay.

Is it?

A couple nights ago, while I was on the phone with my dad, asking him for money, and out of the blue, he told me that he's chasing a woman.

"All of you are growing up. I'm getting older. I need a partner to grow old with me," he said nonchalantly.

This line inevitably take me back to 1998, when it all started. I was 15.

We've always been pretty well off. My dad is a business owner, while my mom is a primary school principal. Ever since I was a little kid, we've always had live-in maid working for us. She does everything except cooking. My mom takes care of that. We love her cooking too much to let other people cook for us. To sum it up, we were all spoilt brats. All 4 of us. We still are.

One fateful night in 1998, my mom crept downstairs, and saw my dad was about to get it on with the maid. Later, when shit finally hits the fan, we found out that 1) he's been doing this for a long long long time, 2) my sister caught him once, but he managed to talk my sister into keeping it to herself and 3) he is a cheap mother fucking bastard who fucks hired help.

Apparently he shits where he eats.

His family trusted him, and that mother fucking son of a bitch used us. Not just once, or twice, or thrice. Try 9 years. No wonder most of the maids won't last long. He always told us he thought they were incompetent, stupid, have bad body odor or something along that line. He always sent them back to the agency, and get another one.

Never judge a book by it's cover. Not even your own father.

The person that had it the hardest was my mother. She trusted him 100%. In a way, she's stupid for doing that. There's one time, a maid asked my mom if she can lock her bedroom door at night. She asked her why. The maid said it's because my father has been molesting her. My mom brushed it off like it was the most absurd accusation she's ever heard. Not long later, said maid was being sent back because she was "incompetent".

There's another time, another maid was returned to the agency due to her "lack of IQ and common senses". Right before she left, she told me mom to keep an eye on her husband, as he is not who she thinks he is. And of course, my mom brushed it off again. That's how much she trusted him, her husband, the man who gave her a black eye twice when they were newlyweds; the man who have her running back to her parents when they were newlyweds; the man who married her not because he loves her, but because his parents were nagging him to get married.

And yet, she still gave him all of her.

My parents would always go to the agency together. And right there, my dad would begin his weeding process. They are always too "ugly". Looking back, we should've known. Who chooses a maid based on her looks? At the agency, he would touch the prospective maids extremely improperly, while my mother looked on. She never said anything. She never complained about it. To her, he was just choosing a maid his very own way. No harm done. Seeing him touches their thighs was a routine for her.

My point up to here is, me, my mother, my sister, my brother and my younger sister, all 5 of us trusted this man completely.

That would probably be the biggest mistake I've ever made. It was certainly the biggest mistake my mother has ever made.

My father is also very manipulative, one of the reasons why he is a successful business owner. He is one of those people who can make themselves believe in lies they concocted. To this day, he still thinks he's innocent. That he didn't do anything wrong. To this day, whenever someone asks, "where's your wife?", he would either say "she's dead," or "she ran off with another man."

I don't quite remember what happened that night when my mom caught her husband cheating on her. What I did remember was, the next day, said maid was still in our house. My dad would not get rid of her, as he "didn't do anything wrong."

That night, my parents fought.

No, I take that back.

That night, my dad hit my mom.

With a machete.

And he threatened to kill her.

And he spat on her.

And he kicked her when she was on the floor.

I was so scared. So terrified that it didn't even cross my mind I should've called the police. So terrified that I just lay there. So terrified that I did...... nothing.

The next day, my mom made a police report. My dad went to the jail.

"I should've killed her and then just go to prison for 30 years," he told my sister.

He only spent a night there. He has money. He knows people.

This is a battle my mom will never win. She knows it.

My mother moved out. My siblings and I stayed with my father because a school principal doesn't make shit there. It would be impossible to support the 4 of us financially. So we stayed, like cowards.

That was 7 years ago.

Over the years, we have all moved on.

They say time erase everything, I say time dilute everything. My mother and I have gotten so much closer. One thing for sure, I love my mother more than I ever have. And for the first time in our lives, we started telling each other that.

They say time erase everything, I say time dilute everything. My hatred for my father has slowly diminished over time. One thing for sure, I no longer love or trust or respect the man I call Papa.

I remember the time I hated him so much I wanted to move out of the house and cut every single ties I had with him. I was 15.

I remember the time I hated him so much I didn't ask him for any pocket money for school for a year. I was 16.

I remember the time I hated him so much I secretly planned my revenge. I would grow up, he would grow old, and I would throw him into some mediocre retirement home and never see him again for the rest of my life. I was 16.

I remember the time I hated him so much I swore to myself that I will never ever grow up to be like him. I was 17.

I remember the time I hated him so much I can't wait to get away from home, from everybody, from everything. I was 19.

And I did.

I'm nothing like him.

I'm 9000 miles away from home. Been gone for exactly 2 1/2 years. And I never looked back. The
u-turn is still no where in sight.

Over the years, my mother tried to reconcile with him. But he refused. He won't even talk to her. To him, she is the wicked witch who made him spent a night in jail. To him, she is the evil woman who walked in on him. To him, she is the home wrecker. To him, she is wrong and he is right. To him, he is always right. Always.

"Okay now since I have you on the phone, I might as well tell you this. I'm chasing another woman. She's nice. She's from China. I've seen her only twice. So I don't know if I'll be successful or not. What do you think?"


"All of you are growing up. I'm getting older. I need a partner to grow old with me. She will be my life partner for the rest of my life. What do you think? You approve? No?"

"No. No. Err... It's good. Uhh... if you want to, go for it."

"If she accepts my offer and everything goes smoothly, I might even bring her to your graduation. I have to go to your graduation, don't I?"

"Yeah of course. Uhh... Sure. Yeah, bring her. It's good."

Truth is, I've already known that he is chasing another woman. My sister told me that. Even my mother told me that. The thing that caught me off guard was the fact that he's telling me this. We never tell each other stuff like this. Our relationship is as formal as me and the produce guy at the grocery store. We don't chat. We've never chatted.

But, that was fine. It's his life. He can do whatever he wants.

I called my sister right after that. She said she heard it. She asked me why am I so surprised.

I didn't tell her I wasn't surprised.

I didn't tell her I felt like I betrayed my mother for encouraging him in his endeavour.

I didn't tell her I felt like I betrayed my mother for not disapproving his actions.

I didn't tell her I felt like I betrayed my mother for allowing him to bring his new mistress to my graduation.

Most of all, I didn't tell her I failed my mother.

Because she wouldn't want me to encourage him. Or approving his actions. Or allowing him to bring an outsider to my graduation.

Something deep inside me tells me that she would want me to speak up for her. The same feelings tell me that she would want me to stand by her, be the son she can count on.

But I didn't.

I didn't.


I'm sorry.

Can you ever forgive me?

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Mark Twain, great legs and burning fork.

I'm at work at the GLBT center, and I'm reading the latest issue of The Advocate. Yupe, that's all I do here. That, and looking all pretty when someone walks in. So far, 2 compliments and counting.

So I'm reading The Advocate, and I came across this line by Mark Twain in an article:
The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.
That man obviously has not traveled much. I mean, he wouldn't have said that if he's ever been to New York or Colorado or a giant freezer.

I wonder why is he so famous?

This is my 2nd time working at the center. Man, was I a sheltered little kid.

"Hi, I'm Snakehead. I'll be a shadow today at 1pm," I said as I walked in.

"You're definitely not shadowing me. I'm leaving in 5 minutes," the guy sitting at the table said.

"Oh, so you're not William?"

"No. I'm Sean. Will should be here any minute now."

Boss walks in.

"Hey Snakehead, how's it going?"

"Good, thanks," I flashed him a smile.

"Sean, you know who's coming in after Will?" Boss asked.

"Let me see here... It's John. Oh John!"

"Really? John? Wow. Haven't seen him in a while."

"Me too. He has great legs."

"Oh yes he does."

Both of them smile at each other knowingly.

"John used to work here alot," Sean explains to a puzzled looking me. "He's a straight guy, tall, muscular, has a goatee. Married and all. And he would come in here in short skirts and stockings and heels. His legs look great."

I opened and closed my mouth but no words came out.

"Yeah," Boss chimed in. "He wears these really tiny little skirts and usually hides his legs under the desk, and when he gets up, people usually go (step back, clutch chest, gasp) wow."

"And he's married?" I asked just to make sure.

"Yeah," Sean answered. "And he takes the bus and the subway to get here too, dressing like that."

"You should meet him later," Boss said.

"Oh I will. Definitely."

I wonder if his wife knows about this.

In other news, I burnt my lips last night the stupidest way ever. I used a fork to stir the spaghatti meatball sauce I was making, and I got dumb and stick the fork into my mouth right after I took it out of the pot because I couldn't wait to drop the fork and yell "fuck" while my lips are on fire.

And all I wanted was just a taste to see if it needs more red wine.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

HaloScan, from the bottom of my heart, I just want to say: FUCK YOU!

Act I

Time: 12.45 pm
Place: In line at a sandwich place

Boy #1: "Is this the line?"

Me: "Yeah."

Boy #1: "Damn, it's long."

Girl #1: "I know. But it goes through pretty quickly though."

Boy #2: "What do they have here?"

Girl #1: "All kinds of stuff."

Boy #3: "What's that guy having? It looks good."

Girl #1: "Oh that... That's roast beef."

Boy #2: "What's that? Sprouts?"

Girl #1: "Yeah. Alfafa sprouts. They put that in everything."

Boy #1: "I like Alfa alfa sprouts."

They laughed. I smiled.

Girl #1: "It's Alfafa sprouts, not alfa alfa sprouts."

Boy #1: "I know! Alfa alfa sprouts."

Girl #1: "Al-fa-fa."

Boy #1: "Alfa-alfa... alfaf... alfa al... alfa... Ah fuck it."

They laughed. I laughed out loud this time. I can't help it anymore.

Act II

Time: 1.06 pm
Place: Standing right next to my bike

Homeless guy #1: "Wow. That's a nice bike. 18 speeds. Nice looking. What is it, metal or alloy?"

Me: "Piece of shit."

We both laughed, and went our separate ways.


Time: 1.10 pm
Place: At the post office

Counter lady #1: "95."

I walked up to the counter.

Me: "That's me. Hi."

I handed her the package.

Counter lady #1: "How fast do you need this package to get there?"

Me: "Oh it doesn't matter. Can I go first class?"

Counter lady #1: "Anything hazardous, flammable, fragile....."

Me: "No, no, no, no, no....."

Counter lady #1: "Okay that would be $1.52 please."

I handed her my credit card.

Counter lady #1: "Credit?"

Me: "Yeah."

She gave me the receipt.

Counter lady #1: "Sign here please."

Me: "Sure."

Counter lady #1: "All righty. Here's your receipt. Have a nice day."

Me: "You too."

I turned around and left.

Counter lady #1: "Honey you gotta give me that package. We can't mail it if you take it home with you."

Me: "Oh.. Hahaha... Sorry."

Everybody looked on as I shamefully walked back to the counter. I heard someone snickered. Bastard.


My roommate situation is a mess right now. I don't know what I got myself into. On top of that, HaloScan is driving me crazy, and there's like a million different strings hanging mid air waiting for me to tie them down.

Goddamn it!

I'm frustrated, anxious and surprisingly NO LONGER HORNY. Fuck.

And I'm going to start bitching about not having a car very very soon.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Is it wrong?

Image hosted by

Is it wrong that I'm so attracted to this picture?

Is it wrong that I want to rip her shirt right off and start slapping those titties left and right?

Is it?

Is it?

It is, isn't it?

Watch out, he's dirty.

There's something I think I should clarify.

1. I've never jerked off 20 times in a row. I don't know anybody who has jerked off 20 times in a row. That is insane. I can only do it 1 time, and I gotta take a break before going again. My personal record was 10 times in 2.5 hours. It was when I was studying for the most boring class in the world. Yes, I get horny whenever I study. I get horny sitting in boring lectures too. This morning we had a guest lecturer, and my blood left my brain for my junk 4 times in an hour. Yeah, that's how boring it was.

2. I've never shot bubbles. Or blow bubbles. Or ejaculate bubbles. But I do know somebody who has. In high school, there's this weird boy, let's call him Cygnet. He tells people the weirdest things. One time, Cygnet told everybody that he jerked off 5 times in a row, and he ejaculated bubbles the 5th times. Speaking of weird boys, there's another weird boy, let's call him Weirdo. Weirdo claims that he can ejaculate without touching his dick. He said the way he do it, he just sits on the toilet, and concentrate really really hard on his dick, and eventually he'll cum. This is actually feasible if you can focus that hard. Not that I've done it myself, but people say that's how you get wet dreams. Go try it, and let me know if you succeed.

I'm bored, grumpy, tired, horny, hungry and anxious right now.

Work sucks. School sucks.

Oh and I saw Mark at the pool last Saturday. But we didn't have sex.

Oh and does anybody watch
Def Poetry on HBO? It's mindblowing. The talents are phenomenal. Sometimes famous people like Alicia Keys, Lauren Hill and Dave Chapelle would "guest star", but they're always never as good as the non famous people. I watched a ton of them over the weekend while I was getting high. Man, some of them make me want to cry.

Oh and I went to a lake with my roommate yesterday. It was fun. But I have a little confession to make:

I have not showered since I got home from the lake yesterday.

And I peed and swam in the lake.

Friday, July 15, 2005

I am seeing circles... They are moving... Or are they?

Guess where I'm at right now.

You'll never figure out. So why don't you just give up.

Fine. I can wait. I have all the time in the world. You, on the other hand, don't. Because my nipples are harder than yours. Yes, mine are really really tough. I cut glass with it. But of course I gotta twist it a little bit first before the real cutting began.

Forgive me if I sound delirious. That's because I have never been so tired in my entire life. Maybe I have, like that time I jerked off 20 times back to back. At the end, all that came out during orgasm was just bubbles. Not the kind that pops, but the kind that stick to the penis head.

I just realized that I like to write about penises a lot. And titties too. I love penises and titties. I hate pussies because they smell like fish.

Anyway, I'm at the front desk of the local GLBT center right now as I'm typing this on a 20 year old computer that still works surprisingly well. Remember that one night when I talked about volunteering here? Well, I did. And I'm so very proud of myself. Because this is probably the first thing that I said I'm gonna do, and actually do it. You may praise me now in my comment box. Go ahead, don't be shy. I'll wait for you. Be as generous as you want. Don't forget to include things like "You're so fucking hot I want to do you right now" or "God, your dick is HUGE" or "Will you let me blow you?"

All done? Did you wash your hand and zip up your pants?


However, I am totally blank right now. The other guy that works here, Frank, just showed me everything I need to know, and I absorbed nothing. Why am I so tired? Let me give you a tour of my schedule today.

12.05 am - Went to sleep with the lights on because I have to wake up and study in a couple of hours.
2.45 am - Woke up with a start for no reason. I always get like this whenever I sleep with the lights on.
3.00 am - Alarm went off for the 1st time.
3.05 am - Got up. Went to the computer. Checked email. Checked my comments. Ended up chatting with Martin for a little bit.
4.00 am - He ended up knocking some sense into me. I mean, it's fucking summer, for Christ sake! What if I don't graduate with honors? Will I die? Will my balls disappear? NO! So I went back to sleep. Martin, you rock.
5.30 am - Alarm went off for the 2nd time.
6.15 am - Alarm went off for the 3rd time. Woke up and realized that I have exactly 2 hours 15 minutes before midterm and I have about 2 weeks worth of reading to do. Panic mode: ON.
7.40 am - Drop the kids off at the pool while trying to figure out what the hell is glycolysis.
8.30 am - Got to class. Sat down, and mentally prepared myself not to scream when I got the midterm.
8.50 am - Still trying to look for a problem I know how to do.
10.30 am - Turn in a mostly blank test.
11.00 am - Got to lab. Start doing research.
1.00 pm - Hungry. But no time to eat.
2.00 pm - Famished.
3.00 pm - Boss blaming me for something I didn't do. The culprit is the computer. Not me. But I'm too hungry to talk.
3.05 pm - Got to the optometry clinic. I'm gonna be a guinea pig for the next 3 weeks, wearing different contact lenses every week. What's the purpose of the study? Who cares? I'm all for the money.
3.40 pm - Went home. Call 45,667 people about the room for rent.
4.10 pm - A guy is supposed to come look at the place at 4. He's late.
4.20 pm - He showed up with an entourage. Ridi-fucking-culous.
4.40 pm - Went to the pool.
5.45 pm - Dead tired from the workout.
6.10 pm - Got home and showered.
6.25 pm - Eat dinner.
7.02 pm - Got to the GLBT center a little late for the first day of work. Great.
9.31 pm - Sitting here typing this.
10.00 pm - Will go home, smoke a bowl, and pass out.

And I didn't even have time to jerk off today.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

I've never been to me by Charlene is the best song ever. And I'm not kidding.

I have a midterm tomorrow on molecular biology and I have absolutely no idea what's going on in that class because I'm a pothead. There, I said it. I'm a pothead.

Me: "Hi everybody, my name is Snakehead, and I'm a pothead."

Everybody: "Hi Snakehead."

I was going for an AA meeting scenario. Did you catch that? No? Well, You suck.

Anyway, I'm completely fucked. I was looking at the practice midterm, and the only time I moved my pencil was to write today's date. That's all. I kid you not. I kept flipping through the pages, hoping to see some familiar faces, but no. Not even one. In the end, it just got so depressing that I had to go swimming to ease my pain. Did I mention that my butterfly has gotten better? I'm so fucking proud of myself. God, my future is so fucking bright I can't even see it without sunglasses.

People, let me tell you something. If you ever have to take a molecular biology class, please do yourself a favor by either switching your major or just smoke pot all day like me. Because that class is retarded. And stupid. And idiotic. And oh so fucking dry. I mean, who takes that class anyway? Doctors? Well, doctors are stupid then.

I am not a doctor, nor will I ever be. I do, however, have a stethoscope that I use on my patients when they're lying on my bed. I can tell you right now that no matter how hard you try, testicles just don't make any sound at all.

Can you tell that I'm grumpy? You wanna know why? It's because I'm horny. ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Right after I wake up. Right before I brush my teeth. Right when I fart . Right now as I'm typing this. It's like I'm in heat or something. Jerking off just don't cut it anymore. I need to fuck. I NEED TO FUCK!!!!!!!

So what's stopping me? My moral values. Yes, contrary to what you guys think of me, I do have moral values. And one of them is not to be a slut. By slut I mean a person who sleeps with 7 different people a week, NOT a person who sleeps with the same person 7 times a week. Plus I'm carless. And there is no gay bar within walking or biking distance.

I hate this shitty town.

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Wednesday, July 13, 2005


The following message is specifically directed to those people who are either moving to Berkeley or thinking about moving to Berkeley:

FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOU!! Fuck your balloon size pussy and your microscopic dick! You can go fuck yourselves. All of you. Every single one you is fucktards.

And while we're at that, fuck your mother, fuck your sister, and if you have one, fuck your daughter as well.

Oh and your grandmother's pussy stinks like a mother fucking son of a bitch. I didn't smell it. What's-his-name told me that.


End of message.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Tidbits of the day.

On the phone with my mom.

Mom: "So are you eating well?"

Me: "Yeah."

Mom: "You gotta eat, you know? Don't starve yourself just to save money. Your dad has tonnes of those."

Me: "Yeah, I know. I learned how to make Ma Po Tofu the other day."

Mom: "Really?"

Me: "Yeah. And I also make the best fried chicken ever."

Mom: "Really? So you cook just for yourself?"

Me: "No. Me and my roommates take turns cooking."

Mom: "Oh... But uhh, I thought they don't eat rice?"

Me: "What?! Of course they do."

Mom: "I thought they eat only bread and potatoes."

Me: "Ma, you're crazy."

I love that woman.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

When I got home an hour ago, I saw a piece of paper stuck to my roommate's door. It says
I stole 2 more eggs from you. And I will never give them back.

Egg stealer

I love my roommates.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

My other roommate wanted to rent this video called Tommy, and since he doesn't know the number, I called to check for availability.

"Hi, welcome to XXX Video. How can I help you today?"

"Yeah, hi. Do you have Tommy?"

"Yes, we do. But you know it sucks, right?"

"What?! Ahahaha.... hahahaha.... hahahahahaha......... Hahahahahaha... *cough cough*"

I laughed so hard I choked on my Altoids. My roommate talked to the lady for the rest of the conversation.

I love funny people.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Look out! Hot gay sex coming up. Leave if you're (insert whatever you call yourself here).

I feel kinda stupid that I have to put up a warning sign (imagine Coldplay's Warning Sign playing softly in the background), but in my defense, I don't want to offend my precious readers. All 5 of you. I mean, if there's one thing this bigoted society has taught me, it's this:

Girl + girl + actions = erection
Boy + boy + actions = erectile dysfunction.

Speaking of equations, someone once told me these:

Smart man + smart woman = romance
Smart man + dumb woman = affair
Dumb man + smart woman = marriage
Dumb man + dumb woman = pregnancy

So true. So so true.

All right, on with the story.

I picked up a guy from the pool yesterday. For the first time. I think it was the weed. Man, I heart weed. So much.

So, I was doing laps. After my usual 10 laps routine, I stopped and I looked up. Something on the bleachers caught my eyes. Man, all I can say was, salt and pepper has never been sexier. Not even the real salt and pepper can top that. Not that I think the real salt and pepper is sexy, mind you. He looks exactly like
John Slattery, with more pepper and less salt. If I have to describe him in two words, it'll be: fucking hot.

Before I go any further, I need to tell you that I'm still working on my butterfly stroke. I just learned it all by myself by observation. Hence it doesn't look that good. In fact, it looks quite retarded. John Slattery lookalike on the other hand, is a professional amateur swimmer.

So, after giving him the 'look', I went back to swimming. 3 laps later, I looked up, and he's gone.

"Damn it!"

Turns out, he has gotten back into the water. I found him 2 lanes down. I continued giving him the look, and I caught him going under water checking me out as I swam away. Bingo!

20 minutes later, I'm done. I got out of the pool, he followed. I took a quick shower, he did too. Man he was H-A-W-T! Did I mention that I had to take a cold shower just to keep my little brother from waking up?

Cut to me leaving the gym. I was walking so slow, people were giving me weird looks. Finally, John Slattery lookalike caught up with me.

Him: "Hey, how are you doing?"

Me: "Good."

More small talks followed.

Him: "Where you going now?"

Me: "I'm going home. What about you?"

Him: "Me too. I live on the north side, about 15 minutes walk away. You wanna come over?"

Me: "Sure. Sounds good."

Turns out, that was the furthest (farthest?) 15 minutes walk I've ever had in my entire life. By the time we got to his place, I'm pretty sure we're already in China. He, on the other hand, turns out to be an interesting guy. We were talking like we've known each other for a while.

"You want anything to drink?"

"Uhh, yeah sure. Water would be good."

"Here you go."


"Your backpack looks heavy. Why don't you leave it on the couch?"

"Sure." I walked over and dropped my backpack, which has only my speedo and goggles in it. "Nice place."

"Thanks. Let me show you around."


A cat appeared out of nowhere. Another one followed shortly.

"These are my cats. Kitty and kitty."

"What?" I burst out laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" He asked with a smile. "Come here."

I went to him. We embraced. Our lips met, very gently.

"Let's go to the bedroom."


His bedroom has a ladder that goes up to a loft, where the bed is. It looks kinda weird. I had a feeling that I was climbing up to a tree house as I was going up the ladder.

"This is different," I said as I got to the top.

"Yeah. It's like my private hideaway from the world."

"You read Wally Lamb? That's my favorite author!" I said as I picked up a copy of She's Come Undone on the night stand.

"Come here," he said right before nibbling my neck. It feels good.

"Mmmmm..." was all I can say.

I turned around. Our lips met again, this time more vigorously. But for a man his age, he is a pretty bad kisser. The tongue actions were minimal.

He then grabbed my entire body and toss it onto his bed. Now he's on top of me.

"How much do you weigh? Like 20 lbs?"

"Yeah right! You weigh 20 lbs. I weigh 200 lbs." I said as he continued nibbling my neck. He's a nibbler.

"Uh huh," he said when he came up for air. "You're so skinny it's like you have to hold on to something when the wind blows."

I slapped his ass.

"And you have the worse butterfly I've ever seen."

"What?!" I believe I turned bright red. I'm embarrassed to the max.

"You do. I even told my friend that," he said as he was about to start nibbling again.

"Hey! Just so you know, I taught myself that. And it's hard when you can't see what you're doing." Defense mode: ON.

He laughed. "Can't you take a little critism, huh?" He slapped my ass. "At least you're persistent, which is good."

"You suck."

He laughed.

I sneezed.

He laughed even harder.

I rolled over and pinned him down. His laughs slowly subsided. I took my shirt off, then his.

"You know, you look so hot in that red speedo," he whispered.

"Oh yeah?" I'm teasing him, trailing my tongue down his body. I got to his pelvis. I took his pants off. He was hard as a rock. Well, so was I.

If this is a movie, this will be the part where the camera zooms out and everything turns blurry.

You know that saying "older guys have been around the block, and they know how to use their cocks"? I'm here to tell you it's true. He gives one of the best head I've ever had, and he found my g-spot right away.

Later, when we're both sweaty and there's cum stains everywhere...

"You wanna take a quick shower?" he asked.

"Sure." I love taking shower together after sex. There's something about it that I just can't explain. It's so intimate.

Later, when he was taking me back to the gym to get my bike, he was telling me why my butterfly stroke looks retarded, and what's the right way to do it.

A casual afternoon hook up: great
A swimming lesson: great
A casual afternoon hook up AND a swimming lesson: PRICELESS.

He pulled over at the gym. Right before I got out...

"By the way, I'm Snakehead."


"Cool. I'll see you around, Mark."

"Yeah, see you around."

I have a feeling that I will see him around.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Want a title? Sorry, you're not getting one today.

I was just wondering if all Bostoners are like this.

Another potential roommate came knocking on the door at 2pm.

"Hi. Sam?"

"No, it's Ben."

"Oh sorry, Ben. Come on in." Honest mistakes. I've shown the bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, the bathrooms, the laundry room and the backyard 3500 times. I can't remember names anymore.

Once we're inside, I hit 'play'.

"Let me show you the room and..." I was interrupted before I can finish.

"Do you have the backyard?" He asked. He interrupted to ask if there is a backyard.


"Can I see it?"

"Uhh... sure. This way." I led. He followed. When we're outside, he surveyed the backyard very thoroughly. Too thoroughly for my liking.

The weather is awesome. He, on the other hand, is not so. His extreme interests in the backyard have me believed that he has a body he needed to bury.

We came back into the house. I showed him the room. He looked at it for 5 seconds and said, "I'll take it."

"What?" I was incredulous. We haven't even gone over the details yet.

"I'll take it. It's close to what I'm looking for, and I don't want other people take it before I do."

It is at this point that I decided he's not going to "take it", and that I'm going to write about him. We talked a little more, well, more like I asked questions and he answered, and I found out that he's from Boston, going to graduate school, majoring in physics. I know physicists are weird. Are Bostoners weird too?

When he left, he didn't even say bye. He just walked out the door and never looked back.

This must be that time of the year when the weirdos and the psychos come out of hibernation. They need to go back to sleep. There are too many of them roaming around it's unhealthy. I've heard that they can cause allergy, high blood pressure and liver diseases, not to mention tourette and arthritis.

Next on the agenda, we have a story featuring yours truly, the horniest bastard ever, and his ex-not-a-fuckbuddy-not-yet-a-boyfriend, hereonafter will be known as Hahaha. In case you missed it, Hahaha sorta broke my heart a little. We started out as fuckbuddy, then I started falling for him, but he's still falling for his ex, yadda yadda yadda. In the end the sun came out and the rain starts pouring and everyone lives happily every after either by kissing in front of a window, or kissing in front of a spotlight, or kissing in a pumpkin car or kissing on a balcony.

Sort of.

So last night, I was at the subway. It's 15 minutes walk to my house. It was late. I was too lazy to walk. So I called Hahaha and surprisingly he agreed to give me a ride home. We got to my place, I invited him up. He said yes. I was horny. He looks good. Go figure.

We're in my room. I was lying on my bed. He was eating a bowl of ice cream. One thing led to another, heavy making out ensued.

Right about when things started to get real hot,

*Knock knock*

"Hang on a minute," I said as I was scrambling to untangle myself from him in a sea of comforters and pillows. It wasn't easy.

"What's up?" I asked when I got to the door, panting.

"Oh uh... I was wondering if you mind getting us a bottle of vodka and kahlua? We're making white russians," my roommate said, looking a little embarrassed. Truth is, his timing couldn't be better. If there's one place I shouldn't go, it's that place I was going with Hahaha.

"Umm, sure. No problem." I am the supporter of under age drinking.

"I'll take you," Hahaha said as he was putting his shoes back.


"You wanna come up?" I asked him for the 2nd time that night.

"No, I'm just gonna go home. Kinda tired. Besides, looks like you're gonna have a good time anyway," he said, eyeing the bottles of liquor I was holding.

"All right, I'll see you later then."


I then proceed to get stinking drunk with my roommates. Awesome.

Just a quick note before I let you go: getting high is awesome. Swimming while high is just pure genius. I'm telling you, swimming any other ways is just stupid. If there's one thing you should do before you die, this has got to be it.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Introducing Gorilla McPsycho.

Oh. My. God.

Can someone please stop pounding my head? I'm willing to give 1000 blow jobs to the person who can stop the pounding. I'm serious. I mean, who gets hangover at the same night? Goddamn it! I knew I shouldn't start drinking that early.

HOWEVER, this post is not about me. It's about Gorilla McPsycho.

A potential roommate, let's call him Gorilla McPsycho, is supposed to come check the place out at 3.45 pm yesterday.

It's 3.50 pm.

*Knock, knock*

I opened the door.

"Hi, are you The Snakehead?"

"Yeah. Gorilla McPsycho? Come on in."

"Yes. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," I said. We shook hand. "How's it going?"

"Oh I just typed the address into maps dot Google, and they give me a direction here" was his answer to my "how's it going".

I stepped aside, let him in, and closed the door. It was really nice out, sunny and breezy.

"All right, let me give you the grand tour of the house," I said. "You're interested in the cheaper room, right?"


"All right. That's my room," I said as we passed by my room, which I think is the nicest room in the house. "This room is taken as well," I pointed at the biggest bedroom, which belongs to the roommate who'll also be staying for another year. "He's in Fiji right now. For 2 weeks! Lucky bastard."

"I smell weed. Does he smoke marijuana?" He frowned.

"Yes. Actually we all do. Occasionally." I'm starting to not like him. "Here's the room you're looking for. $645 a month, utilities included except cable TV and internet, which comes to about $25 a month."

He entered the room without saying anything, and looked left and right. He walked towards the window, and lifted the curtain. All he can see was our backyard. He pulled the curtain back, and stepped away from the window. He then proceed to stare at the heater on the floor.

What the hell?

2 minutes of dead silence later, he reached for the door. He closed it halfway, then re-open it. Closed it halfway, then re-open it. It's like he's fanning himself. With that door.

Finally, he stopped. "Here, let me show you the rest of the house," I said as soon as he stopped. "This is the kitchen/dining room. We have a dishwasher...."

He walked passed me before I can finish what I wanted to say. He walked over to the stove, bent down, and open the oven. He closed it, opened it, and closed it again. He then walked over to the freezer and did the same thing. It was at this point that I decided I was going to write about him.

"Here, let me show you the living room. And this is the bathroom," I talked as fast as I could. I wanted him out of my house as fast as possible. "That one over there is just the toilet. And this one right here, is a laundry room. And this is the backyard." Again, the awesome weather greeted me as soon as I opened the door.

Apparently Mr. McPsycho is not very interested in the backyard. Instead, he disappeared into the bathroom as soon as we walked back into the house. I sat on the couch waiting for him to resurface.

"You have any questions for me?" I asked when he got out, hoping he would say no. Instead, he pulled a notepad out from his back pocket, and parked himself on the couch opposite me.

"What are the neighbors like?" was his first question.

"They're pretty cool. Although I don't really know them."

"What's the general atmosphere around the house like?"


"Can you elaborate more?"


"How long have you been living here?"

"A year."

"How long has the other roommates been living here?"

"A year."

"Name one thing you like most about the place."

"It's awesome."

"Name one thing you like least about the place."


"Say if something broke, like the heater's not working. Who's responsible for that?"

"The landlord."

"What time do people usually go to bed?"

"It depends."


"On whether it's weekdays or weekends."

"Can you give me an estimate?"

"Between midnight and 1 in the morning."

"Will you be the one deciding who's gonna move in?"

"Yes," I said dryly. And you're never going to.

"Name the last three movies you saw."

"I don't see how you need to know that."

"This is to see how compatible we are as roommates."

Nobody is compatible with psychos like you. "Fine. Apollo 13, War of the Worlds, Batman Begins." I'm getting frustrated. I'm feeling like I'm being interrogated. And I. Don't. Like. It.

"Name the last three albums you bought."

"I don't buy albums."

"Okay. You have any questions for me?"

Yeah, when can you get the hell out of my house? "No."

"All right then. I have 3 more places to look at tomorrow and Saturday. I'll send you an email when I make up my mind." He got up from that couch, ready to leave.

"Sounds good." I walked him to the door.

"Take care," he said.

"You too."

We shook hands one last time.

I closed the door.

10 minutes later, my roommate came home. I told him about Gorilla McPsycho.

We both agreed that he is psycho.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

What time is it?

It's 7.07 pm, and I'm drunkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


We have a picture of him somewhere, a brokenhearted five-year-old, slumped on a bench at Disney World, eyes fighting back tears, lips so tense you can almost see them quivering, his felt Mickey Mouse ears cocked to one side.

Or maybe we don't have a picture, except in our minds. And yet it's the same image my husband and I share: A sunny day, white light glinting off the windows on Main Street, reflecting off dozens of chrome carriages with chrome wheels, light and heat shimmering everywhere and our two children, clamoring for sunglasses, "Please, Mommy? Please, Daddy? Pleeeze!"

We ducked into a shop and Rob picked out Donald Duck glasses, blue and white plastic things that slid down his nose and made him look far more like Scrooge McDuck than Donald Duck. But we didn't tell him this. He loved those glasses. Lauren, three and already into fashion, chose pink Minnie Mouse glasses because she was dressed in pink that day.

They wore them out of the dark store into the day, up Main Street, through the castle and into Fantasyland. During "Peter Pan's flight" they took them off and clutched them in their hands, and they did the same in "Pirates of the Caribbean." On "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" they had them on, I know, because we have a picture of them smiling and waving.

Somehow, somewhere, after that, maybe when he was getting off that ride, maybe when he stopped to tie his sneaker or fix his Mickey ears, or maybe when we were having lunch, the Donald Duck glasses disappeared. And Robbie, who was five and loved those glasses, cried.

"If you had loved them you would have taken better care of them," is what we said to him. Or something like that. But we were young and new at this parenting thing, and weren't we supposed to teach him to take care of what was his? Wasn't it our duty to make sure that he knew that money didn't grow on trees?

What did those sunglasses cost? A dollar? Two dollars? What harm would it have done to wipe his tears and say, "Come on, we'll get you another pair. I know you didn't mean to lose them." Would he have grown up to be a bad person? Would he have been corrupted in some unforeseeable way?

Lauren said, "You can have mine, Robbie." But he didn't want hers. They were pink and for girls. And his were blue and for boys. And they were gone, and he had loved them and he was miserable.

If I had it to do over, I'd have marched back down Main Street and bought a brand-new pair of Donald Duck glasses and pretended that I found them on the ground. I would have yelled, "Hey, look what I have!" And he would have leaped up and come running and laughed and thrown his arms around me and put on those glasses and this would be the memory of that day.

You live and you learn.

A few months ago we were in Orlando, not exactly at the scene of the crime, but close enough. Our son, long an adult, was there on business and we flew down to meet him, and in the flurry of rental cars and restaurants and going here and there, guess what? He lost his sunglasses.

We didn't scold him, didn't even think about saying, if you really liked them you would have taken better care of them, because people lose things all the time. Instead we did what most adults do for other adults. We helped him figure out where he could have lost them and – what do you know – he found them in a meeting room he'd been in the day before.

He was grinning when he walked to the car, his steps light and quick, his sunglasses hiding his eyes, nothing of the five-year-old left in him to see.

Except I saw.

He was my first child, and the first has it the hardest, because you're new at this and you go by the book and you don't want to mess up and be too soft, but you mess up anyway, because what do you know?

I know that as parents we have an obligation to teach our children. But I also know that everything doesn't have to be a lesson. That sometimes, lost sunglasses are just what they are: lost sunglasses and nothing more.

As you might have figured out, I did not write that story. A woman named Beverly Beckham did. There's no way in a million years would I be able to write something so elegant.

Today is a solemn day. I decided not to write garbage for a day, as a tiny tiny tribute to the people of London.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

TGIW. Yes, I said Wednesday, because Wednesday is awesome.

Today cannot get any better.

I rode a steam train. In my jammies. With 50 other 5 year olds.

No, really.

Let me start from the beginning.

I took my car to a junk yard. It had to be euthanized. I mean, there's no way in hell, and I mean no way in hell that I'm gonna pay $2300 to fix a car that's worth only $700, tops. The best part about this? I get a $1000 in return for a piece of crap! Woo hoo!! I'm rich, bithces! I'm seeing male strippers with a bunch of body shots, iPod and a pair of Gucci loafers in the near future. Suckass, bitches!!!!

So, ladies and gentlemen, I am officially carless. Now all I need is dreadlocks, not showering for 30 days, smoke pot and I'm all set to become a full fledge hippy. Oh wait, I'm already 1/3 hippy! Ha!

Let's see how long I'll last before I start bitching about not having a car. Today is Day 1.

So, after everything is said and done and I'm $1000 richer, my roommate gave me a ride home. We were almost home when he suddenly asked if I have ever been to the National Park not too far from our house. I haven't. So we went home.


Is that funny? For some reason I think it's super funny. Like water-squirting-out-of-my-nose and laughing-so-hard-a-little-pee-came-out funny. Like LOL and LMAO and ROFL all-rolled-into-one-big-AFLMORAFMR funny. My sense of humor is unparalleled, isn't it?

So we drove up the hill. First stop, taking in the view. The view was gorgeous. The weather was perfect. The breeze was awesome. My jammies looks great. My hair is as crazy as a crazy bastard who just got electrocuted. Everything was a perfect 9.9. Second stop, the lake. It's a lake, all right. What with all the kids screaming and the water splashing. I don't know how they can play in a pool of garbage water. Yeah, that's how bad it smells. And then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, without any warning...

A turtle came up to the surface to breathe. 3 seconds later, he disappeared back into the water. Between the kids and the foul smelling water, this 3 seconds seems... so tranquil and so beautiful. I'm a city kid. This is the first time I see a turtle comes up for air. In real life.

Next stop, the steam train ride. There was a huge yellow bus at the parking lot when we pull up. There was 50, I counted, 50 very disiplined 5 year olds waiting for the ride. Between the 5 year olds and the 50 year old chaperones, me and my roommate felt extremely out of place. The kids were looking at us like "what the hell are these two morons doing here?"

But seriously, those kids are SOOOOOOOOOOO cute. There's this little boy. I squat down and said hi to him. His mom asked him to say hi back, but instead of doing that, he lifted up his tiny little hand and touched my chin. I totally melted. And then he smiled. I turned into Jell-O. He had me at that smile. Really, he had me at that smile.

Then the train came. Is it wrong that I almost got into an argument with a 5 year old over the front row seat? I mean, I was there first and I yelled 'shot gun' and everything. Why can't he sit at the back with all his friends? And why do I have to move? This is so unfair. You can't fight with a 5 year old. They always win.


I couldn't stop smiling the entire 12 minutes while I was on the train. I felt like a little kid again. A little 5 year old riding a steam train.

It was perfect. A perfect 10.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Bird, confession and a lady named Matt.

There's a bird in the locker room.

No, not that kind of hairy bird that can't fly and sticks to two hanging balls. You people are too dirty minded. Two lines into a post and you're already thinking about dicks. I'm talking about the real bird, with feathers and wings and everything. Most importantly, it can fly. Not just because he believes he can fly. Unlike R. Kelly, who totally can't fly 'cause all those sex with 16 year olds (was it 16 or 14?) have totally killed his flying mojo, this bird can actually fly. Albeit in a locker room.

Did I mention that my gym has a super secretive underground type locker room? You have to walk through this 2 miles long tunnel, go through a waterfall, hike up a mountain and swim through lava (lavas?) to get there. Not to mention 300 palm scanners (like the one I have at my bathroom) along the way. My point is, I forgot where I'm going with this.

So, anyway, there's no way a bird can "accidentally" fly into the locker room all by itself. I'm willing to bet some crazy bastard hid a flying bird right next to his non-flying bird in his (hopefully) non-feathered underwear, and released it in the locker room.

Long story short, while I was changing out of my hot and sexy speedo, hence revealing my hot and sexy ass*, I saw a SPCA looking guy with a huge butterfly net walking around, trying to capture the bird. I left before finding out if he got the bird, or if the bird got him.

Next, we have a confession. Actually, I have a confession. You're welcome to share yours. Tell us how much you like feet, spandex and having alligator clips on your nipples. My confession: I think I smoke too much. Not cigarattes, but that gifts of heaven that makes you fly as high as a kite. I think it's getting bad. This morning I woke up, still high. Can you freaking believe it? I blame this all on my roommate. It's ALL HIS FAULT. All him. Not me. I'm just an little innocence young boy. Don't look at me like that. I feel naked and exposed.

Next, I went to the GLBT center today. They needed volunteers. So I signed up. Everything went smoothly, except one thing. I was introduced to a lady, named Matt. Is Matt short for a girl's name that I'm now aware of? Like Mattherine, Matteline, Mattmily or WhatcaMATTcallit. Something like that. Is there such names? Now that I think of it, that other (real) guy working there was referring to this (fake) Matt guy as "he", and this (fake) "he" has the roughest hand I've ever touched. I think (s)he uses a mixture of sand and sand papers to moisturize her hand. I mean his hand. Goddamn it! Someone please tell me if he is a man. I mean if she is a man. I mean is (s)he is a... Ahh, fuck it.

I'm sorry if I haven't been that funny lately, not that I've ever been funny or anything like that. I guess I was PMS-ing or something. I know I suck fat ass big time, what with being a member of The Shitty Blog Club and all. Hopefully you don't have to go through that again. I know, it's painful.

* I'm not too self absorbed, am I?

Monday, July 04, 2005

Operation slowly depressing and shocking myself to death - On.

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Picture courtesy of Guy guide.

This guy is a week older than me. A week. And look at his body. My God! Can somebody please look at those abs and tell me that he has at least 30 gallons of steroids in his blood stream? Pretty please? Or tell me that he's so extremely stupid, he doesn't even know if chicken or egg came first.

On the other hand, I went to the GLBT center today. Luckily they were closed because as I stood there reading all those flyers, I can't help but frown. I wasn't prepared. I judged. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will walk into that center and I will be prepared.

Oh the other other hand, I don't even know how to write about this. You think you know someone, and then she go ahead and tell you that she has a 2 year old daughter. Just when you think you know someone, you don't. I've known her for 4 years. 4 years. 2 year old daughter. The math works out, but everything else doesn't. I still think I'm dreaming.

Speaking of dreams, this morning I had a dream that woke me up. In the dream, I was riding my bicycle, on what seems to be a straight, leveled road. But all of a sudden, a hill is coming right up. I got to the top, and came down. And down, and down and down. The slope never ends. I tried to brake but the brake was broken.

Then I smashed into a wall. A beige colored wall.

4 posts on the 4th of July. Happy Inde-fucking-pendence Day to me.


My fingers have been resting on the keyboard for 5 minutes. Everytime I tried to move one of them, I fail.


And again.

Nothing is coming out.

This will not be a funny post. I'm sorry.

Too much emotions. Too much bubbles. Too delicate to validate.

I'm sitting here, in the dark. It's a nice night. I can hear fireworks going off somewhere in the horizon.

I live close to the ocean. And the pier. I can hear the ships' horns pretty frequently. Usually late at night. I like them. It soothes me, for some reason. Sometimes I lie in bed listening, and then fall asleep.

What am I doing here?

I'm 22 years old. What am I doing here?

I don't know.

I'm going to school. Period. Nothing else. I know there's another exam coming up in two weeks. Period. Nothing else.

I have walls. They are too tall and too thick. I tell people I don't want to get rid of them. Truth is, I don't know how to get rid of them. I built them myself, but I forgot the procedures.

I am lonely.

If I'm in the hospital right now, I don't have a list of people that I think will be there. No, I don't have a list.

I'm crying. I don't know why. That's a lie. I do know why. It's called self pity. Someone once told me that the only person you can depend on if yourself. I think I learned that too well. I don't need anybody.

My walls keep getting higher and higher; my fake smile keeps getting more and more natural... One day I'll look in the mirror and not recognize myself.

There's a GLBT center down the street from where I live. Tomorrow I'll go ask and see if they need any volunteers.

I will.

I promise.

There, the ships are here. I can hear them.

I have not felt this peaceful in a long long time.

Perhaps I'll have a dreamless sleep tonight.

I am pissed!

I am super mother fucking pissed.

First of all, I'm fucking pissed that I'm not drunk right now. What a fucking party. Scratch that. It's not a party if all you got is fucking bullshit Bud Lights and red wines. And I don't fucking drink nasty fuck beers.

Second of all, that stupid fucking porn that I sold on ebay went for a lot less than what I expected. Like 30 bucks less. So now I basically paid 30 mother fucking bucks for a mother fucking porn that I watched once.

Goddamn mother fucking piece of crap!

I'm gonna keep that mother fucking porn running NIGHT AND DAY for the next 2 weeks just so it's worth that fucking 30 fucking bucks.

Fuck ebay, fuck you and fuck 4th of July all the way to that fucking White House's ass.