Rabid monkeys with fancy tools

It’s so unfair. I missed out on the Red Hot Chilli Peppers concert earlier this year in Reading, Mandy went to watch Monty Python on Broadway, and now Nadia is going to watch Damien Rice. So unfair .. What else, man .. If anyone goes for a Foo Fighers concert, I’ll seriously go rabid, man ..
Was going through old e-mails. I never delete any mail. The oldest one is 3 years old, going on four. It was from one of my exes. Brought back memories. Heh. And you know what? I miss being in a stable sort of relationship, the sort where there doesn’t seem to be an ending. It’s never that simple anymore, eh. Maybe that’s the reason for my downness at night. I’m lonely. But I want to be alone. Just not lonely.
But it was so good, back then. You never thought of the consequences. You never seriously thought of work, of bills, those things. What you want to do when you graduate, where you’re gonna go, where you’re gonna end up, and inevitably, you usually end up apart. Now it becomes a sticky mess, every move you make might just get you in a more compromising position. No, it’s not simple. It’s not stable. And it’s probably just me.
One year ago I sat my ass down on this very same chair and started tapping away on the keys. My blog is now one year old. Never thought I’d get so far.

Penguins. *squeals*
Want to get embarrased in the cinema? Bring me along to Happy Feet. You’ll be embarrased real good. Unless you’re related to me by blood. Then I’ll probably be my other cold self and not even laugh when Ramon tricks himself to jump (or fall) off the cliff. Call me two faced. It’s an insult, even. You don’t know how many faces I’ve got.
My main topic. Why do musicians seem to be so goddam tragic. Musicians, mainly rockstars. Rock. Stock. The whole shebang. There’s this .. I don’t know. Air of self-destruction and melodrama in them. They’re full of sadness and tragedy, it consumes them. It really does. I mean, listen to Peterpan. The lead singer sounds like as if the apocalypse is dawning upon us and he’s singing his entire soul out to the girl with hope that she’d hear him and go back to him or summat. Knowing that she would never. He would never.
Who reads all this stuff I write, anyhow. Those who read, kindly leave an ‘Aye.’ Thank you very much.
If nobody reads, I’ll still go on writing. Because I like to.
Went for a wedding dinner just now. One of the band members really, and I do mean really, looked like Dan. I wanted to slap him senseless, or slap myself senseless. I can be pretty damn violent.
My mom’s always telling not to use the word ‘damn.’ DAMNDAMNDAMNDAMNDAMN. I’m a little rebel. XD
Am I really funny?? What sort of funny?? Haha funny or ummmmm funny??
The bridegroom was kinda yummy.
Heh. Rhymed.

Depression, or something like it. This downness. What caused it? The thought of leaving? The thought of leaving my mom, my dad, my blue-eyed boy (makes an effort to wink), my family, my friends, my home (what’s left of it anyhow) …? Maybe just my bloody hormones. The end of a high. And it only comes at night, late when there’s nothing but the darkness for comfort. I tried to read a book to lift my spirits, and reached for the first book I saw. Everything’s Eventual by Stephen King. Read this short story about a bank robber watching his mate slowly die. Got shot in the lung, he did. Rotted from the inside out. Gangrene on his breath. NOT VERY UPLIFTING. I don’t even want to cry. I just want to shrivel up and die. The rhyme is coincidental.
And rest assured, I will be myself by tomorrow morning, afternoon, evening. And at night, I don’t want to think of it. Where’s the alcohol when you need it.
I want to reach out to someone. But I wouldn’t know how.

Song: Miss you by Blink182
Mood: Chewing gum on the ground, crushed peanut shells, a derelict house, so on and so forth.
Book: Dark Lord of Derkholm by Dianna Wynne Jones. What. I’m trying to cheer myself up. Heck, I’d even give chick lit a try at this very moment. Quick pass me Shopgirl or what have you.

My dad told me today. He wonders what Cork is like. He added, ‘It’s a very, very, very, very, very hum-sup (perverted) name for a place.’ Egads.

You know, when people ask me which part of Ireland I’ll be going to, I say Cork and they will give me that cock-eyed stare. "COCK? YOU GOING TO COCK?" And the age old Julia Tan’s going to Cork to find more corks. Oh the agony of puns. Ha. ha. Not. Funny. Anymore. After. The. 111th. Time.
And also, I say I’m going in January and 9 out of 10 will initially say "Oh it’s going to be so cold!" Yeah, I know. I know. All you aunty and uncle relatives, I KNOW.
God sometimes I hate family dinners, you know the Chinese sort of sit down dinner with the spinning thing (what’s it called again?) in the middle of the table because if you’re dining with a coupla relatives, and you being the younger one, you have to let the elders take food first. And when you’re ravenous, you just want to jump on top of the table and start stuffing food into your mouth. But noooo … you wait ages and ages and ages till the dish finally arrives to the direction in front of you, and even then. if some smartass starts pushing the goddamn spinning thing, you gotta wait again.
It sucks being the lowest in the food chain. I think that the spinning thing is a torture device.

Song: Careless Whisper by George Michael
Book: Lady Chatterley’s Lover, D.H. Lawrence
Mood: Strangely ecstatic

I just had an epiphany. I’m having the ball of my life. Oh good god. Things will never be this good ever again. Look, look. I’m satisfied (in certain areas in certain aspects). I’m having a goddam ball and I didn’t even realize it till this very moment. POP A BOTTLE, WHERE’S THE GODDAM CHAMPAGNE? I’m going on a big adventure in less than two months, I’m going on an escapade, I’m going AWOL for half a year! COOL. I have this little thingamajig going on here as well, which is surreal, very surreal. Very nice, too. Good god.
A bit strange to feel ecstatic whilst listening to Careless Whisper.
Hm. Reality can be sweet after all. In a way. If you block out half of it. Sunscreen it. Goddamit I will NOT let myself burst this bubble! Whhhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Okay imagine this. You’re in a competition to win the affections of someone you like. Your crush, for elementary’s sake. In the arena, the lights are blinding you, crowd’s a-roarin’ and your sweat pours down your brow and makes it slightly difficult to see.
So in this arena. Your opponent stands on the other end. You are supposed to strangle each other to the death, winner takes all, the prize sits on a throne somewhere about, gazing dreamily at this dream. And you see her.
She looks like fuckin’ Angelina Jolie (or whoever you think is hubba hubba hot. i just have this never-ending infatuation with Angelina). Goddam those lips those eyes that hair and that attitude. How the fuck are you gonna win? With one look she turns you to stone. Don’t even need to touch you. She waltzes away with the prize and the crowd forgets you and you become a bird perch and the worst thing is, he forgets you. He forgets you ever existed, he passes you by in the square and notices the birds on your shoulders, but not you, not your pleading eyes, not the sound of your heart breaking, breaking into smaller pieces, not your silent scream for him to smash you into bits so that you might not exist anymore.
No, he does not. And years and years pass by. You see him, you see his children, his grandchildren. You see him grow frail and die. And for what it was worth, your heart it turns cold into stone as well.

Wow I’ve been blogging almost everyday for the past few days. Weird ideas. Bizzare. Rabbit holes and Alice. By jove, I think I’m gonna be alright. Yessuh.

I just discovered ‘Vindicated’ by Dashboard Confessional … a few years late, I know, but let’s treat it like wine. The longer you wait to savour it, the more tasteful it becomes. Vintage. Okay okay. I admit that the reason why I did not want to listen to the song when it first became popular was because I didn’t want to listen to it just because everyone else was listening to it. The period when you spoke of Dashboard Confessional like as if it was you who discovered the goddam band and no one else knew about it but youself. I suppose that a coupla years down the road, after the whole hoo-ha for the song has died down, it’s alright to start listening to it. Hence, my recent discovery of ‘Vindicated.’ This would be like my 50th time listening to the song since last week.
There’s this thing about me. I could listen to a song like a hundred times and still not know the lyrics. I don’t listen hard enough. Which if you look deeper into it, might explain my treatment of other people.
I saw the weather forecast on MSN’s homepage. Mostly cloudy in London with a min of 11 and max of 14. Are they bundled up warm and tight, dreaming of snow and cold blue skies. I could imagine the leafless trees against a mulling backdrop of gray, red brick buildings. I wonder what Ireland is like.
More wondering.
I wonder who reads this. I wonder if those who read this think that I am writing about them. I wonder if those who read it merely read it to see if I mentioned them. My head is spinning. I’m coming down with a flu. I want some chicken soup.
Chicken soup for the soul is a total waste of paper and ink.

I don’t treat people fairly. I admit that. Some people I shrug aside, others I am extremely attentive with. So attentive to the point that I can remember what they said ten months ago. Others, I just push aside and give less priority even if they are people who apparently care for me. So I won’t boast that I give everyone equal treatment. It’s just my nature to be lopsided.
Sometimes, people feel that I don’t give them any affection. I appear cold, distant. I hold you at arm’s length and I will not allow you any closure. Bear in mind, if you are close to me and I am all frosted up, I do care. I do. I just don’t permit myself to show it. I don’t know why. When it comes to those crucial moments that I need to show emotion, I view it as a sign of weakness and retreat into my shell. I hate vulnerability. I hate it. I hate it most when I am vulnerable. And I can’t really bear for people to see me cry.
I ought to have been born male.
But I still love men. They are rather emotional creatures, those I know. But they’re still lovable. I love my men.
There is this image of Leonardo Dicaprio as Billy Costigan in my head. He points his finger at me and shouts ‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING, KID?’ whenever I am on the verge of falling off a parapet. It’s a rather effective image. I loved The Departed. I loved it for the style. It gives a lot of room for personal interpretation. If you compare it to Infernal Affairs, then it’s your own folly. The thing is not to compare and instead take the two as different movies - fundamentally the same but essentially different.
The Fray. I worship Nadia for introducing me to The Fray. Unsaid. Absolute-freaking-ly tip top.
I have another beef. It’s with the whole trying-to-be-different scene. Weirdness is cool. All that jazz. Post-MTVism. Back in the 80’s and 90’s people were conditioned to mimic the cool. Then they’d be cool. Now with the new movement of post-mtvism, people try to be different. No longer sheep. And by all trying to be different, different becomes mundane. So there’s the paradox, irony, the whole shebang. Think it. Think about it.
Don’t try to be different. Weirdness is so outdated. Try insanity. Now that’s cool.

You know those moments when you know that someone has total absolute power over you, those dim moments in life. There’s one of those moments now. And you know what?
I WILL NOT SUBMIT! I WILL NOT YIELD! I WILL NOT BE HELD UNDER YOUR SWAY YOUR EVERY WHIM AND FANCY. FUCK OFF.
That felt better.
I like Lau. He’s funny. And Mandy too. She reminded me of one very crucial fact. It woke me up. Sometimes you need to be woken up from time to time. Right now after being woken up I need to go to bed. It’s 3.36am. I need to play dota tomorrow. Whee …
LESS THAN TWO MONTHS LEFT. OMFG.