Yet Another Rant About Other Idiots
I think every generation will consist of at least one annoying, linguistic doofus who assumes that his writing gains people’s respect but it simply increases loathe among his/her peers And it seems as though these “Chosen Ones” are extremely similar in every generation.
My sister loathes a guy to no limits, his name is Azrul. He’s a muslim, but he doesn’t respect his religion’s wishes. He has sex during the fasting period, even. His ego is so gargantuan that he cannot see past pretty, cheap girls who are [crazily!] willing to sleep with him, and he assumes that he’s a qualified writer/poet by scribbling complicated, “deep” poems and entries about sex and himself on his blog.
He “humbly” admits in an “Aw, shucks” manner that he’s a literary wannabe [often resulting in sounding contrived] in order to receive assurances from weird friends/sleeping partners that his writing is oh-so-damn-good [his recent entry consisted of copied-and-pasted testimonials from Friendster]. He thinks he’s a hot fireman. He also admits to all his faults and wrong doings, assuming that he’s being brave and haughty by being able to admit to his faults. Yet, he does nothing to change these flaws. It’s as if he thinks that no one can criticise him as long as he shouts to the world about his flaws. He delves into “controversial” topics such as, you guessed it, sex.
Oh, and he smiles like a chipmunk:
Oo
_____)
THAT’S the way he smiles, and claims that that very face of his exudes sexual charisma.
More like Chip and Dale charisma.
And he has bad breath.
My sister makes hilarious jokes about him.
Since he’s a fireman, my sister says, “I hope that feminine layer of fat on his body will act as a fuel to the fire and burn him alive!! MUAHAHA!!”
Anyway, the point is, no nobody likes the linguistic wannabe.
Think about it.
Oops, I hope Azrul doesn’t find this blog.
Footo is Fine!
Hurrah! Joy! Let the pigs run free! My nerves aren’t permanently damaged!
Turns out that nerves can be damaged yet able to recover. I never knew. My lack of biology knowledge informed me that nerve damage = dead foot.
She said, “When your leg was numb, you probably stood up in a very awkward way, thus the [insert long word] in your foot raptured and created something called neuro-[insert long word]. So bruising will form and your nerves will make your foot feel funny… [insert more long words which confuzzled me]” That was then I realised what a bad bio student I would make, I wouldn’t even be able to differentiate one word from the other.
Main point: Your muscle tissues raptured and your nerves got stretched so a bigass lump formed and the pain and numbness will disappear in 6 weeks. Next patient please.
After listening to her, it just sounded like a simple case of raptured tissues and nerves. And there I was thinking about how I wouldn’t be able to run like normal people for the rest of my life, constantly battle against Singapore’s society which is disabled-people-unfriendly, be filmed on TV for a health insurance commercial [Good lord, I hate that commercial] and share my life story to bratty kids who take life for granted just so they’ll pity me and realise what great life they lead, then forget about it 5 minutes later after assembly ends.
Anyway, enough about footo [I named my left foot 'footo' and my right foot 'footie'. Whatever, you're weird too]
I think I finally blew up today. A mild case of blowing up, though. Usually the annoyance would fidget in my veins and nibble at my heart until I heave the mountainous load of bitching upon my sister, who would likewise be annoyed by the subject of my bitching and understandingly deem my anger as justified. I do think it’s justified! I’ve tried putting myself in their shoes and there’s no substantial reason to treat me like dirt, yet they don’t even know that they are.
Bottling up my anger isn’t healthy though, I don’t know what to do with it except take it out on myself. Today, after about 2 years of tolerance, allowed me to foresee plausible outcomes in the future, like maybe a full-blast speech of screaming and an inevitable sense of regret afterwards. And yet they’d probably still be clueless. Sigh, not feeling good.
Footie
2 weeks ago, I slept on the couch and woke up with an entirely numb left leg. Groggy from the fresh slumber, I groaned, scratched my butt [Haha! Kidding!], lifted my leg and set it on the ground. A shot of pain immediately diffused through my foot, it felt like a bloody bullet lodged in my leg. It wasn’t pins and needles, it was god-awful pain! After crying out, “Fuck!” I gingerly lifted my leg back up on the couch and slept for an hour longer. How I slept with the pain I don’t know, I think the dream of killing [censored teacher's name] beckoned me.
When I woke up, a lump the size of a tennis ball had formed on my foot.
It hurt so bad when I walked that I couldn’t bend my foot properly, resulting in a hobo manner of walking.
What. the. hell. happened?!
I tried finding possible reasons for this bizarre incident by googling it on the net. But alas, no results.
Gradually, a large bruise began to form on the side of my foot.
Look! A yucky picture of my disabled foot: [Not for those who think that feet are disgusting]
I know my foot looks really small and white, the colour of the skin of my foot compared to my legs is like heaven and hell.
It was taken a few days after the incident so the tennis ball-sized lump was gone and the bruise had began to clear up already.
It’s been 2 weeks now. But there is still bruising around my toes, pain around the area where the lump used to be and some areas are numb. The numb parts really frighten me - are my nerves broken? Will I ever walk the same again? Will I ever feel my foot again? Do I have an internal flesh eating disease? Why do I keep picking my toenails?
Anyway, why am I posting a narcissistic post about my foot? The truth is that I’m getting really freaked out.
It’s been 2 weeks and it’s showing no signs of further recovery. I shall visit the doctor on Saturday.
If the doctor says that the nerves of my foot are broken and there is no hope of recovery, I’m going to bawl. The worst thing is that I don’t even know how and why it happened. Whenever someone asked me, “What happened to your foot?” I pathetically reply, “I woke up and it was like that.” God, they think I’m an idiot.
My bodily functions are beginning to betray me. I think I’m getting old.
300
I’ve learned my lesson about sneaking in into M18 movies.
There’s a reason why a rating is there in the first place, M18 = NUDITY.
Call me immature or conservative or asexual, but I feel really uncomfortable when I see women’s boobs filling up the screen, especially when men or my guy friends are watching the same scene. Doesn’t it feel awkward that you’re watching a scene where a person of your gender is flaunting her/his stuff while the other gender’s watching? -Shiver-
The movie was 300. If it weren’t for the boobs and degrading of women by making them offer sex to men by showing off their boobs [I'm not too sure about the latter though, because I shielded my eyes once boobies came to view, and I heard funny noises. Funny noises! Ahh!], maybe I would’ve liked it more. But boobies didn’t take up most of the movie, so thank goodness.
I wonder why women boobs are always shown, but male genitals aren’t.
Not that I would want to see, but…
It also makes me uncomfortable when I watch actors have sex in a movie. Practically every movie contains sex, sometimes I think the producers just say, “Hmm. Let ‘em do sex. Let’s just smack a love making scene there so the element of ‘love’ is inside. That’ll make the protagonist macho AND loving. Bingo.” It’s to the point where the sex scene means nothing, it’s there for commercial purposes.
Such as The Island. RIGHT OUT OF NOWHERE, the girl and the guy did it. Like, boom. No gradual flirting, no suggestive body language, etc. The sex scene was so contrived!
That’s why I think the greatest movies are the movies which don’t follow the typical plot line of 1) Protagonist is macho, has an identity crisis, and says, “Who am I?” 2) Some gorgeous girl must be involved, 3) have sex, 4) hero wins and marries gorgeous girl.
I don’t have a problem with sex, but I have a problem with watching people have sex.
Okay, digression regarding unmentionables aside.
Back to 300. It’s a pretty awesome movie, I think. I was pleased to find out that my friend and I share equal dislike for Ong Sor Fern, a journalist who wrote a disapproving review of 300. In fact, she wrote disapproving reviews of every movie I’ve liked, and her flowery language is just fluff with no substance.
My friend said, “Yeah, everyone liked 300. Except Ong. Sor. Fern. That woman ah, she only likes those girly girly romance movies. Sheesh.” Damn right.
Anyhoo, once again like the Ghost Rider, I think the script needed a bit of work while the visual effects were A-W-E-S-O-M-E.
The Spartans’ accents jumped all over the place. Gerard Butler (Leonidas) sounded Scottish, David Wenham (Dilios) sounded Australian, Andrew Tiernan (Ephialtes) sounded English. Yet they’re Spartans, they’re not meant to speak English in the first place hahaha. Plus, the Chinese warriors spoke some English too. Teehee. I guess I’d expected their language to be more grand and olden, it sounded a little too modern sometimes for me.
There was one scene where Leonidas climbed a heath to visit the 3 oracles in order to gain the blessing of the Gods for his war plan. Either 3 or 4 oracles, I’m not too sure because they looked the same.The scene totally reminded me of Macbeth. A heath. 3 or 4 monstrous, non-human figures. The figure said, “We’d been expecting you.”. Ring any bells?
The gore didn’t bother me too much. There is a lot of stabbing and blood though. I was, in fact, mystified that the pints of blood spurted out of the victims vanished in mid-air. There was no blood spilled on the ground, despite the massive Golgotha.
Also, there was one scene where a huge ass Nathan-Jones-Lookalike monster started killing everyone, and he was totally indestructible.
Got stabbed in the arm, he pulls the sword out.
Got stabbed the neck, he pulls sword out.
Got stabbed the EYE, he pulls sword out. [My face went into "Wtf" mode at this one]
Finally, Leonidas got fed-up with the monster’s apparent invincibility and sliced off the head. I was like, “YES!”
I was also really looking forward to seeing Xerxes [Guy in golden Speedos in the picture below] in action. However, his eye makeup made him look girly and his voice sounded, purposely I suppose, Godly. Like Darth Vader sort of Godly. But he looked awesome anyway, like this:
Awesome picture, even though he’s practically naked in golden Speedos and funky gold piercings.
Lips & Love
My damn lips are swollen again. I woke up to find that my lips have grown fat, red and some icky discharge oozing from it (not pus though, ew!) Sometimes I wish I could just rip my lips off. Here’s my daily night routine dedication solely to my lips:
Step 1. Brush teeth
Step 2. Brush teeth with a different toothbrush (Due to braces)
Step 3. Gurgle Listerine.
Step 4. Rub ulcer cream on my ulcers, which usually just numbs my mouth and as a result, I drool on my pillow
Step 5. Peel off some wax from the wax stick and stick some onto some areas of my braces. The wax is meant to minimise the friction which is caused when the braces rub against my lips, thus forming the ulcers indicated in Step 3.
Step 6. Rub Vaseline lip balm (Tyra Banks would be WILD!). Why so high class like Vaseline? That’s because I’ve already tried Lip Ice, Neutrogena lip balm, Medicated lip balm and another Neutrogena lip balm. All 4 do not work, except Tyra’s Vaseline.
Step 7. Rub steroid cream on the margins of my lips. This brings down the swelling, or so it should.
This is the amount of shit I do every night to stop my lips from swelling, and yet they betrayed my efforts and swelled anyway. Now you know why I feel like ripping my lips off. People should just be born without lips, they’re a burden to life.
Anyway, swollen lips aside.
I’m starting to feel the burn of sec4 life. O levels! Man! I won’t go on about how important it is because you guys already know, and I have to practice Chinese in about 10 minutes.
Mr Eio gave us a pep talk on how everything is a choice. You can choose to grow fat, you can choose to remain unhappy, you can choose to cut yourself and bang your head against the wall which will result in nothing but pain and possible future head spasms [He actually said all that with demonstrations, haha]
He told us of a friend of his whose husband dumped her for another woman. After learning from almighty Mr Eio that happiness was a choice she could make, she recovered and picked up her act. She got promoted to a higher status than her husband and now her boss is wooing her. Eat that shit, unfaithful ex-husband.
Nothing like an inspirational story to drive us to success. Mr Eio’s a fantastic teacher.
After Mr Eio’s talks, I’ve decided to set my priorities straight. My number 1 priority is:
I Will Not Fall in Love This Year. If the dude doesn’t want to wait until after O levels, then he can suck it.
I thought about my past relationships, and they all ended in behind-the-back-bitching, tears, whining, excessive chocolates and a new haircut. And I’m planning to grow out my hair, so no relationships.
I will deprive myself of love this year. No love, no love, no love [chants]