This is how I roe.
Wasn’t Galileo the guy who put the dong in the ding-dong? I mean he stared at pendulums & made clocks. That’s pretty impressive. Apparently, he also discovered Jupiter’s moons. I don’t remember all the names, just Lo & Ganymede. Lo because it’s short & Ganymede because it’s the name of the largest moon & the farm boy that’s super pretty. So pretty Jupiter (Zeus) had to swoop down in his eagle form, & take him back to Mount Olympus & make him his cupbearer. And in case you didn’t know, ‘cupbearer’ is really just Greek for prison bitch. We all know Zeus is a mean, lightning-wielding muscle daddy god with a temper. But despite his badass nature, he gave Ganymede’s father, goats for his son. So sweet. I imagine a lot of you wouldn’t mind being sold by your father as a sex slave to a God. Have many goats do you think you’d fetch? Lol. But I digress. It’s so easy to get distracted talking about bad daddies, livestock & whores. So our friend Galileo is a toy for bad puppies now? Or is it kinky bitches? What are people going to think when they see this lying around on your bedroom floor?!?
Cinnamon-powdered, French-toasted Walnut Bread with PanPac Pork & Cock Hotdogs slip & sliding in a deluge of Butter & Maple Syrup with Rosemary on top & a morsel of Roquefort sitting on folds of egg because everything’s better with a bit of cheese.
10 minutes into #TheNormalHeart & I can just tell it’s going to be so good. But I also know it’s not going to touch my heart without breaking it & I rather not have it kill my Champagne buzz. So I’m hitting pause & saving it for another day. I’m sitting up in bed making collages instead, of faraway castles in Bavaria…
There are so many reasons to jump into bed & only one good one to crawl out of it so early in the morning. #Breakfast
Survived another run. Yay. Life’s good. And I will get better. Now, I’m going to go in my tub, eat blue cheese on dark chocolate, soap up my tired hairy legs, lie back & trace constellations on the ceiling with my big toe.
Do you call your brownish-purplish-red, Burgundy or Bordeaux? I always write Burgundy because it sounds the way it’s spelt so it feels less pretentious & also because I’m less likely to misspell it. Besides, I don’t know wines & my kampung palette cannot discern any real taste distinction for the 2 French regions. Pfft. Reminds me of the time I got drunk at that wine dinner I was working. How I guzzled over a dozen glasses of fine wine because they were so delicious & so expensive. Who knew the classy thing to do was to sip & concede to wasting most of it? The problem was, I was at ease with myself, I didn’t know to care that I was interviewing an expert on camera afterwards - some wine snob who got so grandly crossed with me because I kept mixing up some snotty difference between the Bordeaux & Burgundy reds that we had just tasted. Something’s more oaky or full-bodied or some shit. I still don’t know & I don’t fucking care. Long story short, the expert started yelling a bunch of things off-cam in French that I didn’t understand, that sounded obviously rude & directed at me. Things got très awkward on set fast & it made me fumble even more & each time I fucked up a take, things got more tense. I don’t remember how I did it eventually but I never stopped smiling for the camera & I fought like someone drowning in the deep end of an Olympic-sized pool of shame to sound charming & smart. I’m pretty sure I had wanted to die but I fought anyway. And when we finally wrapped for the night, I said my drunken apologies to everyone & stuck around, just long enough to neutralise the air of everything weird before I ran back to my room, shut the door & cried. Like a jilted drama queen, I heaved & choked & watched my face melt away in the hotel room mirror into wet wipes & tissue piles of tears & makeup & snot with Britney Spears’ ‘Lucky’, playing in my mind. So hey! I don’t know wines, but I still love shades of this Burgundy colour, especially on leather. Do you?
I swear I’m not trying to wink or look adorable. The sweat got in my eye. But yes, I’m flexing. But only a little. I hope you don’t mind.
Found this half-eaten bag of contraband. I do the groceries myself & I don’t buy this shit anymore because the doctor says my mother is not allowed to have them. She probably smuggled it in earlier today on her unaccompanied trip to IKEA to help me get a bolt that’s missing from the package for the dim sum trolley I bought, but that’s another story. I should’ve known something was fishy but I needed my afternoon nap, so I let her fly solo. From now on, I’m going to have to police the house like the KGB & CIA combined. But meanwhile, I’ll eat it. I mean, I don’t want to. But I will eat all of it. The whole packet, y’know? Just to understand the criminal mind that craves it. Omnomnommm…
New bags & wallets posted for sale. Time to kick back, eat a bowl of rainbows & poop cotton candy clouds. Watching Teen Wolf. Who is your favourite character? Mine is ❤️Stiles❤️, the sidekick. Witty, fiercely loyal & so adorable when he suffers & he suffers all the time because he’s so in love with Lydia who has glorious hair & is so, so clever so I forgive her face. I hate Alison. Scott is pretty & pretty useless. All the other muscles are boring after a while. Hey! I’m so deep, ya? Here I am breaking down all these deep thoughts I have for some teen drama.
I can give you the size of the ring by the US, EU or Japanese standards. It’s not magic. I just google ‘ring size conversion’. I can also offer you the actual dimensions of the ring accurate to one decimal place with the use of my ruler tape. But I don’t have ESP. I cannot converse with spirits & tell you by divination whether the ring will fit you if you don’t know your size & will not or cannot use a ruler. ‘Female’ is not a standard unit of measurement. For there are big girls, little women, Wonderwoman, & there are bimbos. #justsaying
Hey Gorgeous, with the coiffed hair, looking so fine, walking down River Valley Road alone, (just outside Yong An Park, an hour ago?). I’m sorry I howled at you like a rabid wolf. I didn’t mean to startle you. I only meant to say hi. But I had to get my voice working through that lump in my throat & there was that unexpected bump on the road. I’m so sorry I howled. But you don’t know how I nearly fell (off my bike) for you.
The door bell rings, you tumble out of bed & rush to the door shirtless to greet the postman with your bed hair & morning breath & the man laughs an odd laugh & averts your eyes. He doesn’t say why. He taps on the screen on his device to indicate where to sign. He looks down. He looks away. He laughs harder. You assume he’s just being judgemental because you’re still in bed at 2. And then you walk by the mirror in the hall to set the package down on the table & realise the problem with the package. The other package. Tip slip. You’re peeking out the half scrunched-up leg of your shorts. How could you have not felt it? You’re not just dead inside. You are dead waist down. You want to die. The phone rings. You don’t care. You reject the call, run back to bed & scream into the pillow until that warm, prickly sense of shame ebbs from your face. You sit up. You tell yourself it’s OK. You rock out with your cock out & that’s just the kind of guy you are. You tuck it in, put on your brave face & return the call. The day turns itself upside down. Best news ever. The client wants to renew the ad you shot last year. No, they don’t need you to roll out of bed to do it again. They just want to pay you for your lousy name above the dotted line on a document that says you accede to the dissemination of the images blah blah blah. Hell, never mind dissemination, I will accede to be inseminated. Heigh-ho, the derry-oh! This must be what it feels like to win the lottery. I’m glad & immensely grateful to the Universe & @mervchan who got me the job. Maybe now I’ll take a weekend trip to BKK for that cooking class. Oh, never mind the tip slip, Universe. You can have the shaft & both my hairy balls too.