Buddhists Do Scratch Their Heads Too

Spending a life in the dark can make a person do crazy things. Such as drinking more than 10 shots of alcohol in the middle of the night along with a whiff of hot suffocating air and a silhouette of your wobbly shadow casted by the flickering lights. Not to say that drinking can help one find the the light at the end of the tunnel. Certainly it won't. But drinking, ungodly as it is, can make one forget that she's in fact trapped in the dark.

See, it's all about taking the big leap (or so I thought). I took the big leap of downing an exorbitant amount of alcohol, naturally I suffered quite a big fall too. It's like seeing an innocent puppy drown himself to a pool of mud and watch him struggle helplessly. And of course, learn his lessons. Ten shots (plus plus!) of alcohol is more than enough to kill a puppy or even me for that matter. I could have just lighted a fire on my liver instead and saved myself from vomiting stuff through my nose.

So, there were quite a number of gross things happened in a span of one night. Apart from the bruise I am bearing right now from dropping myself down on a marbled floor, I slept on a bed filled of puke, I ran out of breath, I drooled liquor, I talked incessantly and blurted out words that are not supposed to be said and I ended my speech by telling my mom I want to kill myself but life is beautiful.. life is beautiful... life is beautiful... life is beautiful.... How many times I said those I can't remember. A few giggles and an apology came after. The next day, I found myself bed-ridden the entire day. And a few days after, I am googling that effects of too much alcohol. I could have really died.

Drinking is an art but I don't think I am artist enough to drink.

I realized, after spending a two hour lunch with my two brothers and a friend today, that any sports talk is equivalent to greek. In fact I think there's a bigger chance I'd learn greek than NBA.

Nothing in their conversation seemed to decode effectively in my mind. Everything just came in 1s and 0s. Just like our canary whose only skill is to respond you with high-pitched chirps when you attempt to communicate with it, I chose to bury myself with salmon sashimi while the boys engage themselves with more NBA talks.

Not to say I am a canary. But today, I think I am. A canary who eats salmon sashimi and mango crepe topped with vanilla ice cream.

If you consider scrambling eggs a no brainer, then you will probably take finding someone to identify you as a lesbian/heartbreaker much easier. It's not as easy as flipping your remote control though. Still, easy enough.

Contrary to popular belief, to be misconstrued as a lesbian is not half as hard as scrambling an egg. It just requires a certain amount of snobbishness and apathy from your side and a certain level of bitterness from his side and voila, a perfect recipe to wreaking havoc. Really it's simple. Just ignore the person when he tries to strike up a conversation and tell him you're busy. The next thing you know, a rumor about you breaking someone's heart for not showing interest therefore making you a lesbian is spreading all over like toads.

It goes without saying that bitterness, unlike the scarce saccharide, is everywhere. Just because I am not showing interest I am a lesbian. How come he never thought it differently like maybe it's his lack of wits that makes me indifferent? Bitter! Maybe I should  have formed a logic of my own too that anybody who stumbled upon my blog and failed to finish reading an entry is illiterate. I could make better sense than this toad. If anything, I didn't know I'm capable of breaking some toad's heart.  Dammit.

By the way, thanks to gemini6ice for specially sending a butt song mp3 to me in reference to my butt post 3 weeks ago. Thanks gemini. :)

Monday: I was side-mirrorless. (And cashless.)

Tuesday: I went to the gym socks-less. Ya ya, I know it's gross. I forgot it ok? It wasn't intentional. Besides, nobody will care to check my feet. I didn't want to miss another day after 6 days of absence.

Wednesday: I had three riceless meals. But I ate cookies, which in effect, defeated the diet purpose. Even so, riceless.

Thursday: I reported to work shirtless. Just kidding. I kind of ran out of less to write. So I invented something to complete the picture. How about I went to work cologne-less?

Friday: ... It's not yet friday. Guess what's going to be less on Friday?

Yesterday, I woke up to find my car side-mirrorless.

I didn't know that one can lose a mirror or two by just sleeping. I don't question missing cats or missing undergarments. They have a life of their own.

But missing side-mirrors? It's equivalent to asking me to walk around butt-naked and blindfolded.

Last night, I had the rarity of chance to a delightful dream. I dreamt of a gorgeous stranger smiling and waving at me as if we have known each other ever since popeye fell in love with Olive. The dream was so pleasant I could die with a smile plastered on my face.

This entry is not about the glorious dream I had but of how this what-seemed-to-be a perfect night was duly obliterated by some two omnipresent creatures in my life namely my brother and my dad's pregnant doggy. As it is, my sweet dream was interrupted when my brother barged into the room grunting about the hapless pregnant doggy who was about to give birth.

Toy dogs can be anything but never incapacitated. I say never underestimate the power of these little-lings despite their meek exterior. Because there are marvelous things that toy dogs can do that neither you or I or any marvel superhero can and that includes but certainly not limited to - walking around the house with a puppy (minus the head) dangling out your butt.

Apparently, it is the pernicious kind of birth where the puppy's head didn't come out first. Hence the dangling body. The house people, in their desperate effort to save the puppy, decided to interfere by playing a pseudo tug-of-war game with the mother's trunk and the puppy's butt as the rope ends.

There's no fight. Toy dogs are far greater than marvel super heroes. Even spiderman can't get himself climb and spew out web simultaneous to carrying something at his butt. Let alone have two people make him the rope of a tug-of-war. Hands down to our doggy, she didn't only broke my dreams, she also gave new meaning to what a genuine marvel superhero is suppose to be.