Buddhists Do Scratch Their Heads Too

My weekends are usually spent bumming at home, cuddling with inanimate objects like my pillow (what were you thinking?), flipping through pages and pages of my book of the week(Currently, it's Shantaram. Go check it out. It will soon be a movie starring Johnny Depp), and dealing with pesky mosquitos buzzing around my ears.

Social life is limited to gluttonizing pasta with friends, feasting over a slice of cheesecake with friends, sipping iced chocolate with friends and talking about boys dilemma with friends, in which case, I eat cheesecake, they talk about boys.

Speaking of mosquitos, it reminded me of a classmate's story which was divulged to me a few years ago. That is, if you consider 12 years just a few years. Anyway, 12 years ago, this guy for some reason was talking and laughing out loud when a mosquito inadvertently landed into his palate.

Things happened so abrupt that he had no choice but to quickly grab a glass of cold water and swallow the mosquito altogether. This story imprinted such a strong impression on me mainly because 1.)This guy was a huge crush of mine; and 2.) The story, aside from its apparent disgusting nature, is very original.

My point is, just like any other entries here, is that I have no point. Except to serve as a caveat from a humble gal like me to not ever follow my footsteps - being 26 and social-lifeless unless interacting with flying objects is counted as one. Likewise, to not follow my former crush' footsteps by talking with mouth wide open in front of a mosquito.

Friend: Where are you?
Me: I am at S- - - - -s Skin Care Center undergoing laser hair removal procedure.
Friend: Come here at B- - - - - Hair Salon after. Let's have hair and scalp treatment together.

Now, B- - - - - Hair Salon is located 30 minutes farther from my current location. I don't feel like spending money for a hair treatment today much more drive....
Me: Too expensive there. I am going to have spa later. Come here instead. You can have your hair treatment here at a much cheaper rate.
Friend: I don't trust the stylist there. You come here instead. It's not that expensive here either.

At this point, I stopped responding. I am too lazy to drive another 30 minutes and as you may have guessed, nothing happened from this conversation. We didn't meet up. She wanted that and I wanted this. Girls are crazy.

****
As to Laser Hair Removal, many of my friends have been inquiring. Hence, I have compiled a list of FAQs in case you guys are interested.

1.) So, how does this laser hair removal thing works? Is it painful?
You bet it is. The process is simple. The clinic staff trims your hair and place an electroshock-like machine onto your armpit. She then adjusts the level of voltage needed for that particular session. Every 30 seconds or so, you feel the electric shock creeps through your skin which in turn kills the roots of your hair. That simple. You get electrocuted, your hair dies.

Honestly, the experience is very traumatizing. Everytime I step into the cold and bleak clinic, I feel like a prisoner about to face her execution - electrocution that is. The crime I committed? I have a hairy armpit and am too lazy to pluck or shave regularly. Ah, the price you have to pay for beauty.

2.) Do you think Laser Hair Removal is for me?
If you are the meekly type of girl who screams at the sight of a cockroach and cannot even carry your own luggage from the conveyor belt at  the airport, I really don't care about you but for the skin care clinic staff's sake, be a good girl, stay at home and shave yourself. Don't even try.

I know someone, who has a very low pain threshold, screams and goes stiff and twists her toes like twirl pasta everytime she undergoes the procedure. I thought twisting toes only happens inside the dentist's clinic. I was very wrong.

I heard though there is a newer technology that is painless. You might want to check on that.

3.) How much does this cost?
In my case, roughly $400 for 6 sessions.

4.) Why did you decide to spend the money?
Because a good portion of my free time, I spend it envying the people around me who get expensive gifts from their boyfriends/girlfriends and spend their free time shopping gifts in turn for their significant others.

My brother once bought a handyphone for her girlfriend. Another brother once bought a coach wallet for her girlfriend. Another friend wanted to buy a Kenneth Cole laptop bag for her boyfriend. Everybody is buying something expensive for someone. I, on the other hand, only received a piece of scarf and a bottle of perfume from male friends. Other than that, nothing.

That leaves me what? I have nobody. I have no one to buy something. I am saving a lot of money. I cannot just stand in one corner and cry because nobody cares to give me something, can I? So I decided to love myself, buy myself a gift. There.

4.)That expensive? You should have spent that in more important/meaningful things.
Important things?Just what do you exactly mean by important things? A husband? A boyfriend? Kids? I don't have any of them. The only important thing for me is myself. My dad and mom are both richer than me.  I'm happy spending money so shut your mouth already.

I can forgive if the person is my dad who wears his 12 year old polo-shirt on wedding banquets or my mom who has about 12 strips of hair on her armpits. I understand if their shopping list does not have room for vanity but people who can't stop minding their own business and think I'm wasting my money and tells me I'm stupid just because, I don't have time for you.

5.)I don't think it's worth it. I'd still prefer the traditional shaving/plucking.
Pluck and shave all you want but I don't have much time for that.

I think long-term. Plucking consumes 30 minutes of my time every 2 weeks. Shaving is not an option as it makes me feel itchy.  If I can save one hour (30minutes X 2) every month, that adds up to 12 damn hours saved every year. I could have spent that extra 12 hours working on more meaningful things like reformatting my PC, backing up my files or even blowdrying my hair. Man, I seldom say I'm a genius but I think I am. Mathematics, baby, mathematics!

6.) You're simply stupid for spending that much money for useless things.
That is very subjective. I know someone who upgrades his PC every 2 months. I know someone who changes his handyphone three times a year. I know someone who spent all her savings just to travel (for three months). I know someone who collects original DVDs. I know someone who buys expensive shoes every month.  If people like us are all stupid, then so be it.

As one of my friends once said, I'd rather be a happy fool than a miserable smartass.

Somebody just realized after having gulped down half a cup of strawberry fruitshake that the blogger behind this blog is a doormat. The blogger, while waiting for her fruitshake be done, saw with her two eyes how a fruitshaker girl abused commercialism by putting only five pieces of strawberries in her 16 oz cup. Yet the doormat that the blogger is did not complain a word.

Currently, The blogger's wrath is writhing her chest so tight she couldn't slurp her strawberry plain ice shake properly. The only decent thing she can do is to whine in her blog. Five pieces strawberries in a 16 oz cup? What does that ugly and overweight fruitshaker think of the blogger? A panting black-eye needing ice remedy?

In case you fruitshaker doesn't know, the blogger does not look like a black-eye. She can be constipated. She can be a plant murderer. She can be anything but never a black-eye. You, fruitshaker girl, you look more like a black-eye, an obnoxious black-eye.

The blogger vividly remembers a few weeks ago, she went to the same fruitshake booth and the very nice guy (certainly not this fruitshaker girl) manning the booth put in more than twelve pieces of strawberry in the blogger's shake after she flashed a very sweet smile to him. After the twelfth, the blogger lost count because it is already more than the number of fingers she has.

Now this girl, this fat greedy fruitshaker girl, nobody has any idea what's her problem. If saving more strawberries will make her lose weight or lessen her resemblance to a blackeye, the blogger can forgive her albeit reluctantly. But it doesn't because as of this moment, she still looks a lot like a black-eye.

If one day fruitshaker girl decides to stand in front of the mirror and ask, "Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the greediest of them all?" The blogger can bet all her most treasured things including her handyphone that contains all her narcissistic pictures, The mirror will reply without hesitation, "It's you my dear. It's you."

You fruitshake girl, be thankful that the blogger is a doormat. Keep all your strawberries for yourself, black-eye!

***
So, I was tagged by Marchal with this movie chain meme thing....
1) Total number of films I own on DVD/video:
I don't know. Collection isn't really my type of thing. I bought About a Boy after reading the book.  Also have The Matrix DVD which was a gift from the lovely Jenius. The rest I cannot remember. I usually borrow from friends.

2) The last film I bought:
Catch-22. I haven't watched it yet. Catch-22 is based from a novel by Joseph Heller. I was quite intrigued when I saw there was a movie version so I bought it.

3) The last film I watched:
Star Wars (ROTS)

4) Five films that I watch a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order):
I don't think I can reach five. I usually watch films only once. City of Angels is my fave and that is the only film I remember watching it more than once.

5) Tag five people and have them put this in their journal:
InMyLife, Trompe, Jenius, Indigo, Moonflower

The recent rampant talks about star wars on various blogs is nearly killing me and making me aspire to engage in self-mutiny. The mere sight of it disconcerts me as to whether I should close the window or froth white bubbles first. To be honest, my feeble mind does not by any chance have the intellect to appreciate sci-fi films let alone talk about it. But as they say, if you can't beat them, join them. Join I did. Talk about it I will. This entry will be quite long. Please pardon me.

Last week, a revolting incident took place at work (long story) which prompted me and the rest of my colleagues to watch Star Wars during office hours. Certainly, the film is not my cup of tea. Even before I stepped into the theater, I already prepared myself to potential sleep. My only hope was to have a seatmate whose hobby is not somewhere along the lines of murmuring behind your ears/predicting/doing anything other than watching inside moviehouses.

I was rather appalled that after the film I managed not to drool or grow lacerations from leg-scratching. Maybe the idea that I was watching it with a bunch of colleagues during office hours put extra spice to it. You guys should try it. I mean watching a movie during office hours. It's fun.

To expect that I will say something profound about the movie is like asking the constipated me to poo two times a day. It ain't possible. You might as well ask me to jump off a cliff. With a parachute on of course. I reckon however that ending this entry without having anything to say sounds so insipid. Two hours inside the moviehouse and having nothing to say? God.

Matter of fact, I have three wonderful things to say.

1.) Anakin is Hot.
I really don't care if he turns into darth-vader with that black cloak on. He is hot. I want to be Amidala and that is all that matters.

2.) Amidala has excellent fashion taste. (Especially with her sleeping gowns.)
If every woman goes to sleep with pearl-studded gowns like her, do not be surprised if an issue of overpopulation arises.

3.) I want to ride the big green lizard with Obiwan.
Of course, It will be much cooler if I ride it with the younger and much hotter Anakin. But the truth of the matter is I don't really care whom I'm going to ride. I want real adventure is all. See, I was sports-deprived ever since a child. I used to have this burning desire to engage in various sports as a kid but my cynical mom was reluctant.

"Mommy mommy, I want to go ride a bike."
"No Milktea, they say riding a bike can break your hymen. You will lose your virginity to a bike. No way. Not this time milktea. Not this time." my mom would casually say.

Of course, to a young kid conceding is definitely out of her vocabulary. If I cannot ride a bike, there is always something out there for me. Something.

"Mommy mommy, I want to learn taekwando. Self-defense?"
"No Milktea, any martial arts requires splitting your legs. That could break your hymen. You can't learn taekwando or even ballet. You will lose your virginity to too much splitting. No way. No this time Milktea. No this time."  my mom implored.

At this point I learned that anything that has something to do with splitting or straddling wouldn't work. Could break my hymen. I knew the meaning of compromise. So this.

"Mommy mommy, I want to learn swimming."
"Are you out of your mind dear? You go wear a swimsuit in front of a trainer and you give him the opportunity to stroke your breasts or your butt or your legs! That is impossible. No milktea. No way."

For God's sake, I was less than ten then and I didn't have any breasts and my body consists of almost 35% of baby fats. I could have replied, "At least I am not going to lose my virginity?" but I wasn't ready yet to give up being filial and so I conceded.

After a series of failed attempts, I finally conceded and spent the rest of my childhood and teenage years sulking at home, watching soap, playing the piano and counting the number of pimples I have in my forehead which I learned was quite fun too. Not of course as fun as the idea that you might lose your virginity riding a bike. I would have wanted to learn painting and cooking and baking. But it frightened me to think that should I ask my mom's consent, I am going to add another banned activity to my already long list that I decided ultimately to take back my plans and continued counting my pimples.

That concludes the history of my clumsiness and of why I hope to fly with the green lizard.

Kudos to Star Wars.Go Watch it. During office hours.

PS. Please do not take this entry against my mom. She's great. and will always be. :)

The other night I had a heart-to-heart conversation with a fellow colleague. We talked about how sad it is losing the guy she used to like who already got married and is now a father to many kids and how sad am I losing the guy I used to like who'd rather go swim than talk to me and doesn't even know when my birthday is. (Losing? He was never mine in the first place.)

We talked about life lacking any nice surprise except for the occasional car breakdown or language barrier problem. Basically, we exchanged miseries - love miseries, social miseries, work miseries. And although exchanging miseries isn't something I wish to do everyday of my life, I do recognize the good effect of it - if not catharsis, then at least self-satisfaction knowing that I am not alone.

We then talked about how to detect if a guy possesses the ingredients of a boyfriend/husband material to which I say that apart from the usual car neatness scrutiny and wallet thickness check-up which are all non-sense, I vote for checking the color of his credit card. Just Kidding. I meant check the guy's shoes.

I have this thing for shoes. I used to have a colleague, who other than his good looks and distinct eyes, always reports to work with his shoes freshly shined as shiny as my balding tennis instructor's forehead. Seeing him consistently shod in such neat manner, I arrived to the conclusion that he probably shines his shoes everynight which makes up a very impressive trait. I began imagining him clad in his shorts with his shoes on one hand and a brush on the other faithfully scrubbing his shoes every night. Lovely.

If a guy is diligent enough to shine his shoes every night, I say he could also be diligent enough to help me wash the dishes and do the laundry had I gotten married to such guy. Point is, a guy who wears shiny shoes can be a good husband. Now go check his shoes.

If he has shiny shoes and doesn't make a good partner, email me. Let's talk about it privately.

Sundry:
Many Thanks To BanzaiDescent, who is now an irregular blogger , for sharing a few of his mp3 collections to me. Go Check him out...


A few of my fave comments from previous entries...
Transience says "...i would give my boss a pummeling if it helped..." (I am going to try pummel my boss and will get back to you.)

Finnegan says "If you dislike the mole just cut it off..."  (I want to cut it off if it's not just too painful...)



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Doing a search for people on the web, if for instance you want to run an online background check on a new babysitter or nanny, can be made easier by visiting a dedicated people search rather than just going online and using any normal search engine to do a background check on someone.

Dear Boss,

I am bailing out. It doesn't need a rocket scientist to figure that all the signs I am going through are attributed to my utter distaste for my job.

Intuition tells me that the desire to put a wrench on my throbbing head, the endless yawning and stretching at my desk in spite of the regular consumption of caffeine-induced beverage, the constant doodling of the name of the months by which September is my favorite, the mysterious murder of my bamboo plant, the sudden penchant for going to the  bathroom every fifteen minutes make up all dreary signs. These are all the missing pieces in the puzzle. There is no defying that. I am leaving you all the work I am going to left behind including the daily reading of your useless emails. Go. Read all the emails I will be leaving in my inbox you have written yourself.

Should I choose to stay longer, the guarantee of my sanity be kept intact will not be included in the job contract. As early as now, let me warn you that there is already a tad trace of insanity such that my dreams day and night and sometime in between range from wanting a baby to wanting to kill myself. Funny. why would I want to bring someone to life when I want to end mine? Please do not worry. I will sort this out if you sort yours first.

Thank you for all the heartaches you caused me.

Sincerely,
Milktea