Buddhists Do Scratch Their Heads Too

What would you do if you need to use the dryer but find it filled with your brother's roommate's stuff that he left overnight and because he is not as hot as Keanu Reeves the last thing you want is tinkering with his undergarments?

I will post my answer in the first comment.

Fast cars drive me nuts - Not in the  "man, you are so cool I think I want to marry you." sort of nuts, more like "if you want to kill yourself, don't drag me in man!!! I don't want to die yet. " sort of  nuts. There is a tad bit difference there if you know what I mean.

I love adventure don't get me wrong. I enjoy the thrill of pushing myself to the limits and throwing myself to delirium. In fact during my recent Disneyland trip - not that I am trying to prove anything here - I obliged my traveling partner to go ride that tower of terror ride with me.  (Tower of Terror: an extremely fast elevator ride that bounces up and down for god knows how many times and how many floors per second.)

It was, let's see.... a fast ride. That's pretty much the only term I can think of right now. ultra-fast. uber fast. throat-soring fast. heart-twisting fast.  So fast I can't remember anything other than the few precious seconds I felt my heart disconnected from my body like someone just took it away and tossed it up in the air. The surge of adrenalin was exhilarating. One minute you almost drop your heart, the next minute you're bouncing up to catch it back. It's a lot like going back to being a kid playing hide-and-seek with your friends. I love adventures.

Just Not with Fastcars. No No No. I only like rides with safety belts.


Part of my vacation itinerary is to stay at my brother's apartment located at some suburban area of New Jersey. I am loving it... Almost. Except that, there's too much space in suburban areas. When you have too much space, not only you get to see herds of deer the moment you step out of your house (which I like), not only you get to smell a lot of green grass and fresh air (which makes me feel like I'm an authentic herbivore now), not only you can jog anytime of the day without having to bump at anyone(don't you think this life is almost perfect?), you also get to ride in a lot of fast cars (Not this! Uh-oh!).

Here, 80 miles per hour is nearly the minimum and if you don't drive 80, you don't belong to the cool crowd. I am fine with 80 miles per hour. Really. If the car in front of you is more than 5 miles away, pump it to 100 I don't mind. Hey, I didn't go ride the tower of terror for nothing. But If you are running 80 miles per hour one mile before turning at the corner, you're just as good as telling your passengers, "hey people, just hang on for a seconds. I want you all to pull your hearts out and hold it tightly. Don't lose it because we are going to a hell in a minute."   *zzzzzwiiiiiinnnng" [insert a more appropriate car sound effect].

Gahd!! that friend is crazy and perhaps self-destructive. I'm just glad I am safe now.

You must be thinking "Oh milktea, you are over reacting. What's the big deal about 80? That is so turtle-ish and boring." There's a relativity issue here as you shall see. If you grow up in a city where people holler at each other every morning while they move fruit crates and the traffic is so heavy that you would prefer to ride a bike and that the building structures stand centimeters apart and I am assuming by now after all the explanation done you can imagine how slow cars run crawl back in my hometown, you should understand why 80  to me is like pointing a gun at my temple.

If anything, it surely turned the non-believer in me to become religious. I realized I have the secret talent to formulate prayers asking the almighty god to save my sinful soul but can you blame me? Can you blame me if after that incident when I nearly switched face with the front seat that I suddenly begin to invent my own prayers?

I love disneyland. That's true. But I hate fast cars. Serious.

Last night, I dreamed that a bird pooped on my head. The experience was so vivid I felt a chunk of poop softly landed on me, which in turn caused my hair to slightly dishevel. It was scary as Katrina. To hell with birds being free. Being free must come with responsibility.

This brought me back to a friend's monumental encounter. In fact, it is so monumental it deserves a blog entry on its own; She was gaily strolling with a friend at Noriega street years ago. They were planning to buy a cup of green tea ice cream when out of a sudden, something sticky and chunky as she recalled it rested on her hair. Needless to say, some bird chose her hair to be its (instant) dump of the day. If this were some sort of raffle game, she would have been rich by now. Too bad it wasn't.

I woke up, wiped my sweat and heaved a sigh of relief.

Lesson #1: I will only buy green tea ice cream when I am inside a supermarket.
Lesson #2: Birds abuse their freedom. They should be put to jail.  (Jailbirds? hah!)

As much as I'd like to say that my current reading obsession is transforming me to a cultured lady, I can't. For one, there's not much culture found in my books - unless you consider the title "Java 2: Certification Guide" culture-enriching(?). For another, I am never cultured to start with.

Certainly, I do enjoy watching an occasional musical or dining out at a posh restaurant or playing my favorite sonata (I do play the piano can you believe it?) but ninety-nine percent of my time, my definition of bliss is grossly simply sleeping inside an airconditioned room after pigging out 2 slices of cheesecake, one scoop of green tea ice cream and a large bag of sun multigrain chips. That's not to say that I am not on diet. I am just, you know, living life at its fullest.

Anyway, my point is sometimes people may project a certain aura that is just a tiny speck of their entirety. Just because I smile at you does not mean I like you. Just because a person goes to church every sunday does not mean he is automatically a good person. The same way, just because a person once stole the food on your lunchbox does not mean he is bad. This world is a multi-dimensional thing. You can't box something to a specific name or type just by looking at its outer layer.

So, take your time. It won't hurt to read the first few chapters of a book other than its cover before jumping to any conclusion... Just a thought.

If you don't have a boss to deal with everyday, life becomes bleak. Suddenly, every word you used to describe your life can now be attached with free  - stress-free, worry-free, frustration-free, dumbboss-free, responsibility-free... Bliss! But to be honest, my free collection has reached to an extent that I sometimes wished things wouldn't be as free; That someone would give me a hard time once in a while and mess up with my free-filled life. People just don't get contented, do they?

That does not mean however that life is perfect for me because with being bossless comes being moneyless too. (ha! ha! ha!).  I am happy with my current situation though. I've been, if you care to know, focusing on more domesticated stuff lately. A typical day consist of waking up, doing the laundry, preparing food, cooking and washing the dishes. I know I have yet to learn scrubbing the toilet but someday I will and mark my word, someday I can make anyone's toilet sparkling clean in a matter of minutes. That is my new goal as I am now a quasi-housewife. For your information.

Speaking of housewife, here's my thought: I used to think being a housewife is a brainless job. "Used-to" with a past tense.

My first day alone in the kitchen, I spilled a good jar of watermelon shake that I spent blood and tears preparing myself. I cannot describe how heartbroken I was to see my first product go down the drain in a wink of an eye. It's just as painful as going through unrequited love. You work so hard and give up things trying to win the heart of the person you love only to end up nothing in return.

In my case, I worked a good deal of an hour chopping and blending and even sacrificed updating my blog and my workout to come up with my watermelon shake and what did I get? Nothing. No Love. No Shake. Just a bunch of cutleries to wash and splatterings to wipe, thank you.

Now everytime I pass by the fruit aisle of the supermarket, I feel a thump-thump-thump in my heart at the sight of watermelons. It feels like someone has been stabbing my heart incessantly. I don't know if it's because watermelon reminds me of my past unrequited love experience or is it because it reminds me of my failure to making fruitshakes or is it just because I don't have money now. 

Can you guess why?