Frayed Nerves

I’ve been pretty good, I’d say. I’ve not written a rubbish post since May. Of course, this also means I’ve only been blogging like, once a month, proving once and for all that writing would’ve been a horrible career option for me.

It’s been ages since I wrote random rubbish, so here we go!

A few weeks back, we had our Occupational Diseases’ cycle. The guy from The Making Out Couple was there. If you don’t know this, I hate him. He’s an annoying apple polisher who makes out with his girlfriend pretty much any time the teacher is not looking. Bastard. This time around, he was sans girlfriend and looked really skinny.The vampire-loving ones in my group decided that he looked like Edward Cullen, making him cute (I still can’t remember whether that’s the actor’s name or the fictional character’s, so you can tell that was two fucks I didn’t care about.)

To top it off, he was fucking the class up. I wasn’t over the moon or anything, but it certainly felt better to see the teacher get exasperated with him rather than call him brilliant and all that other junk. I know, I know. I’m SUCH a petty bitch and all that. Let’s continue.

Turns out, this slump lasted all of two days. He was back on form after the weekend and aced the class like he’s been doing since he could babble coherently or something. You must be wondering why I despised some guy I’ve never even spoken to. Trust me, I was wondering the same. Seriously, what was it about this guy that made me want to kick him in the shin?

I found my answer on the last day. Turns out, he wants to be a neurosurgeon. I have nothing against neurosurgery, just the surgeons. They all seem to be cocky bastards who look down upon others. This awful personality is not something that comes instantly once they become neurosurgeons; it’s something that takes form and develops from med school just so they’re the right degree of syphilitic cunt by the time they’re done specialising.

I’m not usually this big on stereotypes, especially when it’s merely an observation made by me and my roommate about a few people we know. I’m probably wrong. I’m sure there are some nice ones out…oh, look! Is that a zebronkey trotting down the street?

Boys and Eyes

This blog is moving so slowly, snails want to give it a ride. I’ve been wanting to post stuff for a while, but nothing good has come to mind. Until now, when I’m on sick leave and probably experiencing mild intoxication.

For reasons unknown, I’ve been ogling guys like a lusty wench (far more socially acceptable than a crazy wench.) Most of my lusting takes place sat in front of my laptop, which makes me kinda loser-ish but whatever. My latest loin-crush is thanks to @nosweetnothings on Twitter, who mentioned a player from the French rugby team during the Rugby World Cup finals. Curious to see her specimen of choice, I Googled the team and came across a very lovely calendar called Dieux du Stade (Gods of the Stadium) instead. This is where I found him:

He is Thomas Combezou, the something for Montpellier Hérault Rugby Club. Okay, okay I’m not that shallow. He plays centre. From my “research” I’ve gathered that his job is mainly to tackle anyone who has the ball. What else could I come up with after seeing practically every photo of him playing with his face in somebody’s ribs?

Me lusting over him and making it known to the whole world even before blogging about it has resulted in two things: bacterial conjunctivitis and the catty side in guys. Well, the latter has always been there, but Combezou is the one that helped me get some clarity on the matter.

First, let’s talk about the conjunctivitis. I didn’t want to admit it at first, but I think prolonged staring at hot/cute guys results in me getting some sort of grotesque eye issue. You may think I’m being silly, but when it has happened three times, people stop laughing.

1. In November 2007, I discovered the awesomeness that is Gerard Butler in the movie “300.” He was big, ripped, in minimal clothing and killing other men violently. My knees were liquid. I also had a subconjunctival hemorrhage that took 2 weeks to get better.

2. In January 2009, I watched Seungri’s music video for “Strong Baby.” It’s not much, if I want to be honest about it, but something about him and that slight hint of developing rectus abdominis made me like him. Bam! Kerato-conjunctivitis for 3 weeks, followed by another subconjunctival hemorrhage. That was a total of FIVE weeks with a shitty looking eye.

3. November 2011 (are you seeing a pattern here? I am.) I am blessed with the knowledge that a sculpture like Thomas Combezou exists. After just a week of gazing upon his (insert any word that describes Adonis-like perfection) I have bacterial conjunctivitis. My eyes are spewing colonies and their by-products, and I’m praying that it will be gone in a few days.

Now, about boys being catty.

I’ve gone on about how crazy and ridiculous women can be sometimes, but I’ve never really touched on the topic of male behaviour. I have a fairly decent number of guy friends, and they’re all lovely chaps. Some girls even want to date them. *snigger*

These guys are also the ones who call us girls petty and jealous when they point out an attractive woman and we don’t agree with them. This is their classic line:

“you girls can never admit that another girl is beautiful, there’s always some justification. Look at us guys; if another man is handsome, we have no problem admitting it.”


Guys can only say that another man is attractive when THEY are the ones pointing it out. If us girls point a handsome or physically attractive man out, these are the most likely responses:



“small penis”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!!”

Usually, these words further prove to me that my eye-candy is indeed hot and bonk-worthy. I heard all of the above when I showed my guy friends that picture. Perfect.

Not only that, it shows that men and women aren’t very different when it comes to being envious. Women are capable of looking at other females and thinking that they’re attractive too, just not the ones you fellas point out.

Oh, my snail’s here. I’ll see you around!

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

It’s been a while since I had a proper crush. By proper crush, I mean I like the guy but I don’t want to pounce him. I think the last time that happened, I was still wearing a school uniform.


When I liked a guy in school, I went through a period of self-loathing. I have no idea why, but I was convinced that liking a guy whilst in school was a bad idea. In my head, liking boys meant that I was neglecting my studies and forgetting my priorities. I used to beat myself up a lot about it. I would do my best to try and forget the object of my affections. Stupid, I know. Who was I to go against raging hormones? It didn’t stop me from trying, though.

Most of you may know this, but to those who don’t, I was far from attractive in school. My plan was to get by with my brains and wit. Not my best plan, but that’s another story. Back to not being attractive. Glasses, braces, overweight and some inexplicable belief that I’d never find jeans that could fit me made me hide behind cargo pants, baggy t-shirts and boots. Till today, my cousin will never let me forget that I bought men’s shoes once. To 16-year old me, my (lack of) style made perfect sense. My personality and my taste in music were married. People were supposed to “get” me by knowing what sort of music I listened to. I was into bands like The Smashing Pumpkins, Bush and Garbage. The fact that rock chicks did not dress up like Gavin Rossdale or even Kurt Cobain totally escaped me. Don’t ask me how I didn’t notice that Shirley Manson wore short dresses and looked totally hot while singing “Only Happy When It Rains.” It also didn’t occur to me that the guys I liked were at that age where they might be confused about their sexuality and if they had any sort of attraction to a girl who looked like she could skin a moose in 2 minutes, this could leave some pretty bad scars.

The guy I liked studied at the school my mom worked in. My mom worked in a library and with the sort of curriculum the students had, trips to the library were frequent. Back then, there was no Friendster, Facebook or broadband internet and stalking was done physically. So I’d miss school and follow my mom to work to study in that library. I missed a total of 25 days of school in an academic year, but my grades were fucking awesome. How did that work out? I kept telling myself that if I studied, God would reward me with a glimpse of my crush. Lame, I know. I never said I wasn’t.


One gorgeous afternoon, while I was berating myself for liking someone, my friend Farina stopped me and said, “Being in love is nice, you idiot. Why can’t you just enjoy the feeling?” I’m pretty sure my answer was, “but but but..” and nothing more, but it got me thinking. Why CAN’T I enjoy it? Liking a person makes me all warm and happy inside, and being happy is good, right? Why was I denying myself happiness? Since then, I stopped getting on my case about liking a guy. Nowadays, I only stop short of throwing glitter at people on the streets and farting rainbows when I like someone.

On the fashion front, I discovered plus-size clothes that are stylish and feminine. Not only that, I’ve learned that dressing up like I’m part of the Vans Warped Tour ain’t gonna get me any sugar, if you get what I mean. This doesn’t mean I’ve sacrificed any part of my identity by changing the way I dress up. I just know how to look (somewhat) appealing now and on a good day when I think I may see the object of my affection, I even make an effort. You know, with makeup, earrings and high heels.

You’d think that with the avalanche of social networking sites and the awesome Internet speed here in Moscow, I wouldn’t even have to leave my room to check out what been going on with the apple of my eye. Fat chance. I have to like the one guy who only has an account on a Russian site and rarely does anything there. On the bright side, my class attendance has never been this good. I keep going to class with hopes I’ll see him at the bus stop in the morning, or maybe we’ll be in the same hospital. To make things even better, I still maintain the belief that if I study, God will let me catch a glimpse of him, so my work isn’t suffering, either.

Clearly, I’m much better at this crush thing now. 🙂

The Reason I Will Die Alone With 28 Dogs Waiting to Devour Me

I’m not trying to be pessimistic or anything. I’m quite convinced that if I made a conscious effort, I could get laid. The problem is, a conscious effort is too much work.

I wasn’t really planning to dedicate a whole post to this topic, because we both know it deserves a three-volume book, but this is funny and I really owe Cheryl a post. After all, the woman is nice enough to visit everyday. 🙂

Here’s the thing.

I was travelling from Kuala Lumpur to Moscow last week, with a 5-hour stopover at Dubai International Airport. Seeing that I didn’t get much sleep on the way there, as soon as I disembarked the plane, I went to my usual spot where not many people sit, turned my laptop bag into a makeshift pillow and knocked out. Glorious, glorious sleep…

After about three hours, I woke up realizing that due to being so tired, I had slept with my mouth WIDE open. Eyes still closed, I was silently cursing at my utter lame-ness. I should have kept my eyes closed. I opened them to find a very attractive guy sitting next to me. Thankfully, we were a chair apart, but my face was towards him and I did not know how long he had been sitting there. For all I know, I had been showing him my wisdom teeth for the past hour. To any other person, it would have looked something like this:

A Non-artist's impression

Once I had attempted to gracefully sit in the chair and revive my almost dead right arm, I noticed that the cutie was working on a presentation about Turner’s Syndrome. Oh dear Lord, don’t tell me he’s smart, too?! I couldn’t even PRETEND  to be clever, all I had was my diary and a novel called “Llama Parlour”. Thankfully, my misery and mental self-abuse was halted by him getting up to board his flight to Dusseldorf.

Why couldn’t I be the kind of chick whose blouse opens up to reveal a super sexy bra as she sleeps, instead of ME?

The Fine Wine List

I like men. That may be putting it mildly, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I like many different sorts of men, but my absolute favourite group is the one that consists of awkward, gangly young dudes who look more and more like manly men ( as the K-Pop Addict would put it, Cervix Punchers) as time passes. These men are the ones who make the fine wine list.

Truthfully, there are a number of guys who make the list (mainly because I’m not particularly fussy), but although compiling names and looking for “Before” and “Now” pictures was a great break time activity, once my exams were over the thrill of the search was gone and I got lazy. So, what could have easily been a drool-worthy list of ten to fifteen gorgeous creations is now a lip-licking list of four. I know, I know. Even I don’t like myself for being such a lazy twat.

Usually, I’d gush over these fellas and give a detailed explanation as to why I’ve picked them, but I think the pictures will do enough justice. Here we go!

1. Gerard Butler

Butler during his Phantom singing days

Butler during his Phantom singing days

Look what a few years and major working out can do:

The cause of racing hearts and busted eye capillaries

The cause of racing hearts and busted eye capillaries

2. Daniel Henney

Okay, not many people know him but thanks to his “fine wine” gene, he’s getting noticed more. Really, I wouldn’t ever give this a second glance:

Even the happy trail is doing nothing for me

Even the happy trail is doing nothing for me

This chap (thankfully) has realized that less is more and over time has stopped trying too hard, resulting in this:

Only an artist like God can create such luscious lips...

Only an artist like God can create such luscious lips...

3. Ryan Reynolds

We all know him from his Van Wilder and Two Guys and a Girl (sitcom, not porn) antics. Sure, he was always getting the girls and was portrayed as the dude who always landed on his feet, but not because of his looks. No, no…it was his ability to churn out all those lines without looking like a giant corn cob. I mean, if this guy came up to you and didn’t say a word, what would you do?

Add a couple of zits and you'll have your average high school geek

Add a couple of zits and you'll have your average high school geek

But if THIS man looked at you from a across a room, don’t you think you’d sweat out about 47% of your bodily fluids? I know I’d be admitted for severe dehydration…

A testament to the perks of growing older

A testament to the perks of growing older

4. Jay Sean

OKAY. I admit, he’s the whole reason this list business came about. I wanted an excuse to put his picture up on my blog, since he’s become the latest victim of my fan-girling habit. Some (i.e. anyone who’s known him since ‘Eyes On You’ was released in 2003) may consider me extremely outdated. In my defense, he used to look like this:

Can you say, "Wannabe"?

Can you say, "Wannabe"?

The hair, the pose….everything screamed “Schoolboy!”. And he was in his early 20’s. He was cute, and that was all. If anyone remembers his video for the song ‘Stolen’, they’d probably remember Bipasha Basu looking like a paedophile with him as her date. If he’d looked like this back then….well, this post wouldn’t exist. Behold:

He makes me misspell "H-A-W-T"

He makes me misspell "H-A-W-T"

And there you have it, a glimpse of the Fine Wine List. I really do wish I had the focus to do right by the men who deserve to be up here and aren’t, but it’s not my fault my exams are done with and I have no reason to procrastinate.