Permalink 09:16:48 am, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 688 words   English (US)

Life... and the onslaught of male corsets...

Jeans - the bane of my existence. I never liked them for what they are: fashion items from the fascist cold-war era. Who ever made them popular is both crafty and worthy of at least one blunt bullet. I don't think anyone would naturally want to wear something skin-tight, constricting and limit almost all possible movement. It further confirms my ghastly and unnatural suspicions: humanity thrives on suffering. The person that came up with the jeans idea must be one sick puppy. A great genius, perhaps of my calibre, would suggest lycra as a more desirable substitute. Comfort, class, and down to earth honesty - the real garment of the future.

Anyway, I digress.

Unfortunately mother nature has cursed me with an unnecessary asset: a set of child-bearing hips. Who in their right mind would want a size 30 waist to be mated to a set of mammoth sized buttocks and thighs? Barbie may have had the same generous proportions, but she also had her entire wardrobe tailor made. I don't think I'll really ever need to use my child-bearing hips anyway, I am not sure if I even like kids; summations of which could be outlined in another article.

Besides, the ergonomic design of such hips are quite incompatible with jeans. Every time I try a pair on, it is like squeezing into a bum-bra three sizes too small. What make the experience even more infuriating is the fact that once I've found a pair that would fit my waist, my buttocks and thighs would feel as if they were been molested by an Amazon anaconda. Should I on the other hand find a pair that would miraculously fit my more generous pelvic proportions, I get the leers and stares from young children, essentially screaming, "Wow mummy look, a marsupial shopping for jeans...".

Incidentally, one should never purchase a pair of jeans without passing the "Does my buttocks look great in these pair of jeans" test. This is a crucial test where the fate of the humankind hangs in a delicate precarious balance. Garment too loose and I mind as well wear nappies for the sake of sanitising convenience. Garment too tight and it would be more comfortable to tattoo a large rainbow across my forehead. Given that I did not possess an unbiased source of opinion in close proximity, ie. girlfriend or an unfortunate family member, this test was not able to be completed. In effect - the rest of humanity may now have to pick up my procreating duties for me.

Oh, it is a day for self-mourning indeed.

On the quest goes. I am sure the search for the holy grail was not as arduous as this. The efforts of the Crusades could hardly compare to what I had to endure. I visited every single mall. Every single mens' wear store. Just Jeans. Levis. Hallensteins. Ballentines. Sergios. Hayden's menswears. Glassons... ok, perhaps not. But I was desperate. Desperate individuals in the past have been driven to do extraordinary things. I was not far off from being extraordinarily mad.

The unfathomable frustration can best be summed up by a Levis shop assistant: "You know... it isn't uncommon for guys to wear girls jeans...". Good one buster, a way to sell jeans. I am seventy-three percent masculine as per the gender identity test at . Not less than fifty, or whatever vicious rumours may tell you. I voiced my utter discontent by promptly leaving the store wearing my disgruntled and violated demeanor.

At the end of my long intrepid journey, I settled on a pair of Levis 527s'. They are a pair of bootcut hipsters which avoids the issue of my mutant-like diminutive waist aperture. They also have the stone-washed texture in the front which could add a few more points to the masculinity score, though I suspect the hipster cut may have washed-out this intended effect.

Never less. I now own a pair of jeans, which is reason enough for a grand and pompous celebration. Now I'll just need to figure out how I can walk in them properly.



Permalink 11:59:48 am, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 142 words   English (NZ)

Life... and the birth of new year resolutions...

1. Cease the incessent auditory insults by the likes of sad-ass FM.

2. Will indulge more in lyrical melodies of AC/DC, Metallica and Guns and Roses.

3. Get off my fat rear-end, go running & cycling instead of creating lame but novel excuses to do otherwise.

4. Get off my fat rear-end and go to the gym instead of creating even more lame but novel excuses.

5. Stop subscribing to the notion that lame & futile attempts at exercising will make myself look younger and more virile.

6. Will read more informative and philosophical texts so I may emerge from the dark abyss of middle life crisis.

7. Stop admiring Porsche as the greatest car in the world - it will deepen the dark abyss.

8. Continue to worship the romantic history of English literature, but wake up and realise modern British humour is blatantly simple-minded and absolutely terrible.



Permalink 12:01:48 pm, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 412 words   English (NZ)

Life... and pimples: the antithesis of aging...

There is a pimple on my face.

I am twenty-eight, and a pimple has erupted to life like a maturing urban legend - all except this isn't an urban legend. This is real, surreal and uncanny. I can almost be angry, if I am not bottling it up inside like a two litre bottle of coke, all shaken up.

Why does this happen to me? Even once I have reached the very mature age of twenty-eight? Surely such dermatological malignancies defy the laws of medical science and quantum physics? I was certain that such occurrences were supposed to cease completely a decade ago. I should be free from the devilish clutches of red, pus-filled complexion complexities. I should be free to roam the confectionery and potato chip aisles without a single thought of the herpetic-like facial eruptions. Gorging on mountainous piles of cholesterol bricks should come without a single skin pore rhetoric. I thought I was just supposed to be an old geriatric doosh bag. Life isn't supposed to give me the worse of both worlds, is it?

Perhaps once I roll over the hill of thirty I will be rid of complications such as this. It is only two years away, I think I can wait that long... maybe. What would someone of my age give to have a life without giving birth to such harrowing herpetic horrors? A Datsun? Toyota? Astin Martin? What is left of my masculine disposition perhaps? Though I will be more glad to trade the generous pad of insulation I have around my hips. I could be pregnant. I'll trade that.

Someone once said the path of least resistance in life could either be faith or despair. I think the latter may apply to me right at this moment. I don't think there is anything I can do to fend off the cosmetically impossible. My DNA is flawed with a hideous abnormality. My job has doomed me to grotesque facial asymmetry. The nocturnal magical midget gnomes have littered my face with their pimple growing pixie dust. The fate of my face is sealed - the depression will continue.

The dermatological tyrant has won. I must come to accept it... after I have squeezed and strangled it until it has begged for mercy. Should the white flag not rise, then the ensuing miniature explosion will serve its cathartic purpose enough. I would have at least won a small battle and retained a small portion of my dignity.



Permalink 12:03:42 pm, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 365 words   English (NZ)

Life... and the joys of aging...

29/12/06 @ 09:16:48 am by dr.bill (dr.bill, level:10)
Categories: Random Verbosities...

There is a gargantuan fissure on my forehead - cruel fate has placed it for all to see. If it is any bigger it would form a malevolent smile and mouth the words "you turn twenty-eight today". A normal person would say it is just a wrinkle, and Michael Jackson's hard white mica skin texture is just an unfortunate acquired albino disease.

I stand in front of the mirror at Hallensteines holding a ghastly fluorescent green top, debating if it will accentuate my youth or my Yoda-like maturity. I decide it was neither. Instead, what it would really accentuate is my own psychotic semantic attachments to aging. If I stare at the shirt hard enough I can see it laughing at me - I think psychiatrists call it Schizophrenia. If I convinced myself that buying the shirt would be a good idea, I fear the shirt would not be the only one that laughs - my psychiatrist and many of their colleagues would no doubt also join in.

I now officially hate shopping.

I think I'd rather be morbidly obese while retaining my youthful good looks, it will certainly be better than having an acceptable BMI while putting a deposit on my walking frame. At least the few more pounds can be expedited in numerous ways: lipo suction, stomach stapling, psychological conditioning and hypnotism to name just a few. To fight the ravages of aging? There only appears to be make-up and Womens' Weekly Magazines, both of which I have developed a deadly allergy to. The war has been lost even before it was conceived.

The solution? Perhaps I can just hang out with people who look older than me. This is easy, some overtime work in the rest home would suffice nicely. Or alternatively I can just come to accept that aging, like breathing air and acquired albino diseases, is a natural part of living a healthy few decades.

There appears to be a rest home position available in Christchurch for people who would like to join me on my quest for lost youth... I would welcome you all on my long intrepid journey.



Permalink 09:16:48 am, Categories: Random Verbosities..., 237 words   English (US)

Life... and the unwavering preoccupation with lips and chocolate...

She had chocolate on her upper lip - the part where it lined up neatly with the left edge of her nose and easily hid whenever she pronounced any syllable with a 'm'. It appeared to have been there for many years, unassuming and unobtrusive to the conversation. It had only been there for the last ten minutes, all from the first moment the warm glazed pottery met her lips.

She talked with a smile from her heart and with an untainted vigor from her eyes. Her hands moving in unison, orchestrating it all into one synergistic voice. She does not appear to know it.

I watched on, though discreetly so as not to stare and make obvious of the new flavoured lip gloss she has applied. My mouth on autopilot, making the required responses to keep the conversation going. She does not appear to know this either.

I felt selfish, and amused at my own sefishness. She is a doctor, probably will be a paediatrician. She will be a good paediatrician. I should probably inform the future paediatrician that she has some chocolate on her lips.

My conscience asked me to point to the opposite side of the lip, where it is prestine. She widened her eyes in disbelief and wiped not only that side, but also the other side... plus the entire lower lip with both of her hands.

It remained untouched, unsmeared and unaged.

Permalink 09:16:48 am, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 57 words   English (US)

Life... and the absence of narrative brain juice...

Ok guys. My well of inspiration has run dry. Just photos today.

Diana and Jiho, boogying it down at kareoke...

Boogying on down with the Macarena at Christchurch Idol kareoke. We got 100% for Smells Like Teen Spirit. Ji Ho, the guy on the right, is going to be a dentist in a few years - I think I will start flossing now.

Jonathan and diana

Clinton, reviewing the anatomy of all womenkind...

Clinton and Andrew... getting close for comfort...

Mmm... No comment there...


Permalink 12:05:57 pm, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 264 words   English (NZ)

Life... and memoirs of a sloth...

The water envelopes me like a cozy atmosphere of fur. It is a hug long overdue. My eyes are closed. I am at my happy place. Sounds of screaming children are distant, but they do not reach me. Drops of rain stream towards my face like kamikaze missiles, determined to flush me out of serenity - yet I do not feel them. I lie still, arms floating. I could be dead, but this felt multitudes better.

I feel safe.
Healed. The right medial epichondritis I sustained from air hockey is certainly more bearable than before.

Maybe I've grown older? More mature? More boring? Perhaps a beer belly would really complete the moment?

It has been quite a while since I visited the hot pools of Hamner Springs - fifteen years to be exact. On this particular Christmas Eve Andrew, Clinton and myself ventured towards our destination with one common purpose in mind - to relax and be merry. The purpose of the place use to overwhelm my comprehension of an eleven year-old world. What? Sit in a smelly hot tub for hours with other strangers? I can't put my head in the water? I could have done that in the comfort and convenience of our bath at home, without the strangers; and the funny sulphurous smell would be mine and mine only.

Now it appears the tables of desire have turned. The purpose is clear. The reason shines like day light. The method is second nature.

Maybe I am more mature? I'd like to think so.
More impervious to laziness? Sure... why not...



Permalink 12:08:08 pm, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 229 words   English (NZ)

Life... and the tale of the silly midget storeperson...

Once upon a time, in the mystical swamp of Christchurch, there stood a silly midget store person. The midget store person was short and stout, with a pair of bifocals to accentuate the worldly knowledge of her Whitcoulls store. There she stood in front of the DVD shelves, diligently ruminating over if Southpark should really be in the childrens' section.

Then out of nowhere a customer miraculously appeared in a cloud of smoke, with a DVD in each hand she asked with great puzzlement:

"Is The Polar Express a good movie? Better than A Bugs Life?".
To which the store person replied, "I haven't seen The Polar Express before, but the cover looks good so it shouldn't be bad at all..."

I looked on, in stuttering bewilderment.

"Wow, ok" said the mother, with a plume of uncertainty in every syllable. "I'll get it then...".

Shocked, I stood by. Thoughts of a little boy's Christmas ruined racing through me. Should I barge in? Save the day? Rescue the weak minded from the evil temptations.... no... mind tricks... of the dark side? Christ... its just a DVD, am I going mad?

So she follows the silly midget store person, down the dark thorny path of eventual disappointment. Appearing satisfied with doubt she stands at the checkout. A credit card in her hand pays for the DVD.

And a little boy waits...



Permalink 07:51:19 am, Categories: Photos, 225 words   English (NZ)

Life... and best wishes with love...

Wayne, a good buddy of mine from school, just had his wedding celebrations in Oamaru last weekend. The venue was at the Burnside Homestead; it is situated in a rather remote location outside of town and surrounded by vast quantities of sheep perched on top of rolling green hills. The weather, whilst not abysmal and did not equate to any biblical plague, did not entertain us with the warm and loving embrace of sun light. Instead it pretended to be a bum and threw some rain clouds over our heads.

The ceremony went well. I took out my video camera for the first time and tried my best to capture the essence of the moment. Unfortunately my artistic qualities only appeared to have equated to a blind, drunk monkey.

Note to self: New kung foo style, the blind drunk monkey.
Another note to self: New dance fad to exploit the unsuspecting populace with, the blind drunk monkey dance. Will make millions.

The bride, groom and the wedding cake:

Wayne, Sharyn and a wedding cake...

Note to self: name for my own romantic comedy, Bride, Groom and the Wedding cake.

The very hospitable Burnside Homestead:

The Burnside homestead...

The obligatory photo of food, with proof of its most delicious quality:

Mmm... Cake!

The obligatory photo of a cute baby (and photographic evidence to prove that Wayne, does indeed, love kids):

Wayne: "Ooo... look at the cute baby!!!"

Best wishes, with lots of love.




Permalink 07:35:57 am, Categories: News, 396 words   English (NZ)

Life... and Never Ending Story Too

Deeply apologetic for the lack of posts recently. But just to briefly recap my recent happenings:

1. I found a house.
The house is situated a mere 3 minutes drive or 10 minutes walk away from home. Which suits the paracitic urge to leech off my parents should I decide to move in. What is perhaps more exciting is that the owner still needs a resource consent for the garage to bedroom conversion. Yes. What a wanker. If all goes well it will be all mine in March. If not, then I will be immensely pissed off.

Just as a note, I don't think I am ever 'immensely pissed off' as such. Think of what Kramer from Seinfield looked like when he was unsatisfied with lifes' various happenings, I think thats pretty much me when things tick me the wrong way.

2. I got my learners.
Yes. Learners licence. For the motorbike I don't have quite yet. I remain cautious about the whole exercise, which is comforting as I have no inclination to follow the footsteps of humankind: which is essentially finding and inventing new ways of destroying itself. I think having brunch always makes me more philosophical than I really need to be.

Note: it appears that I passed the basic training test with flying colours.
Side note two: Nick, I ran into Doug in AA while I was sitting my learners. You'd be happy to know that I aced the test so you won't be too embarassed by associating yourself with me. Not much anyway. Maybe.

3. I've started going to the gym.
Or the sweaty emporium as I sometimes elegantly put it. The place is attached to Jelly Park swimming pool, and for a simple and somewhat affordable admission fee of $8 I can have access to the gym and the pool in one foul swoop. Perhaps some time is needed in the gym first before I take up the latter offer.

4. I've started cycling again.
After a year off cycling, I've jumped back on my bike. It felt good, if I could ignore my set of aching buttocks. Let me show you what I mean with the following few pictures:



When we send people to the moon, I sure hope they're not sitting on these seats.

Note: the buttocks depicted above are NOT mine.
Side note two: why does statue of liberty look like a guy?


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