Category: Boy / Girl etc etc.



Permalink 10:03:08 pm, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 129 words   English (NZ)

Life... and a resume on how to miss somebody...

Someone once said, how lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. And how true to the point they were. But unfortunately for all of us, for some inexplicable reason, that someone must depart to some distant land, sometime.

You turn away, and it starts with a slight niggle in your stomach, you know whats wrong but you still try your best to ignore it. You don't look back, because it will only serve to make it worse. Names of people scroll through your mind as you continue your futile search for a suitable replacement; in the meantime, the niggle has turned to an ache - apparently such desperate measures is considered uncuth and ungentlemanly.

However, with the ensuing days that pass, it does get better.



Permalink 11:53:14 am, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 304 words   English (NZ)

Life... and the trip back to work: the realm of reality...

Life... and the trip back to work: the realm of reality...
The holidays are over. The fun has ended. I returned to my morose self like a turtle retreating reluctantly back to its shell.

The packing was easy. I never really unpacked in the first place. The only thing that required packing is the computer and road bike. My precious road bike. Yes, my precious. You are coming with me this time. You will help me lose a mammoth quantity of weight; something I have come to aquire during my month and a half stay in lazy-hazy Christchurch.

The drive was fairly unexciting and mundane. I tried to enjoy the brilliant sunshine on display, but the thought of work would cast an instant shadow over the horizon. I drove on, with my fate wrapped in a box of half-eaten chocolates.

The ferry ride was ok. I watched more episodes of Robot Chicken to calm my restless tide. I think there was a kid watching behind me; he ran off after big bird started getting high on weed.

I saw real, live and untamed dolphins for the first time in my life. There were three of them following the boat from starboard side. Once their presence was broadcasted throughout the ship, people gathered, and they were gone.

My flat is as I had remembered it. Though the rotting mailbox and shower has been replaced with newer mailbox and showers; ones made with more rot resistant material, I hope. Unpacking proved to be vastly more tiring than driving for six hours. I threw everything on the floor and hungered for a tasty tender chicken breast. I didn't just hunger for it. I knew it would complete me. And it did.

A new day passed. A new love found. A future of diabetes and heart disease await.



Permalink 11:57:16 am, Categories: Boy / Girl etc etc., 459 words   English (NZ)

Life... and discovering true love...

I have found true love.

It was Moorhouse Ave on a dreary overcast Tuesday morning. I was ruthlessly devouring a Shell Station steak pie with one hand while drowning my loneliness with Bundaburg Lemon & Lime in the other. Then past the self absorbed hunger, I saw her.

She stood out like an aura of perfection. A gym-going Greek goddess, perfectly poised for smite or pleasure. Others would look upon her and gaze at the amazing Amazon beauty that is before them; a six-foot voluptuous figure with bright beaming eyes and radiating complexion. Her every move spelt elegance, but with a subtly dangerous imposition. She could crush my ego, much like a Boeing 747 could crush an anorexic stick insect in mid-flight. It was love at first sight.

She noticed me looking. My eyes whispered how I wanted her, how I could have her, and how I would make her every breath seem like an exotic get-away. But only if she can behave, just for me.

Her eyes looked back with dire fascination, ones filled with lust and intrigue. She wanted me, and wanted to know more about me. The animal magnetism grew with every closer step. Her body desired a soft voice and a caring hand above fame and fortune. But it would be fame and fortune that could acquire a magnificence such as her.

I walked around her, admiring the sculptured features from the corner of my eye. I blinked, and through the momentary darkness I can see myself running my fingers slowly and softly down her curvaceous body. The moment was exquisite, it was a moment yearned with every sight and sound of the real world.

She was perfect. She was perfect even before I knew she was perfect for me.

I rubbed her with exotic oils until she swooned with a hint of mist in her eyes. Being inside her felt like heaven; the friction cemented our emotions for one another. I could give her a ride to remember, all day and all night until the rest of the world was just one blurred hazy background. Once we get to our destination she would let out a half-restrained scream, and her body would vibrate with an echoing pleasure. I would tell her the truth: I would tell her that I love her, and things couldn't be better. Wanting more, we would lie there with bodies molding as one - resting and dreaming of our next journey together.

The 1997 Isuzu VehiCross is currently on display at Paul Kelly Motor Company, Christchurch. The list price is $16,999. She may scream for you as she did for me, but this is no guarantee.

I think I need a girlfriend - urgently. Though a cold shower may have to come first.



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: 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...


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