chi.mer.i.cal | 1. created by or as if by a wildly fanciful imagination; highly improbable
2. given to unrealistic fantasies; fanciful
cog.i.ta.tions |
1. thoughtful considerations; meditations
2. serious thoughts, carefully considered reflections
this is the next installment of my outpourings of what i would refer to as teenage angst. except that i'm about half a decade too old for that terminology to be accurate. whatever. life still sucks.
some people, so i've heard, develop various allergies later on in their lives. i'm pretty sure my body is acquiring a serious, potentially fatal, even, intolerance for idiocy. it's a condition not unlike lactose intolerance. just that idiots are far more prevalent in this country than dairy products.
i've been suffering from mind-bendingly excruciating bouts of gastric pain the past 4 days. the episodes have been getting progressively prolonged and intense each day. i'm also currently on some other medication, so i decided to call the doctor up to check if the medcine i'm taking could be the cause. the conversation was not, to put it mildly, a panacea for my ills.
later on in the conversation,
some people deserve to be flogged to death with soggy strands of linguine.
---
and speaking of idiots. i was standing along the corridor of wisma atria on sunday, holding my wife's hand and talking to my mum-in-law. we were waiting for my father-in-law, who was relieving his diarrhoeatic symptoms in the nearby gents. (who says more knowledge is a good thing?)
anyhow, this girl comes walking towards us. she is wearing a very low cut top, a fact which i do not notice at first. this is because i am not looking at her, given that fact that i'm carrying on a conversation with my mum-in-law. over this top is a jacket of some sort, or the fashion equivalent of which, for unfathomable reasons, girls seem to feel necessary to wear in our sweltering heat.
although the corridor is wide enough, she feels the need to saunter right down the middle of it, which brings her very close to me. in my peripheral vision, i can see she's looking at me. so as she passes by, i glance up, very briefly. at her face. she immediately affects to look away, and grabs the two lapels of her cardigan and pulling them across her front in a futile attempt to cover her cleavage. futile, i might add, not due to any exceptional endowment on her part, but rather because her cardigan was outmatched only by her top in skimpiness.
now, this left me rather flabbergasted. we all know that girls are highly irrational at the best of times. but this was full-fledged lunacy. why dress to flaunt your assets if you don't want guys to look? oh, and there's that other detail - i wasn't looking.
buy a t-shirt. invest in a proper jacket. walk on the other side of the corridor. run to the balcony and throw yourself off. please.
my wife offered an explanation, in a gleeful tone that was equally incomprehensible, might i add.
some people, so i've heard, develop various allergies later on in their lives. i'm pretty sure my body is acquiring a serious, potentially fatal, even, intolerance for idiocy. it's a condition not unlike lactose intolerance. just that idiots are far more prevalent in this country than dairy products.
i've been suffering from mind-bendingly excruciating bouts of gastric pain the past 4 days. the episodes have been getting progressively prolonged and intense each day. i'm also currently on some other medication, so i decided to call the doctor up to check if the medcine i'm taking could be the cause. the conversation was not, to put it mildly, a panacea for my ills.
me : "may i speak to the doctor, please."
nurse : "i need your case file first. name."
me : (start spelling) "*, *, n..."
nurse : "*, *, m?"
me : "no, 'n', not 'm'."
nurse : "*, *, m?"
me : "no, 'n' for 'netherlands'."
nurse : "aiyar don't start giving me all these country names. just spell it."
me : " ... *, *, n. 'n'. not 'm'."
nurse : "*, *, m?"
&*%^@&%!
later on in the conversation,
nurse : "doctor says stop the medicine for a few days and see if your gastric goes away."
me : "and if it does go away, what should i do then?"
nurse : "if the gastric goes away that means it's not the medicine fault lor. then you start the medicine again."
some people deserve to be flogged to death with soggy strands of linguine.
---
and speaking of idiots. i was standing along the corridor of wisma atria on sunday, holding my wife's hand and talking to my mum-in-law. we were waiting for my father-in-law, who was relieving his diarrhoeatic symptoms in the nearby gents. (who says more knowledge is a good thing?)
anyhow, this girl comes walking towards us. she is wearing a very low cut top, a fact which i do not notice at first. this is because i am not looking at her, given that fact that i'm carrying on a conversation with my mum-in-law. over this top is a jacket of some sort, or the fashion equivalent of which, for unfathomable reasons, girls seem to feel necessary to wear in our sweltering heat.
although the corridor is wide enough, she feels the need to saunter right down the middle of it, which brings her very close to me. in my peripheral vision, i can see she's looking at me. so as she passes by, i glance up, very briefly. at her face. she immediately affects to look away, and grabs the two lapels of her cardigan and pulling them across her front in a futile attempt to cover her cleavage. futile, i might add, not due to any exceptional endowment on her part, but rather because her cardigan was outmatched only by her top in skimpiness.
now, this left me rather flabbergasted. we all know that girls are highly irrational at the best of times. but this was full-fledged lunacy. why dress to flaunt your assets if you don't want guys to look? oh, and there's that other detail - i wasn't looking.
buy a t-shirt. invest in a proper jacket. walk on the other side of the corridor. run to the balcony and throw yourself off. please.
my wife offered an explanation, in a gleeful tone that was equally incomprehensible, might i add.
"she thinks you're a perv!"
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