the entry about coming back, et al

my dad is full of worldly wisdoms like flossing and recycling newspaper as table-mats for our supper, and bathing during mid-day when the sun is hottest (thus eschewing the use of heaters and saving on electricity). just being in his presence, i am starting to assimilate his daily habits and stylistic preferences; it's not surprising to see me assuming the "sleeping buddha" position when watching the google box these days (courtesy of cookiedough senior).

anyways, i digress, yet again. most folks have been berating me, what the hell have i been up to?

so, being in prudential has really whipped me up to be this workhorse that i never knew i could be. i could be spotted sailing through the office cubicles at nine in the morning almost every day, sometimes, during the weekends as well. clubbing with my friends, which has always been the cornerstone of my social life, has taken a backseat, if not being cast off as being totally dormant.

of course, this wouldn't be the ideal situation which i could envision myself to be in. as much as this turned me around for the better, the old adage "all work and no play makes des a dull boy" still lives on. i haven't made a single trip to the gymnasium hitherto, and i don't surmise that makes any good either to be simply working constantly.

so, even though this might sound like a turnabout, i need to juggle my time before i burn out and fizzle like a candle that is lit on both ends. and speaking of sound, i learnt from a friend that a sound is also a metal rod that is shoved up the slit of a male weiner that is nine to eleven inches long. man, how it would burn!

my first paycheck from prudential.

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the entry about taking it off

so tomorrow is going to be the moment of truth. after three hundred and eighteen hours of confined rest, chugging tons of brands chicken essence and chicken tonic, and noshing fish for almost every other meal (apparently, this white meat is good for recovery of wounds), the sixteen stitches as a consequence of my unbridled stupidity would be removed.

even now, as i gingerly brush my fingers across the contusion, i could still feel crusts of dried-up blood tied up in knots with the stitches, not to mention a dose of marked pain along the bump still. i am a little iffy about my wounds having fully recovered, and if not so, the agony tomorrow would be abso-fucking-lutely excruciating. i am totally not looking forward to it.

nevertheless, i'm praying with clasped hands, that in twenty-fours' time, i'll be up and dandy, and ready to trudge myself and my lazy ass back to work after this hiatus. meanwhile, i am kicking at the ladder ferociously which caused my downfall, literally. damn you, ladder!

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the entry about the race-spectating insurgent

in light of what has happened recently, one would have expected yours truly to stay indoors, employ prophylactic measures and rest the week away. but as much as i have been chastised by my family and friends alike for a bad judgement call which resulted in a minor head trauma, stitches and all, i am all up and dandy the day after to attend the annual f1 singapore grand prix.

sop's for the race in question

i balked when i arrived at the scene. the entire atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, though the photos i took showed otherwise. there was a chattering buzz from the onlookers, a gig performing at a nearby stage, and vendors of the relative race teams hawking their paraphernalia to dizzying walker-bys. i saw one too many pot-bellied caucasians guzzling down ice-cold beer, and could only stare in hideous envy; i was instructed not to touch alcohol in the midst of my recovery.

anyhows, the bleachers we (ray and i) were allocated to gave us a grand view of the automobiles approaching us from a sharp bend and straight through right in front of us. surely there could be no better of a spectacle than this, i thought to myself.

bleachers of yellow and red

apparently, the race turned out to be nothing more than seeing the automobiles zip past us from right under our noses and disappear into the distant the very next micro-second. this happened for a couple of times and then, the race was over. i gnashed my teeth and swore, pumping my fists in the air. that gesture somehow made people look at me, as though i knew a thing or two about the entire state of affairs. in honest fact, i couldn't comprehend a single bit the intrinsics of the race and was absolutely clueless what was going on. i couldn't tell one car apart from the next. all i knew was that i experienced the fleeting reverberations throughout my body every time the race cars bolted past us it felt like a pulsating vibrator.

some other interesting pictures like the one below: this fellow homo-sapien doesn't seem to understand the concept of velvet ropes. he plumped himself comfortably onto the couch next to all the mannequins and was visibly nonchalant to everyone else staring at him.

looks like he's gonna keel over any minute

someone give him a wedgie already!

at the end of the day, lewis hamilton won. i made it out alive, with my throbbing wound carefully concealed in a cap slanted at a precise angle, but none the wiser about the workings of a grand prix race. i couldn't wait to get back home. viva la hovel!

the following are snippets i caught on tv, the irrepressible lindsay lohan hosting the f1's, beyonce and no doubt upping the chic factor with their concerts.

gwen shows who's the queen

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