DOG DOG CHANG

Crooning on my STEREO: I Believe In A Thing Called Love by THE DARKNESS

ANG POW
Originally uploaded by slamducky.

It is Chinese New Year and tis the season to be jolly- IN THE POCKET. I've got a week off from pimpin' and I am slacking about getting all fat etc.

One thing I have been thinking alot lately is how long it takes one to realise shits about him/herself.

By this I mean:

It took me 2 months to admit that I am SAD. Lusting over poster boys (ie. IL DIVO) is threatening my social skills.

It took me 1 year to REALISE that my blog template looks completely SCREWED UP on some computers. And I cant seem to do anything about it. (Blame this on macintosh)

It took me 2 years to see the light: JOSE REYES WILL NEVER BE THIERRY HENRY'S SUCCESSOR. See? I am such a goddamned cow.

It took me 3 years and two albums to open my ears to a single fact: DAVID BUSTAMANTE CANNOT SING. He just can't, okay?

It took me 4 years to face the truth that I can sing as well as WILLIAM HUNG. Fuck, if only someone could have told me EARLIER.

It took me 5 years to acknowledge a simple truth about myself: I LACK PATIENCE with nitty gritty issues. Contrary to what people think.

It took me 10 years to SEE that my legs are replicas of TREE TRUNKS in short skirts. Okay I get the drift: This explains why men do not want to be seen around me.

The list goes on. The moral of the story is simple. YOU ARE WHAT YOU ARE.

HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR TO YOU MATERIALISTIC LOT .

Pah, kidding. Woof Woof.

Sunday MEME

Crooning on my STEREO: Valerie by VITOR RAMIL

I suck at UPDATING. And I haven't been BLOG HOPPING. As of last week, Mondays till Fridays are my official days of constant mental repression. Weekends are SUPPOSED to be my chill-out breaks.. but it has now evolved into nights of drink driving and days of dog sitting/ old folk nagging.

I will SKIN the next person who comes up to me and says,

'I WISH I HAD YOUR LIFE.'

I have a glamorous job? MY FOOT.

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Anyway, to ease my end-of-weekend fury, I am here to humour my legions of admirers with:

the perfect-partner tag
I've been tagged by MsFeline, like, CENTURIES ago.....
but hey, at least I got down to doing it..... :)

"here are the rules:

the tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover/partner. need to mention the sex of the target. tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment on their comments saying they've been tagged. if tagged the 2nd time, there's no need to post again."

target of perfect partner: HOMO SAPIEN.

my perfect-partner:

1. should convince me that I am none other than ALMIGHTY.
2. MUST DRINK. LOTS. OF. A-L-C-O-H-O-L
3. must have the conscience NOT to run over animals (by or not by accident).
4. should accompany me to at least, a DAVID BISBAL concert. (or IL DIVO, if you prefer.)
5. NOT an Arsenal fan. (surprise...SURPRISE... I realised that I NEED someone to BICKER with in order to make a relationship work. But I am still hesistant over Man Yoo fans though. They are one stubborn lot.)
6. SHOULD NOT FANCY KEIRA KNIGHTLEY. NOR SCARLETT JOHANSSON. NOR JOSS STONE. NOR ZHANG ZI YI. NO!!!!! NO!!! NO!!!! NO!!!!!!!
7. must drive. and shouldn't send me off in a bus.
8. LOVES BEACHES. And respects my tan rather than to diss it.

See? I don't ask for much.

and for this, i'd like to tag: NOBODY

Well, folks. Till next week.
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What's happening on the Spanish Chronicles?

WEEK FAQ

Crooning on my STEREO: Beetlebum by BLUR

Frequently asked question of the week:
WHAT ARE YOU WORKING AS?

The Long Awaited Answer:
Well, I got a job as a PIMP trainee. Yes. You heard that right. P.I.M.P. I work for a confidential syndicate that is located in a notorious 'chow kit* (Pasolini-esque) Malaysian red light district. My job description is simple: I squat in the darkest corners of town and I 'recruit' potential female employees. With a contract on hand, of course. I have a good eye for scantily clad size 4 women (which comprises of 90% of the young et trendy population in this beautiful country). It is easy to fish them out of the streets and lure them with (empty) promises of bombastic monetary rewards. Since there are a fair number of corporate bicycles/ materialistic sluts residing in this city, my pimping technique is forcasted to be a huge success. And I shall keep a hefty 70% commission for every dumb-girl recruit.

This was what I proposed at my job interview anyway.

As of tommorrow, I will report to HEAD PIMP as a trainee and I should start pimping in a months time.
Soon I will rule the dodgy streets of KAY-EL.

Breaking News Part 2

Crooning on my STEREO: Only Heaven Knows by RICK PRICE

Read This:

LYN IS OFFICIALLY EMPLOYED.

Now go and tell your parents.

CROCODILE

Crooning on my STEREO: Como Los Olivos by BEBE

I know. I know. I know.
I sounded like a lovelorn puppy in the previous post.

Today I am ILL. And I am getting UGLY.

I HATE MY NEIGHBOUR.
THAT BLOODY WHORE WHO RESEMBLES A CONSTIPATED CROCODILE WITH A TREE TRUNK PUSHED RIGHT THROUGH HER ASS.

Screwed up specie of an expatriate who pays miniscule rent. She even has a head bigger than her impregnated butt.
If she CANT RESPECT our local culture she should MOVE OUT and SHIT herself BACK in her COLD DEN.

Thats it. RESPECT.

Time to leach off her WI-Fi.

KrackerCulture

Crooning on my STEREO: Do You Want To by FRANZ FERDINAND

First he crashed at my studio in London. Then I took the Eurostar and harassed him in Belgium.

And two months later he found his way to a godforsaken place called Malaysia. Much to my greatest dismay.

I don't usually dedicate an entire post to an individual.

Today I am out of my mind. I have just sent off a friend whom I've been bugging cada dia cada noche for the past two weeks. I am a lame creature of habit. I tend to get rather attached to people if I see them, like, EVERYDAY.

I HATE YOU KRACKER. YOU SUCK.

I will tell you why.

He downs CURRY LAKSA like there's no tommorrow. He bloody hell uses CHOPSTICKS better than (disgraceful) me. He sings FRANZ FERDINAND louder than me. He drinks PINTS like a fish and manages to stay considerably SANE. Every goddamn 'ah lian' on the streets tries to pick him up as though he's some sort of DEMI-GOD. (Fine, I am jealous!) He gets away with saying shits like 'SAYA SAKIT JIWA' to random strangers who will just casually pass him off as 'COOL'.

Life's unfair. If I am to say the same thing, I'd get BASHED.

Maybe it is those blue eyes. Those who have met him in flesh and blood would agree. That OPEN attitude? Perhaps. Or his passionate opinions? ME GUSTA. His CHARM? I suppress my thoughts on that.

Perhaps they say that friendship comes in distorted forms. I have acquired a great degree of knowledge from a man who is rightfully loved by many. His bickerings with 150MurderousPassions is a testimonial of a hardy willful character.... with the ocasional show of a softer side. By that, I am beginning to believe that he is human. A mere mortal who has changed something in me in a way that he'd never imagine.

Though I may listen in silence, I learn.

This sentimental cry is beginning to sound like an orbituary... but hell, NO.

I took this photograph before I kicked his butt back onto the Parisian flight. Despite all that 'I hate you' exterior, I'd rather admit that I do perceive the whole situation as quite the opposite. In other words, I see him off with a broken heart.

KRACKER'S MAKING HIS WAY BACK UP NORTH.
AND WE MISS HIM.

Life goes on. Time to return those 100 missed calls on my mobile.

HOLA 2006!!!!!!!!

Crooning on my STEREO: Punto y Aparte by FRAN PEREA

KNOCK... KNOCK... HELLO???!?!?

Something tells me that 2006 will be MY YEAR. On the last day of 2005, I received a UCL letter with my long awaited MA results. Kiss my butt... I've got a DISTINCTION. The day before, I was offered an event management job on probation with an advertising agency. This country obviously doesn't want me to grace their screens.

Okay. JOBS ASIDE.

Most importantly, I am having a BLAST. Look at some of the people I spent the 2006 countdown with

Jane and Kracker. All that screaming in the car, god forsaken heat and manic crowd paid off. I miss Jane. And I WILL miss Kracker.

I've been trying so hard to refrain from turning this into some dumbass PHOTOBLOG. But I can't help but to include the first (half) conscious picture I took on the first hour of 2006

He was our private escort. And I wont tell you his name.

One more thing, the JD Sport clad boy in the photograph below serenaded us for 20minutes. Apparently he is famous. Erm, WHO????

DO YOU KNOW HIM?

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There are some kickass action going on The Spanish Chronicles