Getting dumped made me really strange every time, and my behavior usually follows the pattern below:
1st day– Really numb. Don’t really know what has happened.
2nd -3rd day -Cry like a river, especially in front of Mom. Waiting for his call.
4th -7th day – Remunerating scenes in my head and how I could have prevented the breakup. Waiting for his call.
A week later – Got really suspicious and almost confirmed that he got a new girl and that’s why he dumps me. Make appointment with fortuneteller.
1.5 week later– Bitterness set in. Reassured by best friends that he has definitely mistreated me and I should be the one who dumped him instead while at the same time, binge reading on the internet about “signs that it was not over” “getting-back-together” stories. Waiting for his call.
2 weeks later– Can’t stand the emotional rollercoaster and start the Prozac regimen. Go out a lot. Get new haircut/botox/filelr injection. Make appointment with another fortuneteller.
2.5 weeks later – Began really paranoid about missed call and calls with no sound coming from the other side. Try to read fate from random things like shape of feces.
3 weeks later during the day: Getting too eager in front of opposite sex because of the Prozac highs. Delete photos with him in it.
3 weeks later during the night: Miss him, A LOT. Re-watch photos with him at PC’s Rubbish bin.
A month later: start online dating. Minimize window when logging onto account or else colleagues would notice. Online fortunetelling.
A month later: The IT guy knows anyways. So does my boss. And my manager. And my colleagues. And whoever is msn-ing with my colleagues.
2 months later: Get really annoyed by horny guys who try to sleep with me within the first 3 dates. Regain standards in mate selection.
2.5 months: Wonder if I am in the same league with those weirdoes I usually attract online. If yes, then I must look (1) quite ugly ; (2)very, very, very horny in my profile pix.
3 months: Stop online dating. Have had enough.
So, call me childish, I don’t see the necessity of being friends with any ex-es except the ones that you dump, of course. When I saw my gfs trying to be friends with ex-es, quoting the “that was a long time ago. I am fine now..”shit, the follwong picture comes into my head:
(Photo above)Yup. That’s right. You are the innocent kid playing with fire. And I will be that tongue-sticking dog making the funny face when that happens.
What about forgiveness? Hell no. But, a more mature person will tell you that:
“Forgiveness is about you letting go of your own grudges in your head…”
Which I will add:
” Honestly, they don’t care, and you don’t need to be a Saint.”
So toughen up, Nancy!
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Too many choices is a bad thing. Say, when I walk into H&M or Zara, I always feel like entering a minefield filling with unimaginable stuffs that are going to disfigure anyone who wears them. Those are the silent bombs … Continue reading
If I were an alien trying to learn something about women by watching the TV ad, I would have concluded that our time is allocated as follows :
40%- fat/blackhead/pores/bodily hair elimination
20%- PMS, menstrual pain and pads
10%- selecting milk powder and discussing baby’s feces
When a friend came to my place and suddenly lifted her arms to show off her clear, laser-ed armpits with unbounded enthusiasm, I knew something is wrong and she is absolutely weird. To have an overview of the current state of affairs, I hereby present the following graph:
In the graph:
(1) our tolerance for armpit hair in women declines through time
(2) our tolerance for men acting like fairies increases with time
(3) Our tolerance for global warming, hate crime and all that crap remains high and unchanged, and we definitely found those issues more bearable than armpit hair and guy fairies.
As one can see, the acceptance of guy fairies is highly associated with the popularity of GLEE, in which most male characters are ready to start tap dance in a heartbeat.
The hatred of armpit hair is highly correlated with the purchase of laser machine by cosmetic spa,s which found it necessary to shame any armpits that suggest signs of past,current and future hair growth in the area.
Downfall of underarm hair:
1. A trimmed armpit is not good enough, shave it
2. A shaved armpit is not good enough, tweeze it .
3. A tweezed armpit is not good enough, burn it
Isnt it crazy where we are heading to? I mean, I have already sucked up with the gel-nail thingy . Every other week, I feel like a frigid wife doing it with her husband -laying there, emotionless, and let him do whatever he needs to do to get it over with. Only in this case, the time it takes is around 2 hours and conversation with the beautician is mandatory. What’s next? Sewing up all bodily openings and fill them with whatever OPI offers? Spare me!!!!
Yesterday I was reading the news. Apparently a photographer in the US has captured the essence of people who claimed they have contacts with aliens. His works once again drive the home the premise that a picture is worth a 3,865,222words, and in this case, the 3,865,222 words are:
Looking at those picture reminds me the Hollywood mugshots. Crazy smirks, crazy eyes /eyelines , crazy hair, crazy all around.
OK, the last one is a bit forced. I just feel like putting Dolly the cloned sheep there. But you get the point.
One of the accounts goes like this :
“It happen eleven years ago in St. Louis, Missouri at an exotic dancing bar in North County and I went in there to just have a few drinks and look at some strip you know girls dance around the pole and this guy comes in out of nowhere and he was uh black in color but he had a very strange voice. And he knew things about me that no one in the bar knew. Like how many trips I took. He knew things I was doing. He knew when my parents were gonna die and what they were gonna die of. Then he tells me he’s here to abduct me. Replace forty nine chips. And Dr. Lewinsky one of those hybrids, Grey hybrids was gonna do the operation. And they were gonna take me aboard a flying saucer. Um, I thought I escaped this guy. I did a physic reading yesterday with a lady, she told me I was abducted, I was swept up for like three hours and they did exactly what they said they were gonna do to me and then took me back to the bar and woke me up and I lost like three hours in time. That’s all I remember. They took my memory away from this abduction. It was a human hybrid. He looks like a black man but he had a strange voice that wasn’t like black in origin. He sounded like a white man.
Dude, too much Men in Black.
Last Friday My big boss gave me a mini-appriasal. Basically, the content can be illustrated via the following diagram
Basically, most of the communication between my manager and I follow a 80/20 rule: 80% on the left side and 20% on the right side.The move to the right side seem to a big leap for us, so in the short term (I mean for the next 40 years+) I believe we will resort to the safety zone called “making random noise”, like :
Manager: You are welcome
Me: “hu, hu, chew!”
Manager: Bless you.