Wow, I am totally gonna piss people off with this one.

You know what I can’t stand?



Tattoos. Yeah, I said it. Ohhhh wow, the Constantly Dramatic One doesn’t like tattoos. Call the Cool Police, some bitch is not bending to what the masses think is cool.

Here’s the thing, I don’t hate them….I merely think that they are tacky. Some of them turn out to be great, works of art in fact. Elfie has a bitchin tattoo on her back that even I have to admit, albeit, begrudgingly is pretty awesome. But most tattoos….not so much.

Here’s the thing, tattoos are tacky. I mean, there’s a chance of 3 out of 5 if you would to go to any tattoo parlour that you might possibly come out with a tacky-ass tattoo. And here’s the deal: it is a permanent. Sure, you can laser it off but it just ends up with a bigass scar. And a bigass tattoo scar is just one step down from a massive neon sign on your forehead saying “I am a fucking dumbass”.

Now, I know at this point I am offending a shitload of people who thinks tattoos are so cool. Or maybe I’m not. Who reads this crap anymore anyways? Fuck if I know. I just got a giant beaver crawled up my ass and now I am overcome with the need to bitch about it.

People say they get tattoos cause it symbolizes individually, cause it makes them look edgy and badass, cause its cool. Bitch, ain’t nothing individual about something that every other Tom, Dick and Mariah can get. I know people here who have never left the country, who have never participated in any cultural activities that is not part of their cultural background, and have never ever been in contact with an indigenous person- suddenly, think they all deep and shit because they got some tribal tattoo that says “faith” or “hope” or “love” or some other lameass shit like that.

Fucking with me.

Who the fuck are you to have a tribal tattoo? Who? Back in the day, tribal warriors are tattooed because they fought for something. They proved themselves. They have to kill a jungle cat or a crazed baboon or something...but definitely not a koala. Therefore they get tattoos to show what a big deal of a warrior they are. They earned it. It’s their reward.

You on the other hand: is a white collar, spoilt piece of fuck that thinks he’s all that cause he paid some tattooist to inked some kind of tribal shit on his back- that makes no sense to either the tattooist or himself. But hey, that’s what getting a tribal tat all about right? Being badass cause you inked some shit you don’t understand on your skin. Unless of course “badass” in this plane of existence means “dumb piece of fuck”, which of course is what you are.

And then there those people who have Chinese calligraphy that says something like “destiny” or “other lameass bullshit”. And again, not understanding squat of Chinese. Cause its cool. In fact that’s a pattern that I’ve noticed. People getting words or language they don’t understand tattooed onto themselves. Like Chinese, Sanskrit, Latin or any other fancy schmancy languages. Why?

You don’t understand it. Your tattooist doesn’t understand it. The chance of you fucking it up is so high, it makes Mount Everest looks minuscule. So why do it? Whose to say that, that translation of the word or the phrase is correct? I speak Malay and you don’t so I’m gonna tell you that “Gampang” is “Destiny” and now you gonna walk around with a bigass tattoo of “Gampang” on your back cause you think its destiny. But its not bitch, its not. And now you're stuck with that for life.

And don't get me started on the naked women tattoos. Goddamn sonofabitch, that shit is tacky. Ain’t nothing else could seal your fate in the Douchebag Hall of Fame or secured you a permanent position in the Misogynist Fucktards biweekly club meeting faster then a tat of a blond girl, with big boobs and skinny waist getting tentacle rape by a giant octopus in a field of skeletons on your arm. Oh yeah, that’s sexy. As a woman, I have always want to marry and have lots and lots of babies with manly, tattooed men who like to watch their women getting tentacle fucked in a field of skeletons. Oh yeah, what a dreamboat.

And those lower back tattoo for women? They are called “Tramp stamps”. When I was growing up, I wanted to become a detective, a zoologist, a journalist, fuck- even the first female Prime Minister of Malaysia…but never have I ever wanted to be a “tramp” or want a stamp of being a tramp be branded onto me. Seriously.

I have to admit that some tattoos are pretty awesome. But very few and far between. Most of them are just tacky, and in the long run- a really fucking stupid decision that you can never take back. But I am alone in this one. No one else I know, or know of have anything against tattoos. The consensus is they’re cool.

And I’m the uncool fat kid standing in the corner realizing how stupid all you sheep are. Life’s tough like that.

So...yeah.....awkward....

You know what is ridiculously awkward?


Hot is when you went out for a night of partying with your friends and saw a really hot guy….and then ended up having eye sex with him the whole night.


Ironic is that despite having steamy eye sex with him all night long….nothing actually happened.


Ridiculously awkward is that about a week later, when you are looking like absolute shit because:

a) You woke up at 6am to go to the morning market…
b) Did not shower or even wash your face cause the market will close soon and you really want that 50cent packet of carrot…..
c) Wearing an oversized shirt that has a giant Minnie Mouse on it…which is in fact what you have slept in the night before, with a pair of 3 quarter jeans….
d) And c’mon, seriously! Who looks good going to the morning market?


….when you bumped into him.


The hot dude. Whom you had eye sex with all night long.


It’s like the figurative “morning after". But from Hell.


However, you have forgotten all about you looking like shit cause you are completely thrown by the fact that he is the dude….that is selling you your 50cent packet of carrots.


Then the realization hit you:


You had eye sex. With a dude that that sells carrots for a living. In the morning market.

Ooops!

He too recognizes you and smile. But you didn’t and pretended that you did not recognize and hurry the fuck out of there before the friends you came with to the market, who went out to party with you days before realizes this little trivia and Never. Let. You. Forget. It.


So yeah, in case you guys do not know what is ridiculously awkward- that is ridiculously awkward.

Fool me once...shame on you

Remember when I wanted to be a “playa” and dated 2 guys at the same time? Yeah….remember that?


Yeah……that blew up in my face.


Bigtime bitches. Bigtime.


So here is the story. The Lieutenant would not be part of it. Long story short? He just wanted to fuck me. I do not want to fuck him. The end.


I mean he was hot and all….but nah. Despite all the kinky, sex talks on this blog….the Constantly Dramatic One is not that kind of girl. I don’t have sex/boink/bang/sleep with/fornicate with men for fun. It’s long term relationship or nothing at all. So I dump his horny ass as soon as he started putting the pressure on me. I was like “What the fuck, buttmunch? Put some lotion on it and leave me the fuck alone.”


Okay, I might not have said those exact words. I kinda said “It’s not me. It’s your horny ass. But with some rehab, maybe we could be friends afterwards ya?”


Okay, I did not say that either.


Point is, The Lieutenant and I? It did not happen. It would not have happen. Cause he was just my plaything. I kept him around for the kicks…and the attention. Other then that, nothing really. Cause when everything have been said and done…it has always been Geek Boy from the beginning. It always has.


Until that blew up in my motherfucking face.


So remember how I had like this wonderful first date with him? Full of cuddling and unspoken frustrations accumulated over the months when we pretended to be only friends and nothing more when in truth…we have never been only friends. There has always been something there. Or perhaps it was just me, confusing reality with fantasy. Wanting it to be so much like the books I’ve read and the tales I used to write of lost love and unspoken desires during my teenage emo years. And sometimes still do.


So the date was on that Tuesday. During the date I’ve asked him why it took him so long to ask me out but he kept quite. So I dropped it. Then that night he texted me. I can’t remember what he wrote exactly but it sounded kinda like this


“Even though I really like you and I feel that you do like me too….its still hard for me to ask you out cause I have no real self confidence to begin with. So that’s why it tok me this long. But I’m glad I did though. I had a great time with you today.”


Or some shit like that. The actual part that I actually remember was the self-confidence thing. Then we texted for a while and that was that. The next day, he didn’t call. So I was like, okay…maybe he is playing it cool. The day after that, nothing. So I told myself, maybe it’s a guy thing. Maybe it’s this. Maybe it’s that. Bla bla bla. However by Friday when I did not hear anything from him, I was flat out agitated. I mean it was bullshit. We had a great time. We’ve cuddled bitches! What the fuck was goin on? Then, I called him. It was that Friday night and I really wanted to know so I was like “Fuck all. I’m gonna call him.” Which I did.


You know how it takes like oh….I dunno 10 rings before the phone goes into voicemail? Yeah….guess what? When I called him that night, it rang like twice and it went straight to inbox. Yeah…..fucker rejected my phone call. It was….well for lack of a better word: unbelievable. By this time I do not have to tell you guys that I was all kinds of messed up. I was upset and confused….I was like “Was it me? Did I say something wrong? Did I scare him? OMFG it’s me.” Self doubt is not something I’m prone to do but somehow he was making me do that. And it sucked so much donkey balls.

Then after much consultation from my girlfriends, both in Aussie and in Malaysia, I decided that the best way to deal with this fucking MIA shit he is pulling after the first date is to call him again. So I did. On Saturday morning. I need to know what happened. I have prepared for it to be rejected again and to leave like a non-threatening, non-pathetic voice message when the unpredictable happened: He fucking answered the phone. So I was like playing it cool.


“Oh hey, how are you?
“I’m good.
“So um like, are you sick or something?
“What? No? I can’t speak right now. The game is going to begin in like 10 mins.
“What game?
“My soccer game. I’ll call you back.”


I forgot that he plays soccer/football (depends on which side of the world you come from) on Saturday mornings. So I was like “Oh okay, he’ll call back.” Right? Riiiight? Of course he will.


I was such a goddamn fool.


So I worked on my assignment, did the laundry, vacuumed the floor…all with the phone by a hand’s reach. Waiting, waiting….waiting. Somehow the phone had become my enemy. The longer it doesn’t ring, the more I despise it. At this moment I was sad and confused and hopeful but by the time 7pm roll around and I’m sure that he isn’t gonna call, all that shit turned to full on rage.

Who the fuck does he think he is? What does he think he’s playing here? It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that I got played. Either way you cut it: I got played. I got played by a fucking geek. So now I’m pissed. I’m done feeling sorry of myself. I’m done thinking its all my fault. Fucker have a problem and I intend to let him know it too. So I called him again that night, twice. This time I wasn’t worried that I would come across as desperate and/or pathetic. This time I just wanna yell at him and to shove it up his ass. But of course, he did not answered his phone.

Motherfucker.

I was left fuming with no outlet. I wanted to wring his neck. Fucking run him over with a truck. Just fucking kill him. I wanted him to die. But he’s not answering his phone. He left me hangin. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. On hindsight, I’m glad that he did not answer his phone cause revenge is a dish best serve cold and that’s precisely what I did.


I know that whatever happened I will see him the next Saturday. Cause we have an exam together. I know. I also know that the best revenge when it comes to this is to look as good as possible and let him know “Yeah…you see all this? Yeah. You ain’t gonna have this.” So Saturday came and I had formulated a plan. The final exam carried only 30% of the class mark; I have already gotten a credit for that class without the exam so I’m all set. It was a fucking exam. My usual exam ensemble consists of jeans, flip flops and a hoodie. Not that day though.

That day I put on this maroon dress that I look fantastic in, 3 inch high-boots and a cardigan. I showed no skin except for the space where my dress ends and my boots begin. Very simple, yet fetching. I’m keeping it classy. Now I know for a fact that I look good. You don’t plan on an outfit a fucking week and not come out looking good.


The exam was 2.30pm. I know, him being a geek would be there early. Like an hour earlier in the waiting hall. So I had to come later and I have to make an entrance. Which I did. I only get into the waiting hall round 2.10ish. I went straight to my friends but I took my time at it. He was in the hall, and I want him to see me. Drink it all in bitch, cause you never gonna have it. Then I sat down with my friends and all the while I felt someone looking at me and I turned around and he was looking at me. With this hopeful and kinda scared look. Then he smiled. I did not smiled back, I did not gave him a dirty look….I look through him and looked away. It’s like I did not know him. He’s too low to be even worth one of my dirty looks. Fucker looked way scared at this point, I can assure you that.

Then the course convenor called the students in and I went in first. Now when you enter the exam hall, you are required to fill in the front seats. I know that if I were to go in first, he would wait later to go in cause he is avoiding me. I know that when I sit in front, he would be looking at me and not the other way around. Which is the plan. Then before each exam starts, the course convenor would ask if everybody is sure they have their phone off. Those who do not; have 2 minutes to do so. Now I know that I have offed my phone. I know this. But the fact is I was sitting 3rd row from the front. He was somewhere at the back. So I stood up, took of my cardi- to show off how low cut the dress is at the back- and then proceed to strut to the other end of the room to pretend to check on my phone. I know he was looking. The plan is for him to see me. 100% visibility. Not the other way around.

Mission accomplished.


I checked my phone right after I ended the exam. And it was no shocker that he texted me. Two messages.

1) I hope you did great in the test.
2) I’m sorry I didn’t call back. I was really busy. I just realize that I am way behind my studies! I know you’ll be mad but I’m gonna try anyway.


Seriously, what fuckery is that? “I’m busy?” You motherfucking piece of shit. You have time to wake up at 7 in the fucking morning to go play soccer on a fucking Saturday and you have no time to fucking text me or call me back? You have time to eat and sleep and you have no time to fucking text or call me back? You have time to fucking take a dump and you have no time to fucking text or call me back?


Buuulshit.


Bish plz. As if you were studying 24/7 that you couldn’t possibly tear yourself away from the fucking text book and fucking pick up the phone and just fucking tell me that you can’t talk cause you’re busy. Okay, bitch? I dunno what the fuck his issues is, but somehow it became mine. With that final text I decided that I’ve won. This time, I’m the one that gonna ignore him. I planned it all. And I planned it well.


What I did not plan was for him to be waiting for me outside the exam hall. I was expecting for the text messages or maybe a phone call but not him waiting for me. That took me by surprise. He was waiting for me and he has this hopeful look on his face. I should have acted nonchalant, but because that took me off guard I kinda gave him a weak smile and kept on walking. I did not walk towards him but away- towards the busway. And he walked with me all the while he was going on and on about how busy he was and that he was sorry and that he knows that I’m mad with him…..but I kept on walking. I did not say anything. I was just thinking how ironic it was that we were walking the same path we walked so many times together, when we had fun, when we flirted, when he carried my books and to this.


To this bullshit.


I don’t really remember what he said, but I wasn’t really listening. I was busy being sad and angry at the same time when we reached the busway. I stopped walking therefore he did too. I looked at him and saw the reason why I liked him so much. Even after all that, he’s still very attractive to me and I said….and I’m not proud of it and I did not planned it….it just came out. I said….

“Please never ever speak to me again. And no, let’s not stay friends either.”


Harsh? I know.
Did I plan it? No.
Did it hurt him? Yes, it did.
Did it hurt me? Even more so.


I didn’t realize how hurt I really was until I said that. And then I walked away. He didn’t come after me. Would you after that? He did call me that night. Calls which I rejected- just to let him have a taste of how it feels. And 2 days later I left for Malaysia. I deleted and blocked him on MSN and Facebook. I deleted all his number and messages on my phone. I don’t want to have anything to do with him anymore.

I went back to Malaysia and then to Finland and I got my head cleared. I deserve better. I don’t know what the fuck his deal was but I deserve better then to be played like that. It wasn’t like we were together. It was just a bullshit phase in my life. I got back in Aussie, moved into a new place and I figured that I’ll start this sem fresh.


Then 2 nights ago, he called.


I didn't know that it was him till I answered the phone. I’ve deleted his number and I didn’t memorize it. We talked, he ask me how I was. How did I do for the last sem. How was the holiday. And then he asked if I can meet him this coming Tuesday. I figured that we are both adults, I can bury the hatchet. So I said okay, I’ll see him on Tuesday. It wasn’t until I put the down the phone did I realize how bad of an idea this.

I mean seriously. I thought I was over this but the fact that all I could think of right now is how much I want to slap him when I see him pretty much shows that I am not ready for this. It’s either slap him or push him into incoming traffic. Either one would make me a convicted criminal and get my visa revoked. Which is no good.

So I’m gonna cancel on him. But I’m only gonna let him know that like an hour before we are supposed to meet up. Let him look forward and be excited all about it for days….and then finding out it’s not happening an hour before. The way I see it, if he wanted me in his life he would have made an effort the first time around. So fuck it. I’m done.






I’m not gonna let him pull the same shit again on me.

Bish plz, you don't want to be messin with my homegirl now....

My life has now been reduced to fighting with 13 year old girls.

 

 

Seriously.

 

 

See, my family and I are close with our neighbours. One family in particular. My dad is best friends with the well…the neighbour’s dad. When my dad wanted to start his company back in the 80s, it was the neighbour who lent him the capital he needed. We have been living in this neighbourhood for 19 years…and so has our neighbour. He got married late though so his kids are years younger then my siblings and I. Nonetheless, those kids grew up running in and out of my house.

 

 

I practically watched them grow. I’m kinda close with the eldest one. I used to help her out with her homework back in primary school, take her and her siblings for movies and babysit…for free. I don’t like kids, but I make an exception for these kids. After seeing them day in and day out…..them kids just grew on me you know.

 

 

So Clara* is 13 years old this year. The first year of her secondary school. And as fate has it, her parents have taken her out of her co-ed primary school and transferred her into an all-girls secondary school. I am a veteran of all-girls primary AND secondary school and being thrown into all-girls secondary school at the age of thirteen where all the crazy hormones just started acting up is not easy. I’ve been there. And so have you. And to top it all….Clara is well….geekish. She’s tall you know for her age, about a head taller then everyone else in her class. She’s tall, lanky, slouches a bit and wears glasses. You know the type. There’s nothing wrong with being geeky of course…later in life. But a geek at the age of 13?

 

 

It’s a fucking death sentence.

 

 

Clara came over to hang with me over the weekend. So were in my bed exchanging stories and I noticed that she kept on changing the subject whenever I asked her about school. After a while I got sick and tired of probing and I was like “Fuck investigative journalism” and asked her point blank what the fuck is up. Then she started crying. Like seriously, we’re talking the quite kind of crying. No hiccups, no drama just like this never ending stream of tears. I freaked out! I was like “Motherfucker! What the fuck? Does she have cancer? Is that the big secret?!! Bloody hell, I should not have asked! I cannot deal if she has cancer!”

 

 

But outside I was all cool and I was like “What’s wrong babe? Tell me.” All the while hoping it’s not cancer…..cause you know. She’s 13. That would totally be fucked up.

 

 

Then all these stories came out. These three 13-year-old skank whores have been picking on her since the beginning of the year. Calling her names, telling her ugly to her face, pushing…elbowing her in the halls and in class when she’s getting to her seat so she’ll trip instead. They whisper behind their hands as she walked by. All these hideous, adolescent, mind game, bulliying fuckery. But what she kept on repeating again and again was that these whores call her ugly. I think that really cut into her self-esteem. I mean I know. I was bullied. I was bullied cause I was fat. I am still fat. I was bullied when I was 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9. That’s 5 years of fuckery before I became a total badass when I was 10 and beat up the kids who bullied me. No really.

 

 

I. Beat. Them. Up.

 

 

I was 10, they were 12 and I beat them up. And I kicked one into the drain. Cause he was on his bicycle and he was mocking me so I went over and kicked his bicycle which happened to be by the drain so asshole and his bicycle both fell into the drain. I beat another one with a piece of wood. Asshole was asking for it. True story. I’ll blog about it someday.

 

 

So yeah. Me. Badass.

 

 

So by the time I hit 13, no one messes with me. Clara clearly, has not achieved the badass status that I had at her age. So she cried and I listen. And I remember all those years when I was bullied…you don’t forget this shit you know. I was picked on because I was fat. She’s being picked on cause she’s tall and lanky…and geeky.

 

 

Same shit. Different era.

 

 

It was with that thought that I went to her school yesterday, on Monday. I actually cancelled plans I made to watch the new HP movie with my friends so that I can go to her school during recess. You don't mess around with my homegirl and think you could get away with it. I made a point to dress up. I wore this maroon dress, 4 inch high heels and made sure the make up made me look older then I am. The point to drive home here was :

 

 

“I am a woman. You are 13-year-old skank whores. The End.”

 

 

I went there during recess so that Clara can point out the miniature bitches to me….and then I waited for them after school. No point causing a scene during school hours. We all could get in trouble. So I waited and just like Clara said, all 3 of them came out together. I went over with a smile and introduced myself. I was like

 

 

“Hi, I’m CD*…that’s Kak CD to you.”

 

(For those not in the know, “Kak” means “older sister”, it’s a term of respect we used here in Malaysia to address a female that’s older then you.)

 

“How are you girls today? Good?”

 

 

By these time, them miniature bitches were like taken aback by me. So I went on with a smile on my face.

 

 

“Can you guys see that girl standing over that red car over there? Yeah, that’s Clara. I’m sure that you guys know her cause the 3 of you have been bullying her since the beginning of the year. You know….pushing her around and calling her names?

 

 

“See…when she told me that you guy have been calling her “ugly” and “buttface” and whatever else….I was imagining that the 3 of you would be like these hot shit you know. That’s why you girls could go around calling people names cause you are just sooooooooooo attractive. But now that I actually met you guys…..I’m surprised that your parents did not kill you at birth.

 

 

Seriously. Have you guys looked into a mirror lately?”

 

 

Should have seen the look on their faces. It was a mixture of panic and shock. So I went on.

 

 

“See I have known Clara all her life. I watched her grow. She’s like my little sister and frankly I don’t like hearing all these bullshit I have been hearing. Seriously, would you like it if I call you Acne Face to your face?”

 

 

One of the girls has a serious case of acne.

 

 

“Not very nice now is it?”

 

At this point one of the girls opened her mouth to protest....but I held up my hand and gave her a look. Not when I’m talking bitch.

I'll Crucio all of them. Miniature skank whores.

 

 

“So here’s the deal. Stop this fucking bullshit right now. If you don’t….I’m not gonna go to the teachers. That’s soooo highschool. And I am over highschool. I am going to go to your house instead and speak personally to your parents. I have lived here longer then you do. I know people. And trust me….it’ll be easy to find out where you live.”

 

 

This is of course bullshit. I don’t know that many people. And I don’t think I will be able to find out where they live…but hey it’s not like these miniature bitches know that. Also by this time, one of them have started crying. Man…I feel bad for that. But you don’t go around bullying people and not be ready to face the consequences.

 

 

And then I pointed at Clara again.

 

 

“That’s Clara. Know her name. It’s not “Slouchy”, it’s not “Ugly”, it’s not “Buttface” or all these other unimaginative lameass names that you gave her. It’s Clara.

 

Learn it.”

 

 

And then I walked away.

 

 

When I think about it now, I should have made them apologize to her but I didn’t. Also while this was all going on, Clara was being all scared and staring at her feet. I wish she would have given them skanky miniature whores dirty looks or something. I guess growing a backbone takes time.

 

 

I’m worried though. I’m worried that these miniature bitches would retaliate. Cause kids these days are not like kids back then you know. And if that happen, I won’t be around cause I’m flying back to Aussie next Monday. I told Clara if anything was to happen she should go straight to the principal.

 

 

I do hope this is the end of it though.

 

Paranoia...or justified?

I finally have the time to blog now seeing that my sis and bro-in-law (hereby will be known as BIL cause I’m too damn lazy to type the thing all the time okay. Let me be.) are already asleep. I am doing this all on her laptop cause I left mine at home.


Not that I wanted to but because my sis practically yelled down the phone telling me not to bring mine. Her reason being is that when I come back to Malaysia, I will be bringing a lot of stuff so what’s the point of lugging around the laptop. Just additional burden. I could of course yelled back at her saying that I will bring it cause my laptop is my lifeline, an extension of my being, the very reason of my sanity and where I store half naked pictures of firemen I’ve accumulated over the years…but I didn’t. Cause as much as I love my sister and I do; the woman is fucking fierce okay. I get shit scared when she’s angry with me. I still have memories of her yelling at me when I broke her hairclip when I was 7 and she was 12 and that still send shivers down my spine.


I still have an uncontrollable urge to scream out “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!! I didn’t mean to sit on your hairclip with my giant (yet sexy) ass! I’ll buy you a new one!!” whenever we get into an argument. Actually I did that once a couple years ago and she stopped yelling at me, stared and then just walked away mumbling something about weirdos, sister and “just my luck.”


But….I digress.


This post is not about Finland yet. It’s about my journey coming here.


Before I left Malaysia for here, my parents reminded me again and again and again not to leave my bag alone unattended at the airport, not to speak to people, just sit quietly and mind my own business. Not that I am a 9 year old kid that needs reminding but because well they are parents and these days you are always reading about how Malaysian women ended up being drug mules for something or other. I am in fact a single, young woman traveling on my own- prime candidate for a whooole lot of fuckery.


My parents were telling me the same exact thing in the car on the way to the airport. When we were parking the car at the airport carpark. While I was checking in my luggage at the airport. While I was searching for a place to sit at the airport. When I was sipping my hot chocolate at the airport’s café.


Same damn thing. Don’t leave your bags alone. Don’t talk to strangers. Do not become a drug mule and end up in a Turkish prison. Basically the same thing every parent tells their children when they are traveling alone ya know.


So I got on the plane and ended up sitting in an isle sit. There were 2 empty seats between me and some middle aged dude. For a while there it seems like the 2 seats were going to stay empty when at the last minute this dude came in. Blond hair, blue eyes, about 6 feet tall, beer gut hanging out, tattoos all over his arm and uummm…….braided beard. No I’m serious. His beard…..was braided. It was one long…thing hanging off his chin and I knew he was going to be trouble before he parked his ass right beside me. It wasn’t comfortable, I can assure you that. About 5 mins before take off he asked the airhostess for vodka. I thought he was a nervous flyer, probably needs a small amount of liquid courage. So yeah we all have issues. But apparently his issue became my issue when he downed the vodka with 2 white pills. Dude, you don’t mix liquor and medications. Look at what happened to Heath Ledger. Let’s all take something out of that little episode shall we?


About 10 mins into the flight, he started mumbling incoherently. Then he fidgeted about. The hell, these are coach seats and fucker you’re 6 feet tall. Stop fidgeting. After that he begun leaning on me, by this time I believe that he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. Liquor, pills and being that high in the air can do shit to you so I managed to squeeze out of the seat and asked an air hostess to relocate me. I honestly believe that he wasn’t a bad dude…just you know he enjoys taking pills with Vodka.


All to his own.


I did not encounter another pill popper at my next seat but there was this old lady and all through the flight she tried to make conversation with me. At first I pretended not to speak English but that was stupid cause I ended up taking out an English novel to read so then I had to speak to her. She was about 75, Irish by her accent and claimed to be a nun. She wore this huge cross at her neck and told me about her missionary work. I listened to her with feigned interest but really you know….I really do not care. All I wanna do is sleep or check out the steward with the tight ass. He wasn’t hot per’se but tight ass yo…tight ass. Priorities people, priorities.


I dunno if it was the exhaustion of sitting on my ass for 9 hours or my parent’s inflicted paranoia or the fact that I’m obsess with CSI, but it occurred to me that the lady was mentioning the fact that she is nun in every other sentence.


“Me, being a nun told him…..
“Because I’m a nun….
“We nuns know better…..


Like yes, I get that you are a nun. You don’t have to tell me 3 thousand time. God. Yours and mine…but yeah. It was like she was selling it too hard. So I just kept quite. She kept on asking me about me as well. “Was I flying alone? Is anyone meeting me there? Is this my first time traveling alone?” Kinda…weird. Or maybe not but I’ve decided its no big cause I wont be seeing her after the plane landed anyways. After the plane landed in Amsterdam she asked me if I have a transit and that if I would like to have coffee with her, I told her no cause I much rather not waste time and get to the next plane immediately. I thought that was the end of that.


I was browsing through some of the duty free stuff in Schipol when I bumped into her again and again, she asked me for coffee. Clearly I wasn’t rushing anywhere and I can’t refuse her. That would be plain rude so I said yes. I wasn’t happy bout it but there was nothing else I could do.



So we were having coffee and again she was telling me about her missionary work. I didn’t ask really. I mean, maybe she’s proud of what she does. Maybe she was trying to convert me. Maybe I am the perpetual drama queen creating drama in my head when there is none. Whatever it is, I was on edge with her. I felt that we did not “bumped” into each other; she singled me out. This is of course pure speculation.


So we had coffee and then I offered to clear the table and put away the try. I was just in the process of picking my bag from the floor and putting it over my shoulder when she tugged at it. She had her hand on my bag, tugging it towards her and she said


“Why don’t you leave your bag here while you put away the tray?’


What the fuck? Bitch, I am not gonna leave my bag to virtually a stranger whom I just met not even 10 hours ago, okay. And the hell, who the hell are you? I don’t even know you. The hell should I leave my bag with you. Maybe it was a combination of paranoia and exhaustion but alarm bells went off in my head. So I tugged my bag towards me, smiled politely and told her no thanks and this was the weird part….and maybe a bit creepy. She tugged it again. She was like “Oh no, I insist.”


The hell motherfucker?


I tugged again, stronger this time and told her no. Then I put away the tray and told her that I need to use the bathroom. In truth I was ditching her. I mean the fuck. That was creepy okay. You don’t go tugging people’s bag for no reason. I did however went to the bathroom and literally cleared out the entire contents of my bag on the floor of the stall. I went through one by one, I figured if I found anything suspicious and wasn’t mind to begin with; I would have flush it down the toilet. But there was nothing.


I did not went back to the café. I went straight to my Gate, sat through my 3 hours transit and made no eye contact with anyone. Too tired to deal with another fuckery.


Could have been paranoia but really….what’s the deal with the bag tugging bit? What do you guys think?

Fuck you Biawak

Australia is fucking with me. Seriously. It is fucking with me.

Remember when I wrote in passing that a fucking giant lizard appeared at my feet? Well, it happened. Again. That son of a bitch was about 3 inches away from my right foot!! And if you’re thinking “Chill, it’s just a small lizard.” No you mofos, it ain’t a small lizard. Malaysians would know this as a “biawak”. Let me just translate that for you non-Malay reading/speaking readers. “Biawak” means motherfucking hugeass lizards. Okay it does not mean that. I made that up. You’re online. Google it.

So anyways, let me re-enact that faithful day in which I almost had a near brush death experience (ie: being bitten by a biawak). I was walking to class with the Malaysian girl I’ve mentioned before hereby will be known as Mini Skirts. Cause that’s what she wears all the time. Mini skirts, then she bitches about how cold the lecture hall is- much to my amusement. Anyways I was walking to the lecture hall with her. We’re not taking the same subjects but somehow both of our classes are in the same building so we just went there together.

See, the thing bout my campus is…is that it’s in a forest. Now imagine a preserved forest if you could. Think of the beauty of Mother Nature and the importance of preserving it. Now imagine, again if you could that they cleared a huge chunk of land in the middle of it and built a university. Like a little town of its own, in the middle of the fucking forest. That’s how my campus is now. It is all sort of creepy at night. My only consolation is that they don’t have pontianaks in Australia. I’m very sure of this cause I had an in depth discussion with a friend over MSN and by the end of it we came to the conclusion that Pontianaks cannot fly that far over the sea and find me in Aussie.

God, I hope that’s true.

Anyways back to the story, right so there are trees everywhere. Bushes, low hanging branches and little pathways in between buildings. FYI, there are exactly 81 buildings on campus. Having a lecture in Building 32 and then a tutorial in Building 68 right afterwards with only 10mins gap is a wwwwhole lot of fun. I’m still in the process of perfecting my speed walking skills. In the middle of walking towards the lecture, Mini Skirts suggested that we should take a shortcut. We could walk on the fully pavement way or we could cut across the little paths with the bushes. Cause I was too lazy to walk that much I decided that yeah, this was a good idea. And then the nightmare begun.

I was walking along the path, chatting about something or other, feeling the lovely autumn breeze on my skin and the rustle of my skirt against my knees and thinking to myself “Oh my, what a lovely weather. We never get it this lovely in Malaysia” when I sensed movement at my feet. I looked down and there it was. A fucking biawak by my feet. It was like 3 inches away and I was wearing these open toes gladiator sandals. Sonofabitch!!!! It was about 3 feet long, black skin with green stripes. Green stripes!!!!!!!!!! And it was by my feet!! Dude, I didn’t think long. I screamed and I fucking ran out of there. I remember pulling up my skirt and running cause I was wearing on of those knee lengths, 50s style skirt. Mini Skirts didn’t know what was happening. She heard me screamed so she screamed too and started running. Fuck man, we covered what was supposed to be a 15mins walk in under 5 mins. By the time got to a somewhat “safe” place we were huffing and puffing and at the same time, a security guard was around. He hurried to us and he was like

“Are you girls okay? Did someone attack you? Was it the flasher?”

FYI, apparently there was a flasher round campus area. Hiding in the bushes and jumping out at random intervals to flash girls. No dude, seriously. They sent out an email to everyone’s student email. Campus Security thingie. So I was like

“No no, biawak. Big fucking biawak. By my feet.”

He stared at me. Mini Skirts eyes were bulging out “A biawak attacked us?”

“Miss, what’s a biawak?”

“Ohhhh a lizard. Big fucking lizard. Black, with green stripes. Sharp teeth. OMG, so scary.”

“Ooohhh a Goanna. That’s allright. I thought it was the flasher. Oh lizards are fairly common round these parts. They’re allright. Won’t harm you one bit. Unless you have meat on you.”

“Why was it by my feet?”

“He probably wanted to get to class too.” Then he laughed at his stupid little joke, pats me on the back and told me that it’s all allright.

Sonofabitch.

It was safe to say that I was traumatized by it all. Had nightmares that the biawak was eating my feet for 2 nights afterwards. Then over the weekend, Mini Skirts and I went to the museum. Yeah, the museum. Hey man, I have only been here for 2 weeks. I’m doing the whole tourist thing. And then there it was on the wall, a display of the same damn lizard that attacked me. Okay...maybe "attacked" is a strong word. Let's go with "ambushed". A display of a lizard that ambushed me. Much better. I found a person who works there and she actually went through some books to find some information for us. And here it is, it’s a Lace Monitor. And for your viewing pleasure this is how a lace monitor looks like:

Now tell me if you wouldn’t run screaming into the night if you saw that thing by your feet too. I mean fucking A Scott, I already have lizard issues as it is. And this mofo….according to the wiki page is venomous.

I am scarred for life now.

The Fuckery that is Craiglist

First of all, I want to apologize for the overly emo previous post. God….I didn’t even proof-read that one. Just wrote whatever the fuck I wanted and then clicked post and didn’t even have another look at it. I just read it for the first time like 5 minutes ago and I am cringing from the horror of it all. I mean, holy shit y’all….could I sound even more angsty-emo-teenager then that? Well could I? The answer to that is no my friend, no. Sometimes I hate this blogging thing. You post something without thinking it through then when you finally figure out what kind of fuckery that was…you’re already totally screwed. Cause the 7 and a half people who read your blog already read it and there is no way of taking it back. None. And I said “and a half” cause I’m pretty sure one is a midget.

God, that was a mean joke. I’m sorry for that too. If you are a midget and you are reading this blog…please don’t hate me. Go ahead, make all the fat jokes you could think off. It’s fine. Cause at the end of the day you’re still a midget, I’m still fat and I could sit on you with my giant ass and you will suffocate and die. So don’t cross the line….biatch.

Anyways back to my room hunting. When the Uni rejected my application, they included a list of off-campus accommodations that I could look into. That list almost single-handedly killed me. Seriously. I really did convulsed, fell off the chair and then flopped on the floor like a fish on deck for a while. I only stopped cause my brother said he will kick me if I don’t. Apparently all my convulsing and rolling on the floor was distracting him from watching a Manchester United game. Dude has priorities.

I checked with my bestfriend whose currently studying medicine in Ukraine and she told me that my reaction to the accommodations list is actually a quite common medical reaction. So common in fact that they even have fancy shcmancy Latin name for it. I would tell you the Latin term but I dunno how to spell it so let’s call it by it’s pedestrian name:

“OMGWTF-are-you-Aussie-fucking-with-me?!!$#^#@&!#$??-itis.”

It’s real y’all. It’s a condition experience by international students with the intentions of studying in Aussie upon finding out that in Australia the rent is by a weekly basis and the cheapest room the fucking university can suggest is fucking AUD190 a week. AUD190 bitches! Convert that to Malaysian Ringgit, now times that by 4 and that’s my monthly rent and then times that by 6 cause the shortest lease I could get is a 6 months deal. And since I know you people are lazy as hell let me do it for you.

AUD 190 = RM448

RM448 x 4 = RM1,792 (1 month’s rent)

RM1,792 x 6 = RM10,752 (6 months)

Almost 11k for a 6 months’ rent. Now you see why I was convulsing? Now you see?!! I don’t shit diamonds! If you’re thinking “Hey CD, I thought your family is like well off?” Yes my family is well-off. We are well-off, not filthy rich stoooopid. Our last name do not end with a “Hilton” or “Trump” okay. It ends with some common Malay name. Arrrggghhh!!! 11k for 6 fucking months. Now excuse me for a while…I need to go roll around on the floor a bit. I find convulsing and rolling on the floor strangely soothing these days.

11k. I cannot do to my Dad. I can’t. Need to find a cheaper place. So all chocked up on intense guilt and plague by an inner monologue that goes on something like this: “Tu lah, dulu lepas SPM dapat buat architecture kat UIA tak nak. Nak gak gi private college. Nak gak belajar overseas. Terhegeh-hegeh sangat. Poyoh sangat. Tengok skrg, apa jadi?” over and over again…..I decided to consult the Wise One. I called my sister in Finland. Woman did not answer the phone. I called her again. Still, no answer. In desperation, I went to the Not-So-Wise-One-but-Still-Okay…my brother. Dude was playing some damn football game on the PS3. Doesn’t look good, I can tell you that.

I told him of my predicament and he’s like

“Duuude, Craiglist Australia.”

“Duuude, no.”

“Duuude, you can find cheap rooms for rent there.”

“Duuude, crazy people hangs out on Craiglist.”

“Duuude, you should fit in then. Cause you know…..”

“Know what?”

“Well you’re my little sister……

“……..”

“Okay. You’re my sister and I say this with much love. Ummm, you’re kinda uuhhh….eccentric.”

“Yeah….so what’s your point?”

“Meaning if you’re already halfway crazy, what’s wrong with living with crazy people?”

He has a point. And I resent being called eccentric. Quirky perhaps, but not eccentric. I mean, so what if I still believe that my stuffed toys can communicate with me? Or that my car could possible be a transformer? Or you know….that one time I left a RM50 note in my jeans pocket and completely forgotten about it then one day the money fell out of the pocket and instead of reacting like any other normal person, I was convinced that money was given to me by Shoe Fairies that came into my room in the middle of night. This is a valid theory seeing that Shoe Fairies would totally know how much I wanted these super fabulous pair of shoes so they left me a RM50 note cause adopting shoes into a new home is a worthy cause. I mean….c’mon! Who here have never thought of Shoe Fairies?! Just cause you never heard of them or seen them, doesn’t mean they don’t exist……Wait you know what…on second thought my brother is onto something here.

For those who are not familiar with Craiglist….let’s just say that it is quite notorious. Perhaps the best way to describe it is to quote my friend Farid; “i mean think about all the ppl listed on craigslist. Employers, aspiring actors, hookers, hustlers, rapists, serial killers, paedophiles.” Exact quote. And really, Craiglist is notorious for being the source of all kinds of fuckery. I know this cause I’m addicted to the web and read Best of Craiglist for shit and giggles when I’m bored. I know. My life is so utterly fascinating that I leave you people breathless with my minute-by-minute description of it.

Beggars can’t be choosers, with that in mind I went through Craiglist.au trying to find a place that is quite near to my Uni. I found a couple of rooms that are within the AUD95-180 weekly range. I refuse to go higher then that. So I emailed them, tell them that I’m interested, a lil background info and hope that I haven’t somehow alerted a serial killer with a giant-ass-fetish of my existence. Cause if there is a serial killer with a giant-ass-fetish then I am completely fucked.

The next day I’ve received a couple of replies and you know what, the stories are true. Crazy people do go on Craiglist. I found this place, fully furnished…actually it’s an apartment and the homeowners are leaving the country due to work. They need a housesitter and the place is 20mins away from uni by bus. The rent is AUD110 a week. Not much seeing that when I go there the only thing I have to buy is food and I’ll be living alone in a sweetass apartment. No housemates issues. No privacy issues. They got a flatscreen TV so you know…..

The man wrote back to me and it kinda sounded like this:

“Ms. Drama, I think that we would be a good match. I like that you do not smoke nor drink and listed gardening as one of your interest. We have a little garden that needs tending too. Before we could proceed with anything I would like to interview you via Skype. That is the 2^nd most important thing, the interview. The most important thing that my wife and I need to know before letting you into our home is….Ms. Drama, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour?”

Whoaaa!! Did not see that coming. Turns out he’s a Reverend, off for missionary work in West Africa. And the rest of his email was riddle with “missionary work”, “converting the ignorant” and multiple usage of the word “crusade”. Scared the crap out of me. I mean the hell am I suppose to say?

“No sir, I have not accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour because I’m Muslim. I’m perfectly happy being Muslim as you are being a Christian. But really, must we put such a small thing between us? Can’t we just stand up and hug each other? Honestly, this is not such a big deal like what you are making it out to be so just relax and pass me your keys. I wanna chill at your sweetass place with the flat screen TV. Word to yo mother.

Salam mualaikum.”

The hell! I am not that insane okay. No offence to anyone but overly religious people scares the hell out of me. I don’t care if they’re Muslims or Christians or Buddhist or whatever else, overly religious people- no matter what their religion is, are scary. Fuck man. So I consider that one is a no go. Then I received an email from a girl. I think she’s like a hardcore environmentalist and a vegetarian.

“Hey CD!

Yeah of course the room is still available. But we’re here in this house are vegetarians. Absolutely no meat in the house. No eggs too. And if you have any leather “goods”, please do not bring it into the house. Also we do a lot of fun things here in the house. Every week we came up with new vegetarian organic recipes and sometimes we picket for animal rights. You can come join us if you want.

And oh have you eaten baby seals before? If you have then….this is going to be difficult but I would have to say no. People who eat baby seals are evil and if you’re eaten before then you are evil. We don’t want evil people in the house. Also stray cats come and go here because we feed them. Don’t want them to die of starvation in the alleys now do we? You can have a couple of cats and keep them in your room if you want.

So that’s all. Get back to me ya.”

Uhhhhhh, though this one doesn’t sound as crazy as the first one but still kinda crazy. I have not eaten baby seals but I don’t wanna live with fanatic tree huggers. Fuck that shit. And stray cats come and go on the premises? Dude, sounds like my aunt’s place and my aunt’s place smells like hell cause the stray cats shit everywhere. I don’t want to live in some cat poo dungeon with a bunch of crazy animal rights activist. Fuck that. Then I received another email that make me wipe my hands off Craiglist for all eternity. It’s from some guy named Jack*.

“Oh hello CD, I’m glad that you emailed me.

Yes the room is still available for rent. But it will be the only two of us in the house. I hope you don’t mind that. I work 9 to 5 everyday so I won’t be in your way much. There’s a BBQ and patio and you can use it if you want to entertain friends but just give me the heads up first.

Before we could proceed with anything, I need you to know that I am a nudist. I enjoy walking around the apartment naked. It’s nothing sexual, I just feel comfortable naked. I’m letting you know this because my previous tenant found this disturbing and moved out in anger. I don’t understand what was the big deal is. So I’m just letting you know in case you’re just as uncool as she was.

I walk around naked, you don’t have to be naked if you don’t want too. But if you want too, it would be better. Nudity is not such a big deal you know. We could be naked together.

So email me back if you are still interested.

Regards,

Jack.”

I fucking hate my Uni for rejecting my on-campus accommodations. And I fucking hate my brother too for suggesting Craiglist to me.

The Constantly Dramatic One's Shit List: Part 3

Okay this post has been a long time coming. I realise that my ass will get flame after this but then you know, it’s not like having haters on this blog is anything new. Haters on Dramatic Musing is like the sun on a bright shining day. They keep things spicy here and over time I have come to rely on them for my perpetual craving for drama. Yes….. haters complete me in ways no lover ever could.

 

And for that, I thank you.

 

Anyways, I dunno bout you guys but as much as I am into this whole blogging thing right, there are just some shit out there that bugs the fuck out of me. Just some random things regarding the blogging world so let me just list them out for you. In no chronological order:

 

1) Tedious bloggers pissed the fuck out of me. You know those kinds, the ones that have to give you a play by play of their whole life. Every, mundane, minute details have to be described and exploited. Dunno what I’m talking about, let me give you some examples:

 

 

“Today I went shopping. I drove there in my silver Volvo. Eric came with me. He sat in the passenger seat next to me. He wore a red hoodie. I told him it makes him look gay. I laughed. Haha.”

 

“Oh today I woke up. Then I went to the bathroom. Then I took a dump. I wiped my ass with recycled tissue paper. It was pink in colour. I think it is pretty. Haha.”

 

FYI, no one wants to know about every little mundane shit that goes on in your insignificant little life. Really. Contrary to your singulary belief, you are not as fascinating as you thought. If you want to write shit like that out, get a damn diary. Not a goddamn blog. Reading your blog is so fucking boring that upon setting my eyes on it, watching paint dry and grass grow seem utterly attractive to me.

 

2) Okay now I understand that you love yourself. That you are in fact, the shiznit. That you are the most beautiful, the most drop dead gorgeous human being that has ever walked God’s green earth. See, I understand that. I understand that some amount of self love is needed for a healthy self esteem.

 

See I know I am not the most gorgeous woman around. I know that. But sometimes, on good days I look into the mirror and I go “Daaaammmnnnnn giiiirrrrrlll. You are fiiiinnneeee. Now shake that ass baby, shake that ass. Cause you are fiiiiinnnnneeee.” Moments like this would not be complete if I do not pull some Tyra Banks-es poses in the mirror. It’s fun. It keeps me happy. Keeps my self esteem healthy as well. But when I am overcome by moments of narcissism like this, I do not however take 3000 pictures of me and paste it all over my goddamn blog.

 

Yes, yes ...we know you think you’re gorgeous. We know. Unfortunately we do not share the sentiment. But really huney, no one wants to see you in 1700 different posses and faces in the same outfit. Also you know that shit that you do when clearly you are taking a pic of yourself and not looking into the camera, yeah that shit is lame. It does not make you look mysterious. It just heightened your douchebag factor.

 

3) See I have crappy taste in music. So crappy that whenever I tell people of my favourite artists, people visibly cringe in horror of it all. I listen to shallow pop music and I am not ashamed to admit it. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Kelly Clarkson, Beyonce and so on and so forth are the singers that are on constant reply on my mp3. I know a lot of people think of pop music as crappy. So much so, that a friend once told me; “When we meet my other friends, please don’t tell them that you listen to Britney and those other crappy music cause then I am forced to abandon this friendship of ours.” It gets to that point okay.

 

So I understand completely on how other people do not like my type of music. And I respect that. I do not shove it into their ears and I do not force them to like it. I like what I like and vice versa which brings us to that fucking, fucking annoying instant-play-music-widget fuckery.

 

There are many blogs out there who have music widgets that start playing the moment a reader visits their blog. Let me just point out that those things are the most ridiculously annoying shit I have ever come across. Have it ever occurred to you that the rest of the damn population do not share the same taste in music as you do? Have it ever occurred to you that they might find the music that you oh so love and adore worst then the sound of a cat makes during giving birth? Have it occurred to you that your reader might be listening to their own music, and have no wish whatsoever to listen to your lame ass music while blog surfing? Get rid of that shit.

 

When I listen to Britney, I do not like to be interrupted.

 

4) I have issues with advertisings on blogs. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind if you have like only one of those widgets things. Just one. Big one, small one…whatever you know. In fact whenever I go to any blogs that have advertising I make a point of clicking on that ad. Why not? Help out a fellow blogger you know...

What bugs the fuck out of me is when there are multiple ads crisscrossing on the page. I can’t fucking stand that shit. Or that shit when you move the cursor around and the ad follows the movement of your cursor. That shit is soooo fucking annoying okay. Stop it.

 

Your blog is nothing without your readers. Stop shoving shit into their faces. They come there to read what you write and what you think. Appreciate that. Be grateful. Do not fucking advertise like an asshole just cause you are greedy little piece of shit. Keep it to limited advertising and put that shit at a corner of your page. Not all over it. Have some respect for your readers and in turn they would respect you too.

 

 

5) “Hello. You have a nice blog. Link me.”

 

Really asshole, really?

 

This shit bugs me in more ways then the others could. I hate this okay. I can’t even describe to you how much I hate it. I hate it so much that I kinda wanna buy me a shotgun and kill all the motherfuckers that come my way and leave this in the comment box.

 

It’s soooo undignified. Listen, I linked to blogs that I like. Blogs that in some ways amuses me. If these bloggers feel like they wanna link me then they can go ahead and do it, if they don’t then no big whoop. Just because you linked my ass doesn’t mean I want to link yours mmmkay? Why do you need to come to my blog and do that shit? I know it sounds like nothing to the rest of you but I think these people who do these are like the hobos of the blogging world. The ones that stand at street corners asking for a buck. Only these ones troll the comment box asking people to link their boring ass when I have no wish to do so.

Write more interesting shit. Maybe then people would link you without you having to whore yourself out. Was that too harsh? Well, excuuuuuusssse me for not sugarcoating that for you. I ain't Mary Poppins, asshole.

 

Okay…that’s it. I got that out of my chest. Now tell the Constantly Dramatic One of your blogging pet peeves. Or flame my ass. Or defend your case. Or stop reading my blog all together. Doesn’t matter really. Unlike those douchebags that constantly put up pics of themselves, I am not here for the….what do you call it…"popularity”. I’m here strictly for the bitching.