What on earth's happening to the weekends?
They seem to be getting shorter and shorter. You wait and wait for Friday evening, and next thing you know, it's Sunday night and you're getting into bed, deflated at the prospect of manic Monday. Football is back, but it's the EPL (stifled yawn). On saying that, it wouldn't be entirely true to say the weekends are nothing more than boredom fests. There were some 'highlights' over the most recent Saturday and Sunday, culminating in plans for a PD getaway. Not holding my breath, though; have been part of many an aborted getaway plan these past few years.
Amid all the social obligations I partook a couple of days ago, I somehow managed to miss Red Cliff part 1. Had been planning to catch the epic China flick for weeks, and now it's playing no more. Sigh. Guess a clear DVD copy with comical subtitles will have to do. And I still haven't watched Hulk or Iron Man yet, as well.
I really have to resume shaving. What had started off as a plan to preserve the relative smoothness of my jawline has now grown into a virgin forest of hair, growing wildly, literally. Will have to rely on The Barber Guys and their magic shaving blade, and the hot towel. A simple service, long forgotten in the more commercially-minded saloons. At least now I can say beyond certainty that the hair on my left side has issues with their brethren on the right. And, would you believe it, I actually have a whorl design embedded somewhere among the active follicles on my neck. A blood whorl.
Right now, right here, at 6.14PM, I'm in a dilemma. Gym or tea or home? Quite a quandary, I tell you. Miss gym, and I'll be wracked by guilt. What prevents me from bouncing along the sweaty aisles (literally) is the fact that the gym will be packed at this hour. There'll be a hundred and one morons chilling by the machines, being incredibly dense and inconsiderate. The cardio equipment will be sought after by every able bodied person, eager to burn off 0.001 g of fat. There should be rule restricting cardio to fatties; people with a minimum amount of fat. Only God knows why some Ethiopian-esque individuals enjoy burning what minute fat they have left, looking dangerously close to burning their muscle and bone as well. Get a bloody life, go and have some burger and fries, mates. Or a nice cup of Baskins & Robbins.
I think I'll mull over it, with a cigarette and Starbucks Caramel Frapuccino.
Aaah, the simple life is often best.
They seem to be getting shorter and shorter. You wait and wait for Friday evening, and next thing you know, it's Sunday night and you're getting into bed, deflated at the prospect of manic Monday. Football is back, but it's the EPL (stifled yawn). On saying that, it wouldn't be entirely true to say the weekends are nothing more than boredom fests. There were some 'highlights' over the most recent Saturday and Sunday, culminating in plans for a PD getaway. Not holding my breath, though; have been part of many an aborted getaway plan these past few years.
Amid all the social obligations I partook a couple of days ago, I somehow managed to miss Red Cliff part 1. Had been planning to catch the epic China flick for weeks, and now it's playing no more. Sigh. Guess a clear DVD copy with comical subtitles will have to do. And I still haven't watched Hulk or Iron Man yet, as well.
I really have to resume shaving. What had started off as a plan to preserve the relative smoothness of my jawline has now grown into a virgin forest of hair, growing wildly, literally. Will have to rely on The Barber Guys and their magic shaving blade, and the hot towel. A simple service, long forgotten in the more commercially-minded saloons. At least now I can say beyond certainty that the hair on my left side has issues with their brethren on the right. And, would you believe it, I actually have a whorl design embedded somewhere among the active follicles on my neck. A blood whorl.
Right now, right here, at 6.14PM, I'm in a dilemma. Gym or tea or home? Quite a quandary, I tell you. Miss gym, and I'll be wracked by guilt. What prevents me from bouncing along the sweaty aisles (literally) is the fact that the gym will be packed at this hour. There'll be a hundred and one morons chilling by the machines, being incredibly dense and inconsiderate. The cardio equipment will be sought after by every able bodied person, eager to burn off 0.001 g of fat. There should be rule restricting cardio to fatties; people with a minimum amount of fat. Only God knows why some Ethiopian-esque individuals enjoy burning what minute fat they have left, looking dangerously close to burning their muscle and bone as well. Get a bloody life, go and have some burger and fries, mates. Or a nice cup of Baskins & Robbins.
I think I'll mull over it, with a cigarette and Starbucks Caramel Frapuccino.
Aaah, the simple life is often best.
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