What's The Cure For Paranoia? Parano-temol?

My brother came back yesterday from his day at the office claiming that people are out there to get him.

Like what any concerned brother person bored senseless would do, I decided to entertain him and asked 'What makes you say so?' to which he related the following anecdote:

I was sitting there at my desk, typing out the bloody stupid agreement which seems to be adding pages to itself at random intervals. Anyway, as I sat there typing away, comes this other girl who happens to be doing her attachment at the same place. So she slides up to me and before I could say hi, let out a small wail.

I was so startled that I accidentally deleted the whole document I was typing. 'Good riddance' I said to myself and started to make small talk with Wail Girl.

'Uh-huh' I nodded. 'And where did that conversation lead to?'

So yes, we talked about the usual stuff. Boredom at the office, Facebooking for two hours straight, going down to have lunch and come up only to go through the same thing again. And then, we started talking about families.

'That sounds perfectly normal. You should have talked about the weather too then it'd be a complete cliche'.

Well, she asks about mum and dad, the number of siblings, how many girls in the family...you know the drill. So after she was done asking me questions, I casually asked her back 'So, what do your parents do?' My questioned was returned with a shuddering cold silence.

'My parents have both passed away' she said quietly.

Even more awkward silence. And then I blurted out 'Well, I should really get back to typing this. They need it by today. Yes. Today. I completely forgot how important this stupid document is. So uhh...I guess I'll talk to you later?'

'Bravo, good chap. That was real smooth' I said to my brother, unable to believe how he handled himself.

'Well, what was I supposed to say? Anyway, just goes on to show how people are out there to get me. It's a trap, I say!'

Now if that isn't paranoia, I don't know what is.

Probably this

23 For The First Time

My sincere thanks to all well wishers, especially fellow bloggers who took the time and effort to post up an entry bearing my name/picture/depiction. 

It's nice to be remembered *smile*

I Am No Gym Class Hero

I am no ardent fan of gyms, there is no hiding that. In fact, I will go so far as to say that I detest gyms. Please excuse me when I say this, but I just do not see the logic in paying good money just to get yourself intimidated by beefier looking men who are probably bench pressing several hundred pounds more than you will ever hope to while looking good at it. Of course muscled men aren't the only natural inhabitants of those dreary dungeons that reek of sweat, testosterone and cheap deodorants but who wants to talk to the fat boys?

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So I passed a gym the other night. Now, I know how big they can get, but this one was obscenely huge. It stood like a monolith in the middle of other, more sensible buildings. The bright lights and loud, upbeat sounds coming out from that monstrosity of a construction only served as bait to curious visitors who, if carelessly enough wandered into the compounds, would instantly be transformed into mindless slaves to the treadmill.

No, even that is too much drama for my standards but judging from how religiously some people go to the gym to flatten their stomach or try to magically conjure up perfectly sculpted abs from a mound of fat, one (especially yours truly) can't help but wonder whether the returns are really all that worth the effort required of them?

Now, I can fully appreciate the mantra 'no pain, no gain' and I absolutely understand that you need to break a leg if you want to ace an exam, or dishonestly claim some insurance money from false claims that 'a car ran over me'. But doing 300 bench presses just to acquire the biceps of King Leonidas is pushing it a tad too far. There is a fine line dividing greatness and madness, and this happens to be one of those lines.

Still, I have no beef whatsoever with beefy macho men. By all means, if walking several hundred kilometers on the treadmill is your idea of fun, be my guest and walk several hundred more. Just do not intimidate me at the beach by ripping off your shirts and showing off those fabulously sculpted abs of yours.

Birthday Boy

I do not know about you, but for as long as I can remember, birthdays among the male species tend to be a rather drab affair. Unlike their counterparts, males will not go out of their way to find a suitable birthday present for his mate, nor will they lose a night's worth of sleep thinking about 'What if I forget to wish him?'. This is of course, an absurdly gross exaggeration which is founded upon some slivers of truth.

Having said that, why on earth am I writing a birthday dedication to a friend who obviously needs to lose his love handles since this is only his 23rd birthday and wedding plans are still far off. There's a reason they're called love handles, dammit.

Anyway. Birthday wishes to the above fellow. Grow up and get a life already.

Update: I was just informed that I happened to be the first guy to wish him by mouth earlier today. Goodness, that sounds so dodgy.

Kitty Kat

Won't you hold my paw?

Because we all want that reassuring feeling of having someone to fall back on when things get rough.