Archive for July, 2009

A few signs that Someone up there doesn’t like me very much.

July 28, 2009

Okay so I know my life isn’t like, horrible. I mean, I’m not crippled, I don’t have any debilitating diseases (yet), I’m not living in a bunker made of palm leaves in the middle of a war zone, I don’t have twelve kids to take care of, and I’m not ugly. However, despite my gratefulness for having a relatively good life, I still wanna complain once in a while. These are my stories. *cue Law & Order “dun-dun”*

I’ve recently developed a new addiction, far worse than heroin and crack combined. My drug of choice is known only as Heroes, and it is the greatest and best series ever created in the history of television. That’s a fact. If you’ve never seen an episode, I strongly suggest you don’t. Unless you have exceptionally strong willpower, in which case you definitely need to watch it, but view with caution. Because it’s sickeningly addictive. Sign number one that Someone up there doesn’t like me. Because He/She creates this shit, knowing very well that I will not only become obsessed with it, but also jealous of everyone’s super powers. I wanna be Sylar. Minus the whole brain-cutting thing. Oh yeah by the way, I’m only half way through the first season so don’t ruin anything for me! Or I will cut your brain out.

Tomorrow, I officially become a Jumeirah slave. My duties as a lifeguard will include interacting with nasty demon children, saving them if they start drowning (which I initially thought was a joke, but apparently senior management was serious – I’m not allowed to drown kids, even if it’s with all my best intentions to make the world a better place), becoming a victim of skin cancer as I bake to a crisp in fifty-degree weather, exercising on a daily basis which translates to cutting down on smoking, waking up at ungodly hours of the morning and being forced to wear a smile at all times, and more. Sign number two that Someone up there doesn’t like me. There are some benefits as well though! For example, I get paid. But because I need to buy a car and a new tattoo, I have to save my paycheck and can’t really spend it. Sign number three that Someone really enjoys laughing at my misery.

As the end of July approaches, summer slowly rolls to a halt. August is right around the corner. In uni-talk, August equivocates to Hell. Because it’s enrollment period, and students sit at their laptops like hawks, and within the first thirty seconds of the classes being posted, they’re already full. Which means someone like me, who’ll be melting in the sun and will not have the luxury of Internet at my fingertips, will most likely have to manually enroll, which is a bitch. Because those people at the Registrar and the Cashier are kinda retarded and don’t really like me. Sign number… what are we on now? Four? Yeah, sign number four that Someone likes picking on me.

My beautiful baby princess Ten Ten is no longer with me. She didn’t die or anything, God forbid, but she’s about a billion and a half kilometres away from me right now. Yeah that’s right, on Venus, baby! No actually not that far; she’s in Boston. But still, that might as well be Venus. And it’s so not cool. It makes me want to fall to my knees in the middle of the road during a rainstorm, shake my fists at the heavens, and scream “WHHYYYYY?!” But since it never rains here, this is an unfeasible desire of mine. Signs five and six that Someone wants me to suffer.

Sign seven: my wisdom teeth are still being nuisances. For the past couple of years now, they have been embedded in my gums. But beneath the surface, they are angry little fuckers who wanna grow and take over my whole mouth. Unfortunately, there isn’t any space between my last set of molars and the end of my jaw for them to happily sprout out and be wise. So instead, they have decided to be conniving, mischievous bastards, and are growing at an angle, forcing themselves onto the roots of my other molars (who’re just casually sitting there, minding their own business). This chain of events is causing a gradual shift of all the teeth in my jaw. Mind you, it’s occurring at a glacial pace, and so far the shift is subtle and barely noticeable, but something must be done nonetheless. Crooked teeth are nasty. Braces are even nastier. And due to my current financial situation, I’m unable to get them removed. Although now that I think about it, I have a wrench in one of the kitchen drawers…

My hair isn’t growing as fast as I’d like it, I miss Omar and wanna go visit him, my photo printer decided to die on me today, I still haven’t found my sheet music, and I really wanna build a pool table, but I haven’t the supplies nor the skills. Signs eight through twelve that Someone isn’t too fond on me.

There’s more, you know. I could keep going for a while. But instead, I’ve decided I’d rather smoke a cigarette and then conduct research on how to make my own crystal meth lab in my bathroom, so that I have a supplementary source of income each month. If you’re the police, JUST KIDDING! If you’re a child, come to Wild Wadi and ask for the awesome lifeguard called Ona. I’ll hook you up. *wink*

Blame it on the alcohol

July 24, 2009

For those of you who don’t know, I quit drinking back in February. Like, quit quit. As in, not a single sip. Not even the occasional whiff. I just 100% quit.

Now, many people are shocked and ask me, “But…why?!” and I thought I would take a moment to explain to the world my rationale behind quitting the art of drunken belligerence.

The dancing. For those of you who know me, Drunk Ona likes to dance. And by “dance” I actually mean “stagger around the dance floor and bump into people, all the while lacking rhythm and grace.” However, this isn’t so much the problem. The issue arises when I have to wait until the next day to hear about my dancing stories and how I made a fool of myself. Either by getting kicked off the dance floor by security due to inappropriateness and public indecency, or starting a bitch fight by dancing with some chick’s boyfriend, or whatever. Basically, drunken Ona-dancing was never a good thing. And now that I’m sober, when I go to clubs, I just look at the drunk dancers with such admiration disgust that my friends have to tell me to snap out of it because I look like I’m about to kill someone.

The puking. Normal people throw up like once every five years or so, and it’s due either to pregnancy, or food poisoning, or swine flu, or something of the like. I, however, used to easily throw up twice a week. And not necessarily in the private comfort of a bathroom stall, no. I’m talking about public fucking puking. The dance floor, under the table, in some chick’s purse, the parking lot, someone’s car, a taxi, the side of the road, the front of someone’s house… you name it. My problems with vomiting are twofold. First, it’s unhealthy as hell. I mean sure, you’re getting the alcohol out of your system. But your esophagus and mouth shouldn’t be exposed to the alcoholic acid mixture that projects from your stomach. It’s nasty and corrosive. Secondly, puking is just fucking unclassy. It’s not that I can’t hold my liquor (because trust me, I might as well be Irish), it’s more of the pace at which I drink, and the fact that I mix my alcohols. And that induces unclassy vomiting.  Nowadays, when I go clubbing and see girls just double over and hurl a puddle of vomit on the dance floor and then get back up and continue dancing in their own filth as though nothing happened and then two seconds later give their boyfriend a big wet kiss, like, that shit’s disgusting. And did I mention unclassy? And ironically, it triggers my gag reflex. But it makes me so happy that I am no longer able to classify myself as one of those people.

The emotions. Back in my days of alcoholism, I would have severe and uncontrollable mood issues. I was rarely a happy drunk. Either I was like The Hulk and got really really angry and aggressive and could stab you to death without so much as a single flinch, or I’d have a waterfall of tears streaming down my face, crying about something or another. It was pathetic. And now that I’m usually the only sober one, I like to conduct observational research when I go clubbing. And my observations lead me to conclude that once the ratio of alcohol to blood (in your body) exceeds 1:1, your conscience shuts down, and the alcoholic sub-conscience takes over. This is bad. Because you say shit that you’d normally keep to yourself because your sensible conscience tells you it’s offensive. Or you do shit that you’d normally never do because your sense of reason and judgement is still intact. And then the emotional downfall begins, and you just keep spiraling down into deeper depression slash rage until finally you pass the fuck out next to some train tracks and wake up the next day, shivering, alone, and confused. Not like that’s happened to me or anything…

The blackout. Now, I don’t know about you, but because of the lack of control I have whilst drinking, I drink until the point of blackout. As in, I’m still walking around and functioning, but my brain is literally dead. And I won’t remember anything I do in this period of blackout the next day. Not only could this lead to embarrassing happenings, but more importantly, I could do stupid dangerous shit. Let’s say I’m in blackout mode and I get behind the wheel of a car? Impending death by impact. Or let’s say I’m in blackout mode and since I’m at a beach party, I decide to go swimming? Impending death by drowning. Like, I guess this is one of my main reasons for quitting drinking, which is that I don’t like to not be in control of my own body. I’ve seen it too many times before. Alcohol makes people ugly. It changes people’s personalities completely, and it’s some creepy ass voodoo shit. I don’t like it. Hence, quitting.

The hangover. You wake up, reeking of booze and cigarettes. You’ve got that nasty ass fermented taste in your mouth because you were too drunk the night before to brush your damn teeth. You roll over and regret it instantaneously. Your head is throbbing, you feel motion sickness even though you’re not moving, your eyes are sensitive to light, your hands are probably still shaking from alcohol poisoning, you may or may not have heartburn… As you get up, the symptoms only worsen. You stagger to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of your still-drunk reflection and groan in dismay, as you realise you’re still wearing the same clothes as the night before. Is that a tattoo on your forehead?! How drunk were you? After a quick pee, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. You’re super hungry and could kill for a huge English breakfast. Sadly, your sense of smell is heightened, and anything that even vaguely reminds you of food makes you nauseous. So although you’re dying of starvation, you can’t eat. It’s a cruel, harsh world, and for the next five hours, all you can do is mope around like the pathetic alcoholic that you are. But then, it’s happy hour at your local bar, so you make your way over for the best hangover cure: a pint of beer.

So yeah that’s pretty much it. Now that I don’t drink anymore, I’m relatively happier, my liver is no longer at the brink of failing, my mom isn’t as much of a paranoid freak as she once was, and I haven’t suffered any fatal injuries. But it’s still difficult. I crave a beer every morning when I wake up, and every night before I go to sleep. I constantly fight an inner battle with my alcohol demons, although the better of me has thus far always won. Can you still buy me a drink, you ask? I’ll take a sugar-free Red Bull on the rocks with two slices of lemon. Stirred, not shaken.

Typical?

July 16, 2009

Before I go on to tell you about these retarded Asians I saw today, I wanted to comment on the fact that I’ve been slacking on my blogging. I know, it’s so not cool, and I apologise. Therefore, I’ve decided to make it up to you by posting my latest creation. 

Sick Mind

It’s still a rough draft, so I’m open to critique and comments! 

Kay, now that that’s out of the way, onwards to my story. It’s short, don’t worry.

The temperature was probably around 45 degrees Celsius today, with the humidity levels exceeding 70% for sure. I don’t really know because I’m not a meteorologist, but that’s my rough estimate. Anyway, I was just in this lame new shopping mall for the past hour, when I finally decide that it’s time I should leave.

Upon exiting the sliding glass doors, my sunglasses (which were already on my face, because I’m cool like that) immediately fogged up like woah. This is a normal occurrence for Dubai at this time of the year. So I just took my glasses off, wiped them on my shirt, and put them back on my face.

I lit a cigarette. About thirty-four seconds later, this group of typical Asian tourists comes out of the same sliding glass doors through which I existed just a few moments prior. I use the term “Asian” because I don’t really know which country they were from. But let’s just say they looked like anime characters. Complete with the unnatural hair colouring and spiky up-dos. I noticed that only one of them was wearing sunglasses.

I was about to avert my attention elsewhere when the dude with the glasses started freaking the fuck out. With his hands outstretched before him, he proceeded to walk like a blind guy without his stick, and shouted something in a worried Asian voice. His friends were all looking at him with equally horrified facial expressions, but after a couple seconds started laughing at him.

As it turns out, Naruto‘s glasses simply fogged up, but he thought he had gone blind or eaten some magic mushrooms or something. He and his Asian clan were so fascinated by this event! They started laughing and jabbering away in their language, taking pictures of the glasses and the guy wearing them. Then they opened their little fanny packs and took out their own glasses, but looked completely devastated when they didn’t fog up the way their friend’s had. 

I couldn’t help but laugh, and that’s when they noticed me and in broken English, with smiling faces and many head-nods, asked if I could  take a group photo of them. I couldn’t possibly say no, so I snapped a picture, and went my way.

Too bad I don’t have a copy.

 

EDIT: I just saw what this post looks like from your (the reader’s) point of view, and I can already say that I’m not feeling the clouds. I gotta work on that section like heaps more. So let’s just ignore it for the time being, shall we? Excellent.


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