Hello, I blog!
I share all my sporadic and toilet thoughts in here, because I am random like that.
Insect mutilation fail
So I spotted this black dot on the ceiling and wondered what the heck it was.
After examining it a little closer (by standing on my bed), I deduced it to be a spider and wanted it dead like, nao. Creepy crawlies are so not welcome in my room.
I went outside to fetch a newspaper, intending to throw it upwards horizontally. This is so that it will nicely smack said spider and fall back down with its carcass, allowing me to pick it up and throw it away.
Arriving back in my room with my choice of weapon, I took aim.
Ready, get set, fire. The newspaper went flying upwards … in the wrong direction. It went up vertically instead, smacking the ceiling next to the spider with a loud thwack, and basically knocked the spider off the ceiling … causing it to land somewhere, quite possibly still alive.
Gosh, my aiming sucks. Fail #1.
And the spider still could be crawling somewhere in my room. Oh, damn it.
After a short hunt around, I decided to give up and resume whatever I was doing before having spotted that dratted thing … and that was when I spotted that dratted thing again.
Still on the ceiling.
I was puzzled. I thought I had already knocked it off the ceiling? Unless that spider had legs that allowed it to crawl at the speed of light? Or … were there two spiders instead?
Totally not relying on my own sucky aiming anymore, and called my mum for help.
Minutes later, mum stood on my bed, closely examining the black speck on the ceiling. Her face took on a puzzled expression, before she eventually burst into sniggers.
“Brenda, this is not a spider. It’s a housefly!”
Enemy identification fail. And that’s fail #2 for the day.
So, that explains how it could get back on the ceiling so quickly. At least there are no spiders after all, I wouldn’t like them spinning webs in various corners of my room.
The housefly is still at large. Darn it.
And I still can’t really tell insects apart at my age. Oh, how embarrassing.
Hello, I am not a ‘Sir’
I’ve been really fickle about my hair. Some days, I just wish it’d grow faster. And on other days, I just can’t wait to get it all chopped off.
My last haircut was about a month ago – where I decided to retained my short (extremely layered), slightly tomboyish crop. It’s grown out quite a fair bit now and once again, I’m undecided.
Mum and I was at Parkway Parade this evening. While strolling along, I was eyeing my reflection in the glass door next to me – particularly my hair.
“Hmm, should I cut my hair again?” I wondered aloud.
Mum just stared at me – I knew very well how she felt about me having short hair in general, so I didn’t really need an answer.
We walked on.
And when we walked past the food counter at Yoshinoya (a Japanese rice set fast-food joint), one of the guys behind the counter – in a fit of over-enthusiasm (because the joint was empty at that moment), decided to yell out.
“Hello maam! Hello sir!”
I looked around. There was no one else in the vicinity except for my mum and me.
“Sir?! What the fuck?!” was my outburst, directed at no one in particular.
The fellow behind the counter at least had the grace to look sheepish. Mum on the other hand, couldn’t stop laughing for quite a while.
As for the answer to the question, “should I cut my hair shorter?” Well, it’s quite obvious that I’ve gotten my answer. No.
The fruit monster
So, I’ve resorted to having a slice of papaya without fail every day after lunch …
No, that iz not a karot.
… in a desperate bid to shit more regularly. Nah, I kid. (And neither did you need to know all that.)
And on a completely unrelated note, I love my new Threadless tee. Dreaming of carrots and world domination. Mmm.
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