it's bonfire night

...and i really really want a smoke.

one for each hour

drag each minute in

Instructions from a coffee mug on a very awkward morning

Drink me, drink me, my black bubbles bursting into smaller bubbles like those scientists say. You think there's no rush, no hurry, no urgency? Well my friend, this is a very urgent situation. What is it that you wanted to say? Admit it, come on say it. You want to, you know you do. That's why you're clutching me like a beat-up stress ball. Have a sip...there. Didn't that feel reassuring? Now say it. Don't stare at me, look that way. It's a wall, I know, with a portrait. Oh look, the portrait is just as nervous as you are. Don't look so glad. And don't look out the window! There's nothing there but ants and beetles. Hey, HEY! Take a s--

...

--ip.

Ok that sip took too long. It's not like I'm getting cold. Are you? Feeling cold? Maybe if you say something from that pool of thoughts simmering in your head...

JUST SAY IT! SAY IT!

... ... ...

I'm cold now, you know. You hate me when I'm cold. There's no punch, there's no burst. You missed it, the punch I mean. Not the punch, the chance! Dammit, stop stuttering. You got too much punch from me now you're just flying on a kite. Here's what you're going to do.

Let's just see where this goes.

n reasons why I prefer rug burns to whip bruises

On the question of munching versus sucking, I now have answers legitimized by experience, and well...experience.

n+1=pound pound pound unh unh unh uuuuuunh...was I good?

n=I think I'm too chafed to answer that question.

n+2=if the ratio of knob gobbling vs carpet munching in your relationship is lower than 5:1...you are one lucky bitch.

n+3=disco sticks like to go deep, deep deep deep, like your asshole deep, only your throat. Do you really think skull fucking is sexy? Raise your hand and let me punch you in the face.

n+4=let's talk serious here. No guy will ever want to come on a towel after the perfect blow job. Raise your hand if you do, or if your hookup did. The three seconds before they come, your face becomes target practice for that creamy warm gob of protein and hydrolytic enzymes. Really not good for your face there.

n+5=your boobs are also targets. In fact, I don't know if not swallowing is the lesser of the two evils. What do you think?

n+6=knobs never last as long as a cunt, or last too long, then your face becomes target practice.

n+7= that long, juicy stalk may be making creamy honey syrup in the early stages, but you know the end result is more like bad yogurt that's been left out in the sun and treated with Tide and and sulfuric acid.

Admit it, cum tastes like what a feminist revolution tastes like to the boys club, like battery acid to even the most trained taste buds. Nobody wants battery acid on their faces, or down their throats, with the exception of gay men whose taste buds have evolved to confuse the taste of cum with the taste of sweet florida oranges, acids included.

At least with a feminist revolution, there will be more fag hags to choose from.

Clear steamy juice on the other hand...

HEAT

sweet motherfrakking aphrodite i have seriously never been so HOT in my life...indoors. and i live in britain. BRITAIN. NORTH OF FRAKKING ENGLAND!

ffs, a little VENTILATION would be nice for this building.

today, i had period cramps, heat flashes, almost kissed the bathroom floor as i almost fainted, felt faint for a good half hour WHILE lying down, and everyone in this flat has pretty much seen my naked ass/pussy/boobs 'cause i barely had a towel around me as i stumbled around trying not to faint.

but thank you, sweet darling.

So you wanna be an internet startup _______?

_pornstar_?

The internet has seen it all, and it has shared all with us. How many musicians out there got their big break through Myspace? (I'm looking at Lilly Allen, yes, her). I don't know. Tons. Mark Zuckerberg got crazy rich when he moved the Harvard Facebook to a server farm. Hell, throw in some Chris Crocker for good measure.

Yes, I've been straying from the topic. It's not as if I really wanted to share my insight into the subject introduced by the title, but I felt like my creativity needed another output. Basically, the internet will make you famous, even for the proven 2 seconds of full attention that the average internet junkie will sacrifice...just for you. For fraks sake, all Chris Crocker had to do was put aside the fact that he's gay and propose to Britney Spears complete with a ring of tears.

So pornstars have been complaining about the internet, and how it is shaking up this billion moolah industry and bring it to its knees, pun intended. We can't help it! Orgasms are good. Free is good. Porn is good. Free orgasms from free porn...hmm, you get it. After all, when we get down to it, it's the action that matters. Who wants to watch all the prefuck bad acting and dialogue anyway? Just start blowing him already for fraks sake.

Ok, gross.

Ok really, I'm about to let go of some inside info here. Bear with me. All right, here goes.

I have a camera, which takes videos, you know, like every other camera out there. It also takes pictures, 'cause you know, it's a camera. Lately, it took a liking to taking nude pictures, and film. Of my girlfriend, and yours truly. Come on, everyone does it. I bet even Oprah does it. Frak me if Simon Cowell hasn't done it. Point is, it's not really a big deal. Got over it already? Yeah. Good.

So all these moving pictures and stills, they go to my trusty macbook, of course. And since my girlfriend's semi-dumb-ass computer can't see me on the uni network, she asks me to transfer everything into her usb stick. Of course she wants a copy. So there it goes, file transfer completed into a folder on the frakkin homepage of the thumbdrive. And she calls the folder 'tiger.'

Mind you, tiger has months of data in it. Months.

Then we go to London and act gayer than gay we made G-A-Y just a little straighter, except I apparently semi-passed out on a chair and still managed to give the cabbie directions to the hostel, which was on a pub. On a pub, bitch. But that's for another day. There's another camera, with a really funny person in it. It's a cylon camera. And it took pictures, of us of course. And the pictures go into a folder. Guess where? On the damn thumbdrive. And the folder is called 'snogging.'

So...tiger and snogging live their happy lives in this thumbdrive. Everything's fine. Life is good in the real world and in the 8gig volume of the thumbdrive. Stuff gets added, maybe, but stuff never got deleted. Then they get lost. tiger and snogging. They get lost in the woods, in the real world. In a room full of computers, and people who aren't my girlfriend. My girlfriend leaves them in this scary world full of people who might be deviant enough to peruse other people's lost thumbdrives...

So there. If I ever make it to TheChive, or Xtube, or Tube8, or the gods know where...please tell me. My girlfriend and I are pretty hot...nymphlike, the type Humbert Humbert would fall for. I can see your boner right now, and you're gay. Slap it down ho.

Cliché abandonment at a bus stop

"Walk with me," she says
The dulling floorboards vibrate
Crests and troughs phase in and out
A doorknob turns halfway through
The neighbor forgot his car keys again

The synchrony continues to the stairs
Cloth polishes the potholed banister
The same doorknob turns, closes, locks
The polishing hand leaps from a cliff
And lands in a safe pocket

Only to be penetrated by water
Aliquots preserved in hexagons
Crushed by boots and paws and tires
Disrupted crystals breaking down
Into black, as if stains are a punishment

This isn't the city that never sleeps
Today is Sunday, sleepday
Spend time with family day, what day?
Today is Sunday, flyday, leaveday
Play that song from Armageddon day

Tread marks on paper, washed out
With more crystal hexagons turning into ink
Letters don't write themselves, usually
And if they do, the ink bottle tips
To mock the effort and hide its existence.

Grapes of wrath

So last Wednesday, someone threw a grape at my girlfriend...'cause we were acting like a couple.

Seriously, a grape.

Fortunately, I didn't know they threw a grape at her, or else the idiots would've gotten something more along the lines of Kit Porter vs A Prolife Women's Heatlh Clinic. Arson! Arson!

Really, a grape + 'LESBIANS!'

Nah. Pulling a Kit Porter on them wouldn't have been worth it. I like to think that the boy had wet dreams of lesbians that same night.

In other news, there is a blue jet trail across my window. I shouldn't be indoors. Oh but you know...I'll just stock up on golden Florida sunshine over the summer. However, it is a nice 5 C outside, pretty warm. In other news, it'll be around 12 C in Tallahassee about 5 hours from now. Also, I should've called my mother.

how do you reply

when you're lying in bed
comfortable
when the tip of your tongue
is paralyzed
when the back of your throat
evaporates
when the bright clouds
break
when sunlight strikes
the roofs
when the thriving foliage
glitters
when it's time to go

--------

I apologise for being emo, and not being cryptic at all.
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

Holy shit I've never liked the number 7 so much

But I still love my grades. Now, let's scour the interwebs for Year 3 internships.

I need a Master's to teach high school chemistry

Today, I received an email from my old uni about an opening for a teaching post in Baltimore, Maryland. Of course, this doesn't apply to me (yet), but I scrolled down the email anyway and read the requirements and details about the post.

Apparently, the hiring body is a private uni-prep school needing someone who can teach high school and AP chemistry. Their requirements are, here goes: Master's degree in Chemistry (or related field, which applies to mine), and excellent communication and leadership skills.

Excuse my french but...there is no fucking way in the world that I am going to teach fucking high school/AP Chem to a bunch of rich kids after going to hell and back while getting a Master's in Chem (or Biochem). 'Competitive rates' MY ASS. 45k in teaching vs 6 figures in the industry. Yes, you may be missing out on the honor of teaching the next Marie Curie, but really now...Marie Curie probably had great mentors, but she drove and satiated her own curiosity. Besides, her mentors were probably doing research themselves, and when you're teaching kids in high school, you don't get to work in a lab. Oh no, you get to prep their practicals and make their own agar gels 'cause they can't be assed to show up at the end of the day to mix agar and water. AND if you teach AP, the school board will probably end up twisting your arm while telling you to teach the AP exam instead of chemistry.

So Careers Center lady, thanks but no thanks. I'd rather work for Pfizer and deal with their ethics, or lack thereof, than teach a bunch of clayheads who expect to be spoonfed and magically get a 5 on the AP exam. meh

Weekend, ay...

Thank you Nathaniel for the excellent training. I found you a match, but I like you more, because one day, our fields will (finally) come together to solve the energy crisis and realize the Venus project. I apologize for not loving Physics as much as you do, looking at little dots of light running around a tunnel just doesn't appeal to me as much as analyzing gels and running centrifuges. But then again, making protons collide is way cooler than looking at PPCs, AS/ADs, or even the Phillips Curve.

So yeah, thanks, blond-haired blue-eyed Eli Wiesel.

When no one answers

sometimes, nobody picks up, and you listen to their voicemail message just to hear a comforting voice
but you don't leave a message
you call again, expecting an apology for not picking earlier, but it's the familiar tone and the familiar message
instead, that pierces through the hum of laptop fans and speeding cars
in that moment, a voice isn't enough
you want the inflections, changing pitches, vocabulary mannerisms, gestures, stories, what they're doing
where they're going, what have they been up to, relationships
and when instructions are over, and you hear the beep
you breathe a sigh of defeat
and hang up

Woman

I feel like I have to fight harder for you.

Perhaps the fear of an old ghost is keeping me on my toes because
it's true when they say ghosts follow the haunted--
ready to gorge itself on the scars left by a cauterized wound.

Finnish girls do it better

Now that I think about it, those were the best exam weeks of my entire academic life.
I went up the wheel.
Dinner and a movie + roses, yes roses, they're pink/yellow, and I see one of them as I fall asleep, assuming that I sleep in my room.

Omg, I have a...girlfriend?

And it's FEBRUARY. It was the 8th of January, then I blinked, and it's semester 2, 2nd day of the 2nd month.

Omg, Valentine's day.

Fuck you, Hallmark.

Let's go, Biochemistry, to academia and its extracurricular activities, with our pirated textbooks and G-Tec C4 0.4mm pens.

A kiss in the air and a little black dress...

...makes a really nice date.

I'm so sure the person hired to click a mouse to take a photo of people in a pod hanging from a gigantic wheel had a lot of fun watching a young not-couple making out in the air.

And then when we got out, a man 'working to help put homeless people in shelters' adeptly forced us to 'donate' to the cause by giving him money in exchange for a magazine that we might have been able to pick up at the nearest LGF center. Yes, the magazine had the gay map of Mcr.

Then the little black dress was seen, tried on, and bought. Topshop!

What is the best way to ask someone to be your girlfriend?

By going to a stationary store, trying out your favorite pen, and writing the question on a blank piece of paper intended for trying out pens.
That was the most compulsive thing I have ever done.

And so we go from not-girlfriend to girlfriend, booked haircut appointments at the same time and place, had our first official planned date, and walked back home in the rain together, all in one day.

I think I deserve a pat on the back for that one.

Breakfast in bed with extra sides...anyone?

That elephant was bigger than the GOP, but it floats really well in water

And so it was Friday, the traditional G Unit Cultural Food Night, the meatballs were ballin' and the mash was mashin' and the carrots were orange. Tiger Tiger was on the agenda.

We made it to Friday without getting caught too red-handed, but all of a sudden, the elephant decided it was more important the the ironing board, and the American decided that being American right after dinner was most appropriate.

Thus, the questioning began.

'He felt like something is going between you two. I mean, let's let the elephant out of the room, 'cause this week has been...awkward...'

Cue uncontrollable blushing, lambrini drinking, and chocolate munching.

Turns out, they both had an idea, and were too polite to even gossip about it. China is relieved.

Post-sneaking-around, and first thing we do is dip in a tub of warm candy bubbles and give the walls something to talk about after 2 decades of routine baths and the occasional laundry. Also, pheromones mixing to produce enough to give men within a mile radius the most confused boners of their lives. We are so goddamn hot.

Move with me to Canada please.

An oceanic kitchen lies between us

But we have no trouble crossing it.
But then again, thank god it's there, or else revision would be history.

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

Until someone swings the door open and yells out my name and says 'she's in the flat somewhere!'
That's my cue to get under the covers be as fucking quiet as possible. Quiet. SHHH! Quieter than when I took my SATs.

So she turns the light off, and opens the door, entertains these guests while pretending to have gone to bed already. Well, technically, she had gone to bed...but for other purposes.

And during the whole 5 minutes that this entertaining went on, I was clutching my jaw so hard that my molars were about to crack. Also, not breathing.

But I must admit, all this sneaking around is exciting. No. A better word would be challenging. The challenge is to make it to the end of the week without getting caught. If that happens, MI6 has their new James Bond. Yes, I do think James Bond is not a person, but a code name, and that Bond and his girl ARE James Bond. I'm the geek in pajamas after all.

Please please please...

Begging leads to...bathroom breaks every 10 minutes. ^^
Promise, I won't do it again. d(*.*)b

Final stretch

HEL to MCR. Poleteli, poleteli, poleteli, poleteli.

Today's to-do list:
-Watch My Neighbour Totoro
-RUN to Sainsbury's to get ingredients for quiche and cookies.
-Not freeze in the process of running.
-File and buff nails.
-Continue re/learning various pieces.
-Bake quiche and cookies.
-Wait.
-Wait some more.
-Possibly wait some more.
-We'll see.

On midnight deals and fried testicles

Guess what? The Baguio Athletic Bowl, which is part of my beloved home city's Burnham Park, which was designed by Daniel Burnham a century ago, is going to be 'leased' for 25 years to a Korean 'corporation.'

For how much?

100,00 PHP/month, with a miniscule rise every 5 years.

Let me convert that into dollars for you. My parents pay roughly 2000 USD monthly in mortgage, plus about 500 USD monthly on my mum's Rav4. Guess what? They can totally fucking rent the Athletic Bowl if they dropped the mortgage and the car loan.

And what do they get? 7 hectares of a track oval, a swimming pool, tennis courts, basketball courts, and proximity to a lot more green space and, of course, the rest of Burnham Park.

So what do these almost-anonymous Koreans plan to do with all of this?
Build a hotel.
That's right.
A hotel.
An ugly ugly ugly hotel. Wth.
My friends who are studying architecture can design something better than the shit those Koreans are proposing.

I'm not bashing Korean architecture in any way (or Koreans in general, I love civilized Koreans who respect other cultures), but...take a look at this shit man.
http://www.i-baguio.com/mayor-council-okay-25-year-lease-of-athletic-bowl-to-koreans/4/

Fkkkkkk that. They're not building a hotel. They're building Korea Town.

Oh my country, my country...how did you manage to fry your balls and feed them to street dogs in just 3 decades?

I dug up some scores

I dug up the score to Agustin Barrios-Mangore's 'La Catedral,' and guess what...

I realised that I haven't played any part of this piece for over half a year now, and I've been learning how to play the whole piece for the past two years.

Talk about SLOW.

Lento, lento, lento...

Yes I can.

3 English months and a trip to Scotland later...

I finally made the perfect cuppa.For my non-British non-readers, a cuppa happens to be...drum roll please...a cup of tea.

Indeed, 3 months of living in England and a trip to Scotland later, I came across the magic that is a perfect cup of tea. It seems that the British have their 6th sense dedicated to tea making. Every cup of tea I've been offered by a British national, be it Tetley's or Twinnings, has been a cup of magnificence.

But today, I took a sip of a blend from Whittards just as Isabelle Aubret's 'Ma plus belle histoire d'amour' begins to play on Spotify, and by God, je suis tombée amoreuse. The colour, strength, sweetness, temperature, everything was in working order.

This tea was so good I took a bath with it. Jealous?

I have a theory.

I have just gotten back from a 4-day stint in Edinburgh where I was interviewed, slipped on ice and hit a pole, was felt up by a poltergeist, froze in my sleep, froze in my sleep and took an ice cold shower in the men's shower room, did not get drunk, and missed the party of the year.

Case in point, Edinburgh is the most beautiful city I have ever visited. Suck it NYC.

My theory is that Edinburgh is so beautiful, it granted me the bit of Britishness that I really wanted.

Or I got so fucking cold the ghosts underneath the Auld Reekie granted me the bit of Britishness that I really needed.

Creepy poltergeist of Old Niddry, yes I'm looking at you.