as we laid motionless in bed, inhaling our dragonbreath fumes and gazed adoringly at each other’s eye crusties, i asked, “wouldn’t it be nice if we had tails to wag right now?”
a tingle of immeasurable delight used to tickle me when i saw my cats on their sides, immobile, save for a tail that swatted the air. i understand that joy. of nothingness.
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i looked at the 4 remaining vanilla pods in the pantry and thought to myself that i oughta bake something worthy of my $20 other than chucking one pod into a pot of green bean sago when i realised the pandan leaves i’d purchased from the Thai supermarket had all but lost their pandanus glory. i almost put my head into the pot of boiling green beans when i chucked the pod in. Madagascar Vanilla and bubur kacang hijau just isn’t right.
and good ol’ Martha, always to the rescue. did a kitchen test on this recipe and the cupcakes turned out so beautifully, i can’t stop masturbating my mouth with bites of moist vanilla explosions. Ravi thinks it’s unbecoming of me, singing praises of my own cupcakes and groaning in delight but let me state for the record that even he, Mr I Only Eat Chocolate and Pizza, can’t stop putting his hand into the cupcake jar.
said jar of cupcakes.
the first day i got back to Dubai, i got cystitis and screamed eternal damning curses of the heat, bad, bad, bad bacteria and tight underwear. you’d think that after abandoning thongs, all your problems are solved, but it could very well be that i do have to go for that suggested surgery. cos God misplaced my urethra. but really, i don’t like anyone coming near my pepek with anything sharp and shiny. and it’s manageable. really. and i get it only when it’s hot, really. so instead of cutting up my vagina into a million different pieces, i could migrate to the North Pole, Ravi and polar bears in tow.
so, what happens when i get cystitis? when i used to work, i’d get a 5 day M.C. and sit on the throne all day with 3 1.5L bottles of water by my side. and my laptop on a chair in front of me. why bother getting off the throne when you’re gonna go back every 10 minutes? and when you’re sipping 4.5L of water, you’re gonna pee practically every minute. out, damn spot, out!
see, i’m a pro, i’ve had cystitis since i had a vagina but nobody, NOBODY told us i had a misplaced urethra although they had meddled with my labia since i was 5. until last year, i.e.
now, when i get cystitis, i don’t do much else different. i still sit on the throne with a laptop in front of me and at least 2 1.5L bottles of water by my side. except i can order Ravi around when it’s the weekend, “sayaaaaang! get me Ciprobay from the pharmacy, please. sayaaaaaang! may i have the papers? sayaaaaaang! can you get me more water? sayaaaaaang! could you switch the other loo light on for me? SAYAAAAAAANG!”
and in tribute to everything that Ravi is, the brown ball of fun that he can be and the brown ball of almost infinite patience i can only aspire to have, i decided to turn into a papparazo and invade his half naked privacy on our sofa.
at first he thinks it’s fun.
he even laughs at how ridiculous this is.
but after 20 zoomed in shots of his nipples, he doesn’t think it’s so fun anymore. see how he shields his overexposed nipples from my lens.
“nooooo… please stop, sayang, pleeeeeaaaasse!”
everyone should own a camera for treasured moments like these.
i tried to look for the official scientific word to describe eye crusties. i contemplated ocular shitus or eyeballus goous, but couldn’t find anything. other than a whole loada shit about shit. who sits around writing essays on the word “shit”?
i suppose these people and i have one thing in common, we spend too much time on the Internet, digging a larger anti-social-skills hole for ourselves instead of saving the world. but when you have gems like this on youtube, can you really blame us?