sex sells. Saturday, May 17 2008

Search Engine Terms

These are terms people used to find your blog.

Search	Views
free sex call	15
free chick talk in singapore sex	19
what men doing in toilet smelly	12
free sex now what number do i call	21
good hate insults kill sluts	14
dumb gay marriage quotes by famous people	12
last present cheap christmas	9
free sexs	18
anthony kiedis possessive	5
jennyspics.wordpress.com	4

the internet is a scary thing. right now, i can imagine thousands of bored, testosterone-filled geeks sitting in front of their computers, Googling random words out of sheer boredom. sometimes I’m guilty of that too. I’ve Googled stuff like “how to make banana soup” and “how to make your own drugs”. but that’s beside the point.

on a whim, i glanced at my blog stats (shown above). looking at these terms have left me disturbed. these are the kind of things only Chijie would do.

perhaps if put the word “sex” in every blog post, even if that post has nothing whatsoever to do with sex, I’ll have 10,000 hits overnight. hell, i should rename this blog as www.jennysex.wordpress.com and maybe I’ll be known as Paris Hilton of the East.

I wonder which sicko Googled “free sex now what number do i call” or the even more bizarre “free chick talk in singapore sex“. once again, i’d like to clarify that i do not offer any services, sexual or otherwise.

then we have the simply weird like ”what men doing in toilet smelly“. well, what men do in toilets is a smelly affair, and i really don’t want to know what they do in toilets besides urinating. so whoever googled this term, i assume you are either 1) an extremely bored female with an extreme sense of curiosity, or 2) a Martian attempting to disguise yourself as a man and spy on Earthlings, but you are at a loss when it comes to the complicated process of Using a Male Lavatory.

now, googling “good hate insults kill sluts” is very misleading. do insults kill sluts? can hate insults ever be good? I must do more research on this matter.

i know who Googled “anthony kiedis possessive“. his fiance did.

and FYI, its jennySPEAKS, not jennySPICS.

thank you for your kind attention.

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breakfast Saturday, May 10 2008

7a.m. at the bus stop.

sometimes its 6.55am, sometimes its 7.05a.m. but time is not the issue here. what matters is the tiny congregation of humanity that stands huddled under a meagre zinc-roofed bus stop every weekday morning. we stand separately but somehow a collective sense of belonging render us as one single unit.

each face occupies space in my memory. we do not smile at each other. rather, we stand together in silence. what is wonderful about the 7a.m bus crowd at that humble bus stop is that there is an air of comforting familiarity among all the commuters. unlike the usual hostile (if not annoying) crowds one usually faces at any other time of the day, the bus crowd I’m in every morning is one big family. everyone smells heavenly, be it Chanel No. 5, Davidoff Cool Water or the usual Dettol. there is little or no change in the gang membership.

what bonds us together is the unspoken consensus that We are the Suckers who have to get out of bed at six in the morning and haul our half-conscious asses to face the smelly world.

the usual suspects include the group of working-class twenty-something yuppies who earn enough to dress to the nines, but not enough to buy a miserable car. my favourite is the Elf Girl, a skinny little miss who consists solely of some obtuse but mostly acute angles, perched precariously on a stunning pair of either gold or red stilletos (she alternates her footwear daily). I like to observe her on the bus. she clings on to the pole for dear life as the bus swerves and veers around road junctions. one day, after a particularly sharp turn, Elf Girl kissed the floor.

then we have the Senior Citizens who usually score the lowest in the fashion category. sedated after some black coffee and kaya toast, they are still reasonably polite (read: they do not shove as hard) and they smell decent. meeting them at 7p.m on the bus is a different story, unfortunately.

lastly we have the students. there is the Bollywood girl who consistently blasts jiggly, upbeat Bollywood songs on her earphones, which is funny considering how stoned everyone looks, including herself. there are three RJC boys who look like they are in perpetual mourning. some miscellaneous characters wearing their school uniforms like pyjamas. one fierce looking girl who looks like a Communist Party escapee.

and a boy who makes my heartbeat accelerate whenever he falls into my field of vision.

he’s not strikingly handsome, but he’s the best pick. whenever he boards the bus, i stare. but he’s so tall he can’t see me. sometimes he walks right past me, sometimes he’s stuck in the first cabin.

with smooth Eurasian looks and a firm, straight posture (i can almost see the six-pack underneath), he’s a feast for my eyes.

but it ends there. despite all the hard praying and finger-crossing, we are forever separated by bodies of different shapes and sizes. i know his face by heart, but he’s not even aware of my existence.

just another perfect being that slides by on the bus-ride of my life.

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life’s a more than just a bitch. Thursday, May 1 2008

Recently I’ve finished the novel Saturday by Ian McEwan. And finally, after a long, long time, something I read actually made sense to me. The excerpt goes like this:

” When we go on about the big things, the political situation, global warming, world poverty, it all looks really terrible, with nothing getting better, nothing to look forward to. But when I think small, closer in-you know, a girl I’ve just met, or this song we’re doing with Chas, or snowboarding next month, then it looks great. So this is going to be my motto- think small.”

The problem with me is that I think too much. I absorb, analyse, chew, mull over, ferment, preserve and after an eon, I finally spit out the dry remnants of my thoughts that bother me. Every lousy incident buries its fangs at the back of my mind, hanging on like a leech, churning endlessly like a fetid abscess. In my cynical, this-is-a-fucked-up-world fashion, I pick at my mental scabs and scratch, scratch, scratch. As a result, I’m seldom at peace.

There have been countless moments where I’ve declared that the world was meaningless and life was a bitch. Well, life is a bitch. But then again, that’s because I choose to think that life is a bitch. Life can also be a stage, a carousel, a bus ride, a piece of toilet paper, or even spaghetti. Life can be anything in my mind. Life is boring because I choose not to get my arse off the sofa and do something. But life can be wonderful when I learn to appreciate the small things.

I’ve always had, and still do, have my whiny moments. But when I think about it, I turn red with shame. How self-centred and naive I am! Of course there is nothing glorious in being a short, sweaty full-time student juggling asinine subjects and having to meet all sorts of assholes and irritants daily. But there is something nice about being a full-time student. I can get to freeload off my parents, I meet new people, I forge friendships, I laugh my head off during lessons, and I can even get to label the various parts of the male reproductive system.

There are some teenagers who piss me off, because they whine and whine endlessly about how horrible their lives are. In reality they have nothing, absolutely nothing to complain about.  Teens in Third World countries sleep under bridges and prostitute themselves just to earn $20 a month, and here we have teens whining about killing themselves once they get anything less than $20 a week for allowance.

And of course, I can go on about Africa and Cambodia.

I’d like to think small. No matter how many “fuck you-s” I holler, no matter how many times I condemn someone to fiery hell, nothing is going to change. Perhaps if I worry less about the big picture, and instead try to see the good in every situation, my life won’t be such a mean bitch after all.

• Even though I have a practically alienated father, I still have a omnipotent mother who is able to function as mother, father, sister, cook and personal secretary.
• Even though I am physically short, I certainly don’t feel short.
• Even though I suck at Chinese, at least I still can cuss fluently in it.
• Even though I have rebellious curly hair which constantly defies gravity, at least I’m not bald.
• Even though I don’t have a boyfriend, at least I can unashamedly ogle at the hot Eurasian guy who takes the same bus as me every morning.
• Even though I missed Stereophonics Live at Fort Canning on Monday, at least I can use the ticket money to buy 4 CDs.
• Even though mosquitoes feast on me regularly, at least I haven’t caught dengue yet.
• Even though I can’t swim, a muscular lifeguard can save me when I drown.
• Even though people are afraid of me, at least my best friend isn’t.
• Even though I fall sick often, at least I get to Eat, Sleep, Pop Pills, Eat, Sleep, Pop Pills. Oh, and I appreciate my health even more.

• Even though I get disappointed all the time, my auntie’s mean chocolate brownie doesn’t disappoint.

have a nice day.

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