The Nonsensical Journal

Sunday is the first day of the work week here, and still a weekend in other countries. While most of us have to get up early anyway, whether for work like us, or for church like you… either way, it has united us all to hate on Sundays (unless of course you enjoy going to Church/mosque/synagogue, in which case we are probably not and never will be friends)… although I do despise Tuesday the most, it’s the middle finger of the work week.

I look forward to my weekend and come Saturday I begin to realize that tomorrow I will be waking up at six in the morning to the red eye mistress, each week I dread the same and I go through it. I need to win the lottery so that I no longer wake up this early; whoever decided that work has to  be conducted this early should have been shot… twice… drowned and suffocated just for confirmation and to set a stern example…

Using public transportation is a direct indication to your social status in this country. I do miss using public transportation; I used it all the time in Canada… since arriving here however it seems to be something of a taboo. The idea of using public transportation is just not acceptable unless you cannot afford a car… with that social decision Mother Nature gave a sarcastic smile of a reply yet to come… (2012?)

Actually when we were younger we used to use public transport all the time, before acquiring driving licenses, but the kids today wouldn’t be caught dead in one… makes sense as I doubt some of those hairdos would survive passing through a bus door.

Remember when those crazy hair styles were just seen on Japanese Manga? The science of hair has advanced so much since then…

Last Boss Fight in Final Fantasy VII

One of the most things that I hate and keep avoiding till the last possible minute is getting a haircut. The last possible minute is when there is absolutely no way I can leave the house anymore with caveman hair that looks like it’s been tussled by a mammoth.

It’s not the cut itself that I hate, it’s not like I’m afraid of scissors or will lose my Samson like powers (plus I don’t have a Delilah); it’s just that I hate the small talk you have to make with the people in there… its either that or an awkward silence as someone goes about cutting your hair.

Conversations in barber shops are almost identical as if they attend weekly meetings to synchronize their list of topics. It starts with a general inquiry on how you have been, moving onto politics and sports (not necessarily in that order), and then concluded with a brief discussion about the sexy actress/singer of the week… it’s all so riveting!

It was an act of genius to legalize cocaine by re-marketing it as a liquid called Redbull… What is in this magic blue can that not only gives you a burst of energy, but literally removes all yawning effects and totally defeats the heavy eyelid syndrome?

Redbull gives you wings… but where the hell would I fly to anyway?