A few days ago, I had the chance to accompany a young nephew of mine to go to a college to inquire about its available courses. Though he is still not very certain about what to study, but I think he was certain about one thing that day – is that what a bad and lousy career adviser I make.

Basically, I kind of dispensed some unorthodox advices to that young guy such as, “Go for a course that has the most pretty chicks. If you don’t like the studies, at least you’d enjoy the company.” Of course it was just a suggestion, because it’s really entirely up to him. If he has to ask me, frankly speaking, that’s what I’m going to tell him. Just go for what you think is fun. And ‘fun’ for a guy at his age is no other than having infatuations with different chicks at the shortest interval.

Anyway, this kind of reminded me of my time when I was in the same dilemma at his age. I remember I didn’t go around to collect information like him because I didn’t have the same luxury. What mattered to me was not the ‘what’, but more on the ‘how much?’. I remember an aunt of mine (dad’s elder sister) – who for some weird fucking reason seemed to have the impression that I’m a thick headed troublemaker – was so determined to send me off to become a sailor, that she convinced my mom and offered to pay for the course itself. She told me, I could at least get 3 meals there and I get to sail around the world for free… But the whole idea was more to lower the chance for me to land my ass in motherfucking jail by staying out of trouble and away from the society, at the ocean.

I couldn’t help but feel insulted there because I wasn’t anything like Hannibal Lecter (I guess that was how my hatred towards my relatives started) and decided to go to work for an uncle of mine (mom’s brother) who was running an electrical firm. From there, I got some solid advice from him, who told me – electronics is the future. That was how I decided to go for electrical/electronics engineering. I chose engineering because it will be ‘da thing’ in the 21st century, not really because it was something I love doing. If things were to go fairy tale and I get to do things I love, I would have been a successful bum now – because I love to sleep, fuck and eat.

But come think of it, if I were to take that sailor offer back then, I’d be having some ripped off shirt with revealing pecs and nasty six packs, killer tan and probably sleeping around with some chicks at some exotic port somewhere… as opposed to being a droopy eyed corporate drone wearing a fake Polo office shirt with doughy physique, fish belly pale complexion and a chronic short sightedness sufferer for staring at the computer screen too much – I realize that I might just have fulfilled my dreams if I were to take my aunt’s offer 15 years ago. Oh well. So I guess this is all just about sticking to a decision and having no regrets about it.

My colleagues and I have been discussing about someone in Company X who climbed the corporate ladder too damn fast, again. This time, I was prompted to think for myself, what could I have done to be like that person. You know, grow faster… have a faster journey to the top… shits like that. The thought required me to get out of my character, and look at myself as a second person. I immediately identified one key area that could have been the factor that weighted my position stagnant like an fucking anvil – sociability.

I have to admit this fact that I’m not a very sociable person. No I am not an antisocial. It’s just that given the chance, I prefer to be alone. I don’t like to be with people whom I don’t know. I like to be with myself. I enjoy my own company. I don’t like attentions. Strangers talk to me when I’m on the plane all the time and I hated that. When I am about to go into the elevator? I won’t hold for other people, or I would just wait until it is empty so that I can be by myself. When I dine alone in the workplace cafeteria, I secretly wish that no one joins my table. I don’t participate in social gatherings (except within my own circle of close friends) and I don’t like crowded places.

Because I am like that, I get less exposure to people who might be important to me, or at least important enough to give me an opportunity for the next step in my career. It is an undeniable fact that having more allies in the working world is essential. Think of allies like the number of sex you have and your success as the baby you conceive. The more times you plow your partner in a shorter span of time, the better your odds are to get your partner pregnant. Ergo, more allies, more doors of opportunities. This is where I fail. Coupled with the fact that I can be such an asshole sometimes (especially to those whom I think are of less intelligence), I literally sealed my own fate myself. I get that much less of a shot than a person who is more sociable and capable of sucking cocks of any size and color.

But I’m just being myself. I can’t help but be myself.

Being a metrosexual has gone to a whole new frightening level in the 21st century. So frightening, that I seriously believe that if we do not do something about it (whether scientifically or psychologically), the male gender is going to obsolete its own balls and grow a vagina instead. Don’t believe me? Tell me, how many of you guys do these… :

Expensive shampoo or conditioner for hair
I’ve seen some guys discuss their shampoo preference openly. You know, split ends, dry hair, dandruff. What kind of extracts from which type of exotic plant it has. I do not know since when do guys worry about these petty stuff. What’s wrong with ordinary shampoo??

Expensive facial treatment
It’s also equally disturbing to know that some pussy boys pay to have their face washed for 2 hours. The end result? Still the same face. These metrosexuals don’t seem to be able to understand that our face secretes stinking oil/grease every fucking second and no facial treatment could prevent that from happening (unless of course, if you’re a corpse).

Manicure
I heard this on the radio the other day, that Pietro guy went to get his nails done. I was like, WTF??? It’s unbelievable really. Why would a guy need to get his nails done? Fucking escapes me. To enhance the experience of scratching their man-vagina perhaps.

Powder on face
I kid you not, my wife once saw a Malay neighbor (who’s a doctor) powdering his face inside his car with an applicator (which looked something like a miniature Roti Naan). He’s probably on his way to get his annual pap smear, I guess.

Trimmed eyebrows
There’s a rather effeminate guy character residing in our HR department at Company X, who had his eyebrows regularly trimmed thin like he’s auditioning for a drag queen contest. But that guy’s a guy though, because everything else looked normal – except his pair of fucking ridiculous eyebrows. So damn fucking pondan-ish.

Hand lotion
The only justifiable excuse for a guy to use the hand lotion, is when he needed to lube his dick for an aggressive session of anal sex with his girlfriend. Other than that, it’s just inexcusable. I’ve blogged about this before here.

The list goes on. Those are the disturbing ones that I know. Maybe only the tip of the iceberg, there are probably more disgusting ones that I couldn’t imagine. Like I have said, man we should really do something to change these pussy behaviors lest we’d all evolve into one common androgynous specimen…

Man, I hate it when my friends post pictures of them going to a vacation in Facebook. Them and their best impression of having a really good time. Never fails to make me feel crappy about my mundane life.

I sometimes forget things that I wanted to remember 5 minutes ago, and sometimes, I get hit by emotional pangs like a fucking schoolgirl. I don’t know why.

I erroneously submitted a permission to resign the other day. My boss panicked and sent me a memo to call for an urgent discussion. I frantically called him up that it was a mistake but the damage was done.

My 3 year old daughter has been using my tummy as her play space lately when I’m reading. She’d lie down on it, and sometimes make her toy animals roam around it like they’re romping in a savannah. Signs of my bed getting smaller and my size getting bigger.

The relationship with my current job is best described as ‘estranged couple’. We look happy together but we have no more chemistry in between.

A colleague asked why my RJ45 cable on my IP phone looked so much longer than his. I quoted – the same reason why a dick looks longer with shorter pubes and conveniently asked him to clean his desk to see the same effect.

‘I Will Survive’ by Gloria Gaynor
Used to be a great song that gives you a sense of hope and liberating sense, but now, it has become some sort of anthem for defiant teenagers and goth bitches alike. I don’t know if it’s just me but, I noticed that whenever you see a live band playing in a club somewhere, the lead female singer will be bound to sing this ‘I Will Survive’ song. And when this stupid fucking song is being sung, you’ll see hundreds of wenches and sluts lip sync the song with a badass gyrating head – probably dedicating the lyrics to their hairstylist for giving them such a horrific dye and hairstyle… Gloria Gaynor may have found an evergreen niche in history because of the song, but for all the wrong reasons…

‘YMCA’ by Village People
Gay songs of the 80′s are good. But when it comes to tackiness, YMCA is in a league of its own. Think of it this way – if ‘I Will Survive’ is the anthem for motherfucking bitches, then ‘YMCA’ is the male equivalent of it. An anthem for douche bags and posers who pretentiously swig on their brandy diluted with plenty of counterfeit Coke. And I noticed that these are the same type of people who listens to ultra tacky europop groups like Vengaboys, Aqua and China Dolls. This song reminds me of how fucked up our society is… instead of being young and free as it originally intended to portray.

‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Céline Dion
I first heard the song in the movie ‘Titanic’. Though I didn’t like the movie, I somehow liked the uplifting soundtrack very much and this Céline Dion single that came with it. So I bought the ‘Titanic’ soundtrack CD. Big mistake. A few months later, basically every rustic dicks and fitches on the streets of Penang were humming the tune of this song… and there was even a fengtau disco version of it. The radio would give the song an overdose of airtime that it made my ears sting. Now, whenever I hear this song, I’d think of young punks flinging their heads popping ecstasy pills and sucking dicks in alleys… instead of its original sentimental feel. I never played the CD for more than 3 times.

’25 minutes’ by Michael Learns To Rock
I used to like this ’25 minutes’ song, but not anymore. That was after I realized that every dipshit and loanshark in basically each and every local karaoke pubs fancies this song. To them, this is their version of ‘class’ song to show off to their illiterate bumpkin girlfriend that he knows how to belt an English song. Ask any VCD peddler or cellphone dealer (esp. those with filthy overgrown pinkie nail…), what is their favorite English pick when they go for an karaoke outing… it’ll be either be ‘Unchained Melody’ (Ah Chueng Bueh Lo Tee), or ’25 minutes’. Each time I hear this ’25 minutes’, I feel like my intelligence gradually decreases… and if I were to be driving a car at that time, I’d probably hit a bus stop or something…

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Just feel like expressing myself after a tired day…