A Wild Old Man Suddenly Appears

I’m officially a terrible human.

At least that’s how I feel.

Have you ever felt like you’ve done something that really isn’t expected from someone of your age, position or appearance?

How about if you’ve done something that checks all three of those things? You’re an adult, you have kind of a respectable job, and you can usually be seen wearing professional attire, looking all serious and shit – would those three things combined make you feel like you need to behave a certain way?

If you’re like me, I’m first of all very sorry for you, but I’m also understanding of your feelings and you’d be happy to hear that I, too, suffer from our society’s expectations of us based on their perception of how we should be, and not of how we really are.

Earlier tonight, me and my girlfriend decided to go to the gym, which we have successfully done quite regularly the latest couple of months in order to not look like two complete bums who watch the entire Lost series in a way too small amount of time.

Usually, this is our routine: we change into workout clothes, head out to the elevators, take the elevator from the 43rd to the 44th floor, walk outside, turn left and walk alongside the rooftop pool*, head up one flight of stairs to the 45th floor, enter the gym, exercise for a while, feel like Johnny Bravo, flex for a while, feel like Johnny Bravo some more, then head back home, and give ourselves a nice, warm pad on the back.

This time, however, was different.

This time, after we changed into workout clothes and headed to the elevator, but before we stepped into the elevator, something… occurred. Something unpredictable. An unforeseen development.

Since my brain is moronic and random, I got a magnificent idea. My brain decided that it’d be great fun if I started to run away from my girlfriend and beat her to the elevator, leaving her to wait for the next one.

I know, I’m hilarious and mature and a true gentleman.

This is when a higher power decided to interfere and punish me for being lame and immature and a douchebag instead of those three nice things I just mentioned.

As I was fully sprinting towards the approaching elevator and the slowly opening elevator doors, excited from my brilliant idea, A WILD OLD MAN SUDDENLY APPEARS out of nowhere.

There he was, quietly and peacefully minding his own business, surely after a long, hard day’s work, counting down the last steps before he opens his door and sets foot in his condo. As soon as the elevator doors opened, there was, right up in his face, coming at him in full speed.

Naturally, he freaked out, made a shocked face and grunted angrily, which kind of sounded like “HAAAUGGHHH!?”, and then just cold-bloodedly stared at me while I tried my best to comfort him and apologise for my sick and childish behaviour. He then decided that he didn’t need my desperate apology and continued to stare at me in disgust while I embarrassingly entered the elevator and watched him watch me while the doors were closing oh so slowly. Had he decided to physically take me down and kick me victoriously in the stomach, no blame would be headed his way.

To sum things up, let’s establish what I have accomplished here:

I didn’t only almost succeed in physically assaulting and attacking an old man, I think I almost gave him a heart attack as a result of my sick interpretation of the concept of fun.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such an idiot.

              

This post was written in October (or something) and it’s been stuck in draft limbo ever since. You’d be very pleased to know that I still haven’t had to share a silent, stink-eyed, tormenting and excruciating elevator ride with this man since that night I almost killed him (and he contemplated killing me for almost killing him).

veowhdf

No, not that stink-eye, this stink-eye:

giphy
Could you imagine sharing a minute-long elevator ride with a man looking at you like this without ever breaking eye contact?

Although I’ve seen him around the lobby collecting his mail as I’m hiding from him behind the plants with the mosquitoes in the corners of said lobby, creepily watching him from afar, in pure fear of being confronted.

                           

= brag

WordPress is Nice, Gmail is a Two-Faced Douche

Good morning, taxpayers and tax-avoiders.

I just woke up from a drunken night’s sleep, which for me means eerily vivid dreams. As always, to see what’s up and to be in the know, I automatically reached for my phone the first thing I did, like it was a primal instinct. I think my phone was in my hand before I’d even opened my eyes.

Nothing makes me happier than seeing certain notifications from certain apps when I browse what’s happened while I spent a third of my day asleep, being vulnerable to predators and a playground for roaches.

There are some apps that make me happy when I see a notification, and then there are some that make me ache. When the ache-producing apps send me notifications, I impressively sigh and grunt simultaneously, before I casually swipe them away, out of existence, out of my world, to hell.

What if you could do that in real life, just swipe away things you don’t want to deal with? But maybe that’d be like dealing with things like an ostrich, drilling his silly head down the sand, thinking he’s invisible. Instead, his head is covered in sand, his ears, mouth, nose and eyes, too, probably, and his ass is vulnerable as fuck. Not ideal.

So when I saw that WordPress had sent me a few notifications – new likes, new followers, new comments – I became very excited and, in my mind, jumped around in circles, giggling. My blog is still small, and I don’t really care about having lots and lots of followers, but it’s still nice to see some action and growth.

Other apps that fill me with various amounts of joy include, but are not limited to: Instagram, Clash of Clans (I know, I know…), and Podcast Addict. I’m not especially active on Instagram, so whenever I see a notification, it means something specific and presumably interesting has happened, which is always nice.

Gmail is too much of an inconsistent dick to make the Apps I Enjoy list, because its content is too mixed with shit I don’t want to read when I turn off my brain and try to relax. Like work emails, like newsletters from Investopedia, like spam. Oh, and recently I’ve seen a strange and sudden increase in Nigeria letters in my inbox, mingling with my other emails, polluting them with their presence. Sorry, Gmail.

                     

My drunken eerily vidid dream I had was a result of a night out with the girlfriend and Norway. There was beer, there was wine, there was the dreadful Vodka.

Alcohol always makes me dream strange, silly and incredibly real dreams.

In today’s edition, I got kicked in the face by a large moose and miraculously managed to keep all my teeth. However, I did walk around for the entire remaining time in this strange, silly and incredibly real dream with a moose’s footprint on my face, which was amusing to my dream-friends. After making sure my face had survived – in an insane and totally unpredictable turn of events – we all went for chocolate donuts in a donut shop that for reasons unknown was in the middle of nowhere, just next door to a moose-infested forest.

It was nice to be able to enjoy those delicious treats with all my teeth still in my mouth.

Roaches: Roaches Everywhere

Pre-post note #1: Ugh. It happened again.

Pre-post note #2: This post is about my never-ending feud with the titular freaks, otherwise known as cockroaches. I’ve encountered these assholes on three occasions in my Bangkok condo, and this post is a result of encounter number two, a few days before Christmas. However, the post never got published and sadly ended up in development limbo. Until today, just now, after encounter number three.

                         

A few weeks ago, I was out for a business dinner and had a few drinks. This little detail will prove vital later in this post. I came home, headed to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth before going to bed, and decided to give my teeth top priority.

Now, I didn’t wanna wake up my girlfriend, so I had to leave the lights off. Why couldn’t I turn the lights on, you might ask? Well, our bathroom is surrounded by glass walls, with a large part of the walls being frosted. So, if I turn on the lights in the bathroom, it would light up the entire bedroom as well, and wake her up, since the bedroom and bathroom are wall-to-wall.

Luckily for me, one of the walls in the bedroom is entirely made out of windows, so the neighbouring sky-skrapers and their neon lights were more than enough for me to brush my teeth. While I’m making my dentist proud, I see something very unpleasant crawling in my peripheral vision.

It’s a roach.

A hideous, disgusting, creepy-looking roach, all up in my space, zig-zagging on the bathroom countertop.

This was encounter number two.

I’m not afraid of roaches – or other large, intruding insects for that matter – but I sure as hell don’t like them, and I definitely don’t approve of their presence in my home.

I kinda have a GTFO-type of approach to these foul creatures.

gtfo
When I was living in Guangzhou, China a few years ago, I was having loads of them in my room (which I shared with a Chinese-North Korean dude) and got kinda used to their presence.

This was back in 2011, I was there for five months, and my rent was 300 RMB (Chinese Yuan) per month, which would be 45 USD per month in today’s currency equivalent. Ridiculously cheap, I know, but there wasn’t anything luxurious about the place, and it was evidently crawling with roaches.

Very often, I’d be standing in the bathroom brushing my teeth or taking a shower, and I’d see a complete family of roaches somehow squeeze their exoskeleton bodies through the smallest cracks imaginable in the walls. Then they’d stare at me for a while, make me feel like was bothering them, silently judge my naked, showering body, and then squeeze their asses back inside the wall. After a while, both parties would sigh in defeat and greet each other with a casual “Zup?” and continue to go on with our lives.

Other times, I would open one of my drawers where I had my cash and other valuables, and I would find another sweet family of roaches lurking there. Apparently, they had been sleeping, and I happened to wake them up. They’d freak out and I would then close the drawer to give them some space, wait for a few moments, and then open it to now find it empty.

The point I’m miserably trying to make here is that I wasn’t freaked out so much about their presence back then, since I saw them so often. Here in Bangkok, they visit me more sporadically, catching me by surprise every time. I’ll tell you more about my amazing time in China in a future post.

So there I was, brushing my teeth, and there it was, looking me dead in the eye, violating its rights. I, feeling very confident after having a few drinks earlier, seized the opportunity by taking some paper and scooped his ass up, and flushed him down the toilet. I would never have the balls to take him with my hands had I not been a little tipsy. I know I’m lame, but that’s the truth.

The last time a roach invaded our apartment – encounter number one – I used the vacuum cleaner to get rid of the creep. This particular vacuum has no paper bags that need to be changed, but instead has one of those boxes that you just take out and empty. Very convenient. At least until I went to the garbage room in the corridor, opened the big trash can, took out the box and opened the lid, turned it upside down, prepared to shake the intruder out of the box, only to catastrophically fucking drop the box down to the bottom of the filthy, disgusting, now roach-infested trash can.

I was already sweating like I’m in a sauna, but this horrible turn of events took it to the next level. After I summoned a little drunken courage, I managed to retrieve my box from the bottom of the trash can and headed back into my condo and took one of the longest, most thorough showers anyone has ever taken.

         

Encounter number three, just 30 stressful minutes ago, was very similar to post-provoking encounter number two, but with the outcome of encounter number one. This was the biggest fucker by far.

roaches_everywhere_by_quackrichboys-d8eaxmm

Today I did a little research (just like I did that other time a roach decided to say hello to me). Once again, I discovered that one roach is almost always evidence that there’s anything from 100 to 1000 more roaches lurking inside the pipes, in the walls, or elsewhere in the vicinity. This is incredibly upsetting.

Since I’m a dumbass, I decided to google roach infestation, which is one of my most moronic ideas ever. Since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll just leave a link to these horrifying images instead of posting an actual image here. Happy New Year from me.

                      

Speaking of bugs and their level of disgustingness, I can’t help to wonder why almost everyone on this planet think they are repulsive. I could understand why people are afraid of snakes and spiders, since they are potentially poisonous and lethal, but roaches? Sure, a cockroach doesn’t look very appealing, and, yes, it can carry diseases (but not necessarily), but I’d bet that it is more afraid of me than I am of it. Still, it’s super-icky to approach them, touch them or even look at them. But why is that so?

roaches_everywhere_by_sparks_fly13-d4gb2mx

Could it be that, earlier on our evolutionary road, we didn’t have the proper knowledge to separate a potentially lethal bug from a harmless one, and we developed this “fear” in order to avoid all kinds of bugs to avoid getting bit and die?

Sounds logical enough for me.

They Didn’t Get the Memo

Also, roaches, along with spiders, houseflies and other annoying beings, apparently haven’t got the memo that conveyed that humans are atop of the food chain, and that we are to be avoided, for the sake of everyone involved. I don’t have to freak out and they don’t have to die horrible deaths.

Another thought regarding these terrible creatures – imagine if you could make a roach large enough to be five meters long and three meters high, instead of five centimeters long and three centimeters high. What would you get? You wouldn’t get a terrifyingly large roach, no, you would get an actual monster. The same can’t be said if you’d do the same with a dog. It’d still be a dog, only large.

                 

In a total dick move, I’m gonna end this post with some disturbing facts about roaches I found in my research; facts you’d probably be better off without knowing:

Roaches can live without their heads for about five weeks;
they can endure droughts and starvation;
they can take about 4x radiation as humans can (lethal doses);
and they can of course loose all limbs and still live on.

Great.

I need to have a serious talk with the guy who invented these fuckers.

                 

By the way, Norway left Bangkok for Norway over the Holidays, and had given me the keys to his apartment. I guess he figured I could check on it while he’s away, but now, in an insanely unpredictable plot twist, knowing a shit-load about roaches, I might go all scumbag and casually throw in a Big Mac and a half-eaten apple in his bed, to attract some oily, antennae-wearing visitors.

*Evil laughter*

But, no, I could never do that to another person.

Or… could I?

The First Dream of 2016 was a Nightmare

Hi, everyone.

I hope everyone had an enjoyable New Year’s Eve, that you spent time with loved ones, that you had something tasty to sink your teeth into, and that you didn’t get any fireworks exploding in the back of your head, like I got in 2005. More on that in a future post.

I celebrated NYE with the winner of a Banana. Together, we went to a Mexican restaurant and enjoyed an all-you-can-eat and all-you-can-drink kind of evening, NYE-style. I had a few mojitos and a few more margaritas. Not enough to make me drunk, but evidently enough to make me experience a deeply intense and incredibly vidid dream, which made me sleep very poorly, on the first night of the new year.

You know how sometimes your dreams are super-real, and when you wake up, it takes a few moments before you realise what you dreamt wasn’t real? Sometimes it even takes longer than a few moments to shake off the dream completely. Like you know it was a dream, but the impact of it sticks with you. Since you woke up, realised it was just a weird, yet impactful dream, you’ve even had breakfast, lunch and dinner, and you still haven’t gotten over the reality of it. That’s how real this particular dream was for me.

Like a novel, my dream starts in the middle of the action.

I’m outdoors. I’m not alone; I’m with a few others. It’s a complete storm. Almost apocalyptic. It’s raining heavily, the winds are almost tornado strong, resulting in unfathomably scary noises, it’s grey and it’s dark, and the only thing that’s giving me any source of light is the frequently recurring and intense lightning. Without it, it’d be complete darkness.

But thanks to it, we all realise that we’re in the middle of the ocean, standing on some kind of a platform. Imagine a helicopter landing pad had a baby with a raft, but in the middle of the vast, freaking ocean.

The waves are high and violent, and we’re all very upset and stressed out about something, and we absolutely have to leave the helipad and go somewhere else, for reasons I don’t know (besides being stranded on a helipad in the middle of the ocean in an apocalyptic storm, at night).

Basically, we need to get from A to B. And, as luck would have it, B is apparently just a few hundred meters away from us. Despite B also being in the middle of the ocean in an apocalyptic storm, at night, this was good news to us.

Connecting A and B is a rope. The rope is not 100% tightly tied, meaning that as soon as anyone grabs it when in the water, it drops just below the ocean surface, but somehow still high enough to keep our heads above sea level. The plan is to pull ourselves between A and B, using the rope. Swimming would result in us drowning immediately because of the Earth-ending storm.

We all get in the water. We’re maybe five guys, and I think I’m number two or three in line. I don’t have any idea who these guys are supposed to be, but in the dream, I feel like a know them. One of them, I think the guy right behind me, is the oldest of my two younger brothers.

So now we’re all in the the water. The freezing, stormy, dark and scary abyss that is the ocean. We’re maybe two meters apart, and we’re shouting things to each other, like “Hold on!”, “Don’t let go!”, “We’re almost there!”, and “Hang on, guys!”. Pep talk.

Like things couldn’t get any scarier, the lightning starts to become more violent, more massive, more intense, and more frequent. Every time lightning strikes, it lights up the entire ocean underneath, unveiling a complete freakshow of scary sea monsters, all of them lurking a few meters below our feet. Terrifying sharks, giant squids, freaky sting rays, and murderous, mushy jellyfish were only some of the creatures eyeballing us from a very close range. Remember, this dream was incredibly vidid and intense.

So we’re all kind of freaked out when we realise we’re being watched by these monsters.

The dream intensifies, and it reaches its climax when the guy behind me, aka my brother, gets stung by a sting ray, which kills him.

Now, I wake up, completely traumatised and kind of winded from what I’ve been experiencing in this dream.

I guess I’ll never find out what happens next.

                               

The impact from the dream has worn off a bit now, more than a full day since, but, believe me, shit was real yesterday.

SpaceX: Making and Defining Real, Groundbreaking History

Pre-post note 1: SpaceX rules.

Pre-post note 2: Oops. After publishing this post, I noticed it didn’t have any title. But now it has. Problem solved, because that’s what I do and that’s who I am. Problem-solver. I’ll shut up now.

                            

“The Falcon has landed.”

                            

While browsing my Facebook feed this morning, I noticed that a mustache-wielding show host had accidentally said the wrong name when announcing the winner in a Miss Universe pageant, only realising his mistake painfully late, causing all kinds of confusion. Very awkward stuff.

But now, I’ve been home for a while after a very stressful day at the mall (which I’ll be reporting about in a post coming up shortly), I stumbled upon my favourite site, Wait But Why. Much to my delight, a new post was up, titled:

SpaceX Launch Live Webcast and Explanation (12.21.15)

 

What the hell?

Here I was reading about a shallow, totally superficial beauty pageant dominating my Facebook feed, how the host royally fucked up, when this has happened? I can’t believe shit like this doesn’t “break the internet” (ugh, I hate that term), but when Kim Kardashian does kinda nothing really, somehow that is a top story in many people’s lives. And not only among some of my Facebook friends, but apparently all over the world, based on the reactions of the internet. There’s definitely a disturbance in the Force.

So what’s the big deal?

Continue reading “SpaceX: Making and Defining Real, Groundbreaking History”

How To Survive In A Zombie Apocalypse (And How Not To)

This question was asked by a colleague (let’s call him Jakarta) late this afternoon at the office. Naturally, I took it upon me to give my most serious answer.

I’m a pretty big fan of The Walking Dead (which isn’t a “zombie show” by the way, it’s a show about people struggling to survive in very challenging conditions, okay? There just happens to be shit-loads of zombies contributing to the challenging conditions. Also, after a while it’s actually people who are the real danger, and not the undead, since people are just the worst. Anyway, time to leave the parenthesis now before you get too bored) so I’m familiar with some of the ways people try to survive a zombie apocalypse.

By the way, I hate it when people say, “but it’s a zombie show” like that would be a bad thing. I’m totally on the defensive now. Time to get my head back in the game.

Here’s my answer to the question: 

Continue reading “How To Survive In A Zombie Apocalypse (And How Not To)”

Sweaty Handshakes Suck

Note: A few days ago, I wrote a post I decided to categorise as a “Mini” due to its shortness. I tried to come up with another word than Mini, but I was very disappointed when I discovered that some of the best alternatives were “dwarf”, “midget”, “petite”, and the very repulsive “wee”.

Writing that Mini required minimal-to-no effort, and I kinda liked it for that reason. Writing Minis will also be a good way for me to increase the frequency of my posts, because I have been kinda shitty in posting regularly. On the other hand, I’m quite regular in posting irregularly, so I got that going for me, which is nice. Another good thing about Minis is that I can pretty much spontaneously grab my keyboard and just type away whenever I think of something write-worthy, since, again, these posts require no brain activity at all. Yay.

                          

Today at lunch, I was sitting together with some of my colleagues while we were waiting for our food to come. Two acquaintances (super-awkward word to spell, which, by the way, “awkward” also is) showed up, and I greeted them with a firm handshake, as I mostly always do whenever I greet people.

As you may know, I’m living in Bangkok, a city that has a tropical savanna climate. In human, that is code for hot as hell, humid as fuck, and unbelievably sticky.

Whenever you would have to leave your air-conditioned whereabouts and decide to head out into the heat, you would actually (not really) hear your clothes go from normal to not normal and tightly squeeze your now all of a sudden sweaty body. That’s how hot and humid Bangkok often is.

So anyway, when I greeted my two acquaintances, I was on the receiving end of two remarkably sweaty handshakes. There was a moment of sheer panic when I realised there wasn’t anything to wash my hands with in the immediate vicinity. It was kinda like they had a second pair of armpits inconveniently placed in the palms of their hands, which is a very unpleasant thought. This got me thinking of how filthy people’s hands actually really are (or at least can be).

The image below will have to illustrate how a sweaty handshake feels:

Cold-and-Clammy
Delightful.

Why people’s hands are filthy, and what I do to keep my hands un-filthy

Continue reading “Sweaty Handshakes Suck”