3 Little Pigs & their Glass Slippers
Someone asked me recently if I ever thought of writing.
I have to admit that some points in my life the thought did come across my mind. Ok, discount the essays which I wrote when I was 15 when I inflicted all my lead characters with AIDS. You know, there is just one type of AIDS virus but many different ways of getting it and it worried my english teacher so much that it prompted an interrogation in the staff lounge to find out if me or anyone in the family happened to be HIV positive. Ok, good, er write about something else. Er, write about breast cancer. I changed the topic obession to homosexuality. There you go, all my leads were suddenly rich gays who felt oblige to carry on the family lines. You know, up to the point where I am convinced that I am actually homosexual.
I can't write frictions like J.K Rowling because it would then have been Harry Potty and The Flying Underpants. And I will never be famous. Or rich. Or Both. Because it will never make it to the movies. No one would want to pay $8 to see flying underpants.
Then maybe I can write a chronicle. I can write about the wild sexual expeditions. Except there is none. I thought of writing about my handicap and how I struggle to overcome it and embrace life until my best friend went sorry to inform you that fatness is not a handicap, at least not yet. So there is no handicap adventure then. I wish I have a crazy family to write about, like Miss Sunshine. Then again, my family is so normal that it hurts. Discounting the facts that my mama can nag for 36 hrs straight with just 5 min break in between, a sister who can survive on chocolates for 365 days and come begging for more and another sister who like to attack my milkjugs at every opportunity. The highlight of my days remains as the 5 min phone conversations with The Boyfriend.
What's happening babes?
George Bush came to borrow the loo.
Good, while he is at it, flush him away.
Till then I should just stick to blogging.
I have to admit that some points in my life the thought did come across my mind. Ok, discount the essays which I wrote when I was 15 when I inflicted all my lead characters with AIDS. You know, there is just one type of AIDS virus but many different ways of getting it and it worried my english teacher so much that it prompted an interrogation in the staff lounge to find out if me or anyone in the family happened to be HIV positive. Ok, good, er write about something else. Er, write about breast cancer. I changed the topic obession to homosexuality. There you go, all my leads were suddenly rich gays who felt oblige to carry on the family lines. You know, up to the point where I am convinced that I am actually homosexual.
I can't write frictions like J.K Rowling because it would then have been Harry Potty and The Flying Underpants. And I will never be famous. Or rich. Or Both. Because it will never make it to the movies. No one would want to pay $8 to see flying underpants.
Then maybe I can write a chronicle. I can write about the wild sexual expeditions. Except there is none. I thought of writing about my handicap and how I struggle to overcome it and embrace life until my best friend went sorry to inform you that fatness is not a handicap, at least not yet. So there is no handicap adventure then. I wish I have a crazy family to write about, like Miss Sunshine. Then again, my family is so normal that it hurts. Discounting the facts that my mama can nag for 36 hrs straight with just 5 min break in between, a sister who can survive on chocolates for 365 days and come begging for more and another sister who like to attack my milkjugs at every opportunity. The highlight of my days remains as the 5 min phone conversations with The Boyfriend.
What's happening babes?
George Bush came to borrow the loo.
Good, while he is at it, flush him away.
Till then I should just stick to blogging.
2 Comments:
gal, im coming back. confirmed! :)
i nv attack ur milkjars, they attack me
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