Or at least I think I do. Anyway, my right wrist has been hurting for almost a week straight. It was so bad last weekend that I had to keep it wrapped in a, umm, clothy thing after slathering on a ginormous slop of pink cream. The cream burned like hell, and my wrist still hurts.
The fact that I am paranoid and some sort of hypochondriac makes me the number one candidate for NOT watching House. I avoid medical dramas at all cost, not just because I dislike drama, but because I have the tendency to over-imagine things. I am weird, as you may have noticed, and I tend to torture myself with a massive and steady stream of irrational thoughts.
I am perfectly capable of scaring myself to death. I suppose I’m self-sufficient that way.
But after a dozen and one exhortations from friends and friends alike, I have come to the conclusion that I must watch House. After all, a friend had promised that, “maldito yun si House.” And Kris, you pretty much had me at vicodin. I suppose a doctor prescribing tictacs and quoting Mick Jagger simply cannot be ignored.
As of right now, I’ve only seen five episodes of Season 1, so a marathon is pretty much in order. The weekend seems like a nice opportunity. I guess I like House for the same reason I like Jack Sparrow — he’s not entirely good and not entirely evil, but he’s immensely brilliant and spouts the show’s best lines, too. What’s not to like?
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I have no idea why, but Jessica Zafra just popped into my head this morning. I was approximately 11 when I first read her column in Today and I was, I think, one of her biggest fans. I still have her autograph and some of her books at home. It was through reading her column that I learned about angst, irony, Kurt Cobain and just how much Depeche Mode sucked. Her love for Sting didn’t rub off, though.
I haven’t read any of her books lately, we don’t subscribe to Today anymore and I suppose I might have finally outgrown her. Nevertheless, I am most inclined to believe that the dripping sarcasm coating my writing style pretty much came from reading her all the time. Which is great, considering my greatest idol before her was Enid Blyton. Can you say pathetic?
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Women, unless you are FDA/BFAD/Baywatch-approved like Pamela Anderson, you have no right — I repeat — no right to force innocent people to look at your dislocated cleavage. Last I checked, boobs are supposed to be above the abdomen, not obstructing it.
June 15th, 2007 at 10:36 am
House marathon. Jessica Zafra. Enid Blyton. Wow this is creepy.
June 15th, 2007 at 11:10 am
1. I like House too. No matter how annoying he can sometimes get.
2. I used to be in love–okay, make that in like with Zafra too. Blame it on her dark humour, sarcasm and her nasty comments on a lot of things,
3. oh, and yes, women with massive breasts should be forced to cover them,
June 16th, 2007 at 1:59 am
On House: He had me at Vicodin too. When I saw him pop those pills like candy, my heart melted and I fell in love.
On women with enormous breasts: You should’ve told her, “There’s this thing called underwire…”
Oh, and I have Jessica Zafra’s autograph too! I just don’t remember where I stashed it.
June 17th, 2007 at 9:25 pm
yes, underwire. Or I could have offered her my handy balisong so she could slash her wrists right there and then.
June 17th, 2007 at 9:26 pm
You know Enid Blyton? I actually thought there was a grand total of three people who knew that author in this country. I still have his books around here somewhere.
June 18th, 2007 at 9:50 am
Yeah. I grew up reading her books. My aunt had a collection of those. Unfortunately, they’re so old they really didn’t last. The pages were too brittle. There are re-releases, but I haven’t found the one I was looking for. :p
June 18th, 2007 at 10:50 am
HER?
I honestly had no idea what Blyton’s gender was. I was like ten when I started reading the Naughtiest Girl series. You really do learn something new each day
June 18th, 2007 at 7:46 pm
Well to be honest, I don’t know Blyton’s gender either ehehe. I just presumed female cya. Hmm… *heads off to Wiki*