brain farts

I promise there’s a good reason why I’ve been MIA for so long; a reason that explains why I’ve pretty much dropped off the face of cyberspace — whether it be here on my blog or on Facebook, the one place I used to check even more than my email (because, really, there’s no better way to keep up with what’s going on in so-and-so’s life than FB’s newsfeed, um, not that you heard that from me) — and pretty much real life. Basically, I’ve been getting my arse kicked. By none other than the biggest, baddest foe I’ve ever met.

Dental school.

So when I signed up to dental school, I knew it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. I knew that it was going to be hard work and that I’d have to cut down on my social life and all that jazz. But seriously, I didn’t think it was going to get this tough this soon. To demonstrate, here’s an example of my Monday schedule, although I promise I won’t be offended if you decide to skip it entirely as it’s long-winded and probably the most TEDIOUS, most BORING, most GOD AWFUL schedule in the history of the universe.

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A motorcycle ran into my car this morning, leaving a nice 5 inch-long dent on my bumper. While waiting for the insurance guys to show up, I noticed her shirt. At first I thought it was a regular Coca Cola-themed shirt and didn’t really pay much attention. Then I took a closer look. Oh, how I erred! On it, it declared:

“Enjoy Cocaine…
It makes you speed!”

Sure does make you speed all right!

Yeah, speed smack center into the rear of other people’s cars. Man.

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My girl Caro dubbed me the Freak Magnet way back in high school, and as you can see, the nickname is most definitely here to stay.

[Along Kata beach, while Lynn attempts to play
the part of savvy professional photographer]

Excuse me?

(looks up from viewfinder)

You (points to Lynn)
take picture (slowly mimes camera movements
as if Lynn is mentally slow) for me and my friends?

(holds out hand for camera)
Um. Okay.

(walks a few feet away to join her two elderly friends,
one of whom is sunbathing…topless)

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The mirrored elevators at Siam Paragon bug me to no end. Not only does it make for a sorta/kinda awkward situation when everyone in the elevator is looking ahead and trying to not look at the reflection of the person standing next to them, but it also reveals for everyone in the elevator to see if you’ve committed a faux pas or not.

[In the elevator at Siam Paragon]

How come you no take me for vacation?

Because I’m busy with work.

Why we not go for small vacation?
We go for few day only.

Maybe a short vacation to Hong Kong or Singapore?

(shakes head)
No, no, no.
Not Asia.
I want to fry to France!

(elbows Lynn hard)

(bursts out laughing)

(stares ahead with nary an expression on his face)

(glowers at Lynn in mirrored elevator)

(stares meekly at shoes)

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A few weeks ago I dreamt of my grandmother, or Ah-Ma, as I called her, when she was alive. In the dream, she was bustling around, healthy as can be, which was something of a surprise because in the last few years of her life my grandmother’s many illnesses had rendered her bedridden.

“Ah-Ma, you look so healthy,” I gushed. “How old are you now?”

“Seventy-eight,” she said.

And that’s all I remember. I can’t even recall if she did the jig or floated down on wings or gave me some grand prophetic advice on how to conquer the world. All I remember from that dream is the number 78. Yeah, I know — pretty pathetic, huh.

But try telling that to my mom and aunt, both of whom are Superstitious with a capital S. I guess that’s not much of a surprise — Thais are notorious for their almost zealous superstitiousness, and my mom and aunt are no exception. When they heard about my dream, they poked and prodded, trying to whittle out every last possible detail (“Uh, I think Ah-ma’s shirt was white…or was it yellow?”). I told them it was all pretty hopeless since I plain suck when it comes to dreams, always forgetting them within seconds of waking up; all that remains are a few wisps of conversation and a general gist of what went down, if I’m lucky. Usually it’s more of a big blank.

Still, despite the paltry details, my mom and aunt were positive my grandmother was trying to tell them something.

They were convinced my grandmother wanted them to buy lottery tickets.

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Well, you know you’ve reached a whole new level of patheticness when Hanson posts a comment on your MySpace page advertising a site called

I know — those bastards! They even tried to make it all cutesy by adding a little emoticon and graphic of two carrot-nosed people chatting to each other online, face-to-face, which, I must add, is so totally lame because who the hell does that? Pfft, like I’d really fall for that.

I am so not pimping their music for them anymore. Except maybe for this song. And this one, because they (the songs, not Hanson — those bastards!) can make me smile even after spending a good hour trying to haul my car out of a very wet, very deep, very muddy ditch.

Which is what I did today.

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Highlights (or should I say lowlights) from dinner last Saturday with Jup, Matt, and Akira at the Rio Grill:

[While discussing garbled signs from around the world]

I once saw this sign in China that said:
“The slippery are always crafty.”

I once saw a sign in Siam Square advertising
a massage parlor called Miss Puke.

[Wholesome-looking Scandinavian family
with two young kids in tow sits down at a nearby table]

I once saw a sign in Japan that said:
“Please do not flash the toilet.”

(Scandinavian kids look on as
four twenty-somethings erupt in a fit of giggles)

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