A Cheap Flight

It's such a heartbreak when I discover that someone whom I've held with such high regard turns out to be nowhere near what expected. What am I supposed to do after I take them off of my pedestal? I don't bare to forever excommunicate them, I'm way too sentimental and definitely a victim to nostalgia. Gosh I give people too much credit, I completely set myself up.

Anyway, I was Google Earthing my hometown Qingdao today, marking out my and my family's residences, and other particular locations of my childhood. Despite the changes the city has undergone, I was able to pinpoint all the places I was looking for. With each new/old discovery, I grew a little more emotional. Each time I marked a location, the memories pertaining to those locations flooded back. I saw myself playing with childhood friends, visiting family members, going to school, bathing at the beach, squandering throughout the street markets and shopping complexes, retracing my bold steps as a kid who roamed freely around town without a care.
Around every corner the Birdseye-view offered click-able taps that offered magnificent photos of the new and old Qingdao. Most of them tastefully captured the essence of the city with depictions of the old colonial architecture that survived the gentrification. For the most part, the city I knew as a child stayed relatively intact. I was fortunate that the area I used to live at is protected by the government under it's historic preservation mandates. You can walk for hours through the intersections, or private neighborhoods, one would have difficulty believing that they are in a city in China. Aside from the apartment buildings, almost all residences are villa/courtyards of late 1800s German design. However, for some parts it was more difficult to find due to a new highway that was built, which sadly required the demolition of some buildings almost exactly by my home that were very close to the heart. Having all of my immediate family living there, I remember living in some of these beautiful and spacious houses. Even as a child, I was able to appreciate the coziness of staying in these homes built with such care. Although sometimes I've dreaded visiting these places, I am appreciative that my father did force me to spend time with the family. A property of similar caliber would undoubtedly start from a minimum five million, and yet to this day these stately homes are occupied by simple, everyday Qingdao Ren...most of which are retirees spending their days tending to their gardens and playing Chinese chess with their shared occupants in the courtyard.
A city of a considerably large financial and commercial district, with both heavily populated and densely spread villas, mountain-side parks, dream-like homes built for the masses, endless beaches, and historical landmarks all harmoniously coexisting with each other in perfect rhythm. I feel truly blessed to be born in such a romantic, and memorable setting. Google Earth is definitely a good tool.
Having become this emotional just by browsing a map-like image of my hometown, I don't think I can possibly revisit without bringing a close friend with me for emotional support. Can't have the family thinking I've become some kind of six foot, two hundred pound EmoCryBaby. Or as they call it in QD..Ban Tai!


A downhill stretch on my way to school


The hospital where I was born


My school


Signal Hill


A very famous landmark


A random villa I use to walk by on weekends


A mysterious house


The Governor's Manor (cost 2,000 000 bricks of silver in the 1800s)


Beach No.2


A retired Destroyer


View of the twin towers (Qingdao Catholic Church)
[At the end of this hill to the left is the town's first KFC =d..]


Qingdao's most popular youth passtime


View of the Christian church on my way home from Kindergarten


Skyline

The shrink wrapped imported premium cigarettes, the unopened bottles of Celebrex, Vallium, Xanax, Halcion, the for display only imported alcohol, they are all calling out to me. I'm losing control of myself, I need to indulge in something. I haven't touched anything since my teenage years ended, I'm not stupid enough to go back to cocaine, but I do miss it. Something is missing...and I can't...fucking...help it...anymore.

I don't know what I am writing about anymore.

Sometimes I prey on the sensibility of women just for the hell of it, all I really want are reactions to my undoing. Most relate a good work ethic to good personal qualities, not me. I am not so naive, I look into the mirror everyday and the man who stares back at me tells me this isn't so. At work I strive to accomplish every mission, pushing the standards if I can, outdoing the competition, even when there isn't any. I know the difference between a job well done, and a lackluster effort. I pretend that there is a reward waiting for me at the end of each task, but really making others look bad is rewarding enough. I want to leave my boss with no choice but to accommodate me for my efforts every so often, and with each success I inch closer to rising above him. The satisfaction of starting something from scratch and watching it develop, and eventually materialize into what you've envisioned is a feeling no sex from any woman can deliver. I dream of this in my sleep.

But when the work is done, and the clock strikes end hour, that drive dissipates, and the temptation for wrongdoing replaces, overwhelms all optimism. A tingle crawls up my spine and sends chills throughout my body. My mouth waters, I lick the cracks of my lips for tastes of blood, the copper flavour teases my tongue and I immediately want more. They say work ethic tells a lot about a person, they say my attitude towards work shows that I am an intrusting man of integrity, they want to hang out with me and introduce me to their friends, they might really like me they claim. They are fucking morons. Yeah, I would love to meet your friends, learn about your social network and how I can slowly destroy the bonds which you work so long to build. You, just like your friends are all so pathetically predictable. I think I'll target the prettiest first, they are always the most influential to which all of you relents. This is not my stack of cards, to hell with it. But wait, not all of you are so unsuspecting. Thank goodness, someone is suspecting that I am up to no good, a challenge! We exchange glances, there is no need for either of us to say a word. It's on, I will save you for last, just to make it all the more painful for you to witness the downfall of your friends. It's all a simple matter of letting the stone fall where they may, and watch the puzzle solve itself.
Fuck I'm bored.
I probably won't do these things, why would I? I'm breaking my rule: Never bite the hand that feeds you. Maybe they'll be nice, maybe we'll become friends, heck maybe I'll even like them. Anyway, I heard Bethany is one serious hardbody. Also Philip might be able to get my name higher up the waiting list for the Lawn racquet club.
Forget it, it was satisfying just to play it out in my head, I'm too tired, and I got to go to the gym later. Which only leaves me with enough time to purchase the gifts for the names remaining on my Christmas list before dinner. I'm going to SottoSotto with Andrea Bowman, apparently it's impossible to get a reservation there, and Andrea just happens to be sleeping the Maitre'd. I checked out the menu online during lunch, and I actually am somewhat excited about trying their Duck Confit. I will be wearing a navy blue pin striped Armani peaked lapel one button evening suit, with Bill Blass wing tips, bold striped shirt, pink Hermes necktie, and just to piss Andrea off--Argyle socks. At least that what I plan to wear given that the dumb fucking Asian dry cleaners didn't steal a button off my suit like they did three weeks ago. I'm sure they stole it because the suit was a Ralph Lauren and they have excellent stitching, and because the cleaners were Chinese. They come to our country, steal our business, use up our resources, and robs us of our buttons.
The Patty Winter's show this morning was about mothers of retarded children.

It's not you, it's your stupidity

There are no more foul mannered, ill-educated, and ignorant people at a social events than Cosmo readers. I was unfortunate enough to sit through a conversation between two Women typical to their stereotypes about their perspectives about Men.
I have never in my life heard such distasteful qualities they happened to find attractive in the so-called ideal "Men". Their description towards the likable was so misled, it made me quiver with disgust. They oppugned the qualities taught to be gentlemanly by the most revered privately operated educational institutions as "pretentious" and "unnecessary" by today's wretched thirst for "staying real".
It grew more difficult to stay unmoved with each word that came out of their heavily glossed lips, I dug my nails into the surface of our wooden table, while tapping my right foot to the floor in sync with my uneven heart beat that must have pounded as rambunctiously as the violin strokes of Gioachino Rossini's "The Barber Of Seville Overture".
I tried to turn my focus to elsewhere, torturing insects I was thinking. The sheer horror the insects must have experienced when the their homes was chopped down by heavily bearded lumbers with rough skin, and then made into this table that now holds my glass I was thinking. How so many of the yuppies standing at the bar scooping for a easy fuck and will most likely succeed because a majority of the Women here were dressed like whores I was thinking. Bad Romance by Lady gaga is a great song I was thinking. I would totally fuck Angelo's mother I was thinking. My KMS California hair molding cream ran out and I had to use the cheap drug store brand, I wonder what that made my hair look like in the low ambient light I was thinking. it was no use, their shrieking voices pierced through my concentration, something about being not so much of their own ethnic background I hear, which pissed me off even more.
Shut the fuck up! Motherfucker! I wondered what this Wasabi shavings made my breath smell like. Stupid Cunt! DIE! DIE! DIE!
My wine arrived, thank God.
"I read in Toronto life that this place has some of the best free range rabbit to be founded, what magazines do you read?"
"Cosmo" Dumb bitch number 1.
"Cosmo" Dumb bitch number 2.
My heart sank, my lips flattened and a wave of utter disappoint came rushing over me.
"Oh, right...of course" I gathered all of my strength and forced an uncomfortable smile, then immediately regained my composure.
I know dumb bitches, I know a lot of dumb bitches, but none of them lacked the feminine intuition like these two did with regards to the opposite sex. I took a sip of my wine, not bad. My gaze returned to the bar where all the desperate yuppies stood unapproached, with cocktails people of dignity would probably steer clear from grasped in their fingers, and the other hand fiddling something in their pant pockets. Change probably.
Fuck me..no fuck them, yeah. Fuck these two bimbos. I felt slightly embarrassed of myself knowing that this harrowing disposition was completely self inflicted in exchange for what is to come in no more than two hours I hope. They meant nothing to me, and I'm certain that I meant nothing to them as well. Simply a formality to spare the thought of any of these two girls questioning themselves for being what they are clearly dressed as afterward.
Ten commandments at the ROM for another week I was thinking. Women are for babies, boys are for pleasure in Afghanistan I was thinking. Tia totally have the best stripper legs on anyone I knew I was thinking. I wondered if I should exfoliate everyday or every other day I was thinking. Stumping on Tina's annoying little shitzu into a blood pie I was thinking.