Margaritas and Headbutts
This is getting to be a regular opening line, but I'm sorry I didn't post last week again. My dad was in town for one day, and that day happened to be blogging-day (Monday). And being the dreaful creature of habit that I am, I totally forgot about blogging the rest of the week. Besides, there wasn't much to blog about.
Maybe the restaurant. That was nice. My dad took me and my sister (my brother's back in Sing already) to this place in KLCC called Mexican Chilli. It's a very American place, by which I mean the clientele: at least 3/4 of the people in there were blonde and blue-eyed... and FAT. I mean bulging, supersized, layers-and-layers of grease fat. After that...hey, the Earth gets heavier by several tonnes every year, and guess where most of that weight comes from?
(Actually, the answer is cosmic dust in the form of vaporised meteorites, but let's pretend it's the gweilos, because that's much easier for laypeople to understand.)
Mexican Chilli has loads of lovely food in huge proportions and equally huge prices: we ordered drinks, some tortillas, a salad, and one meat dish, and the cost averaged out to nearly 50 each (including cost of drinks). Of course, we stuffed ourselves until I could barely walk. It was worthwhile, and besides the food tasted great. Simply gorgeous, the sauces that accompanied the meat and the tortillas: nice and savoury and just a hint of sour. The extreme sweetness of the honey was good, too: just sweet enough without getting cloying. It suited the meat nicely.
Unfortunately, the salad was salty, and I don't like food that (to me) is overloaded with salt. Maybe it was a ploy to get us to order more drinks, maybe not: maybe we just forgot to put on enough salad dressing. In any case, the salad was the last of all the three to be finished (and partly because it was composed of a large number of beans--there was no spoon and forking beans up gets tiring).
And my dad ordered a margarita and let us drink it! (The restaurant only sells alcoholic drinks to patrons above 21 years old.) It was salty at first and later began tasting alcoholic--I've looked up margaritas and they seem to be composed of an awful lot of salt, both in the drink itself and littered on the rim of the glass. Apparently, as the ice melts and the drink gets topped up, the salt content crops and people like me (who drink alcohol for the alcohol content) get to properly enjoy the drink.
Still, I must say I prefer red wine to margaritas. The name sounds odd, for one thing, and for another the taste doesn't agree with me.
Nothing much has happened lately, except that exams are getting worrying near (my Pure Math exam is in two days' time and I haven't even begun the necessary revision!) and my mom will be in Patience tomorrow, with my kid siblings. Hopefully they'll have the MP3 I requested with them, along with a nice selection of songs pre-loaded in it. (I also told them what songs I wanted.)
I am awfully tired right now, but oddly I don't have a headache. Maybe it's just that I haven't had enough emotional energy to get worked up over anything much, or maybe it's that I used it all up on Saturday when my Maple character got accepted into a guild (I've been trying to get into one for awhile now).
I got enough euphoria out of that to run back to the hostel singing "Guild, guild, guild~!" Of course, most of the people I told (who don't play Maple) think I'm mad. I don't disagree...much, anyway.
Oh, and I watched the World Cup finals this morning in the Gorilla's house. (This is why I'm so tired. I slept for only 4 hours or so before class.) It finally proved once and for all that the team I back always loses, since I was backing France.
It seemed like they were going to make history (for me anyway) when they scored the first goal in the 7th minute, but when Italy scored a goal of their own I knew nothing new was going to happen.
And now I owe my sister a dinner, all because that idiot of a Zidane went and headbutted some nameless blue shirt and so couldn't take a penalty. Plus he's gone and topped off his entire career with one red card. Idiot. But then I've always maintained that sportsmen haven't got much more than two brain cells, so this just proves my case.
(I'm pretty sure Jogger/D-Kun/the Gorilla/the Pig/Claus will disagree.)
So... congratulations, Italy, even if I think they shouldn't have won. That referee seems like he was blind to a lot of the stuff Italy pulled off--there should've been more than one penalty shot.
Maybe the restaurant. That was nice. My dad took me and my sister (my brother's back in Sing already) to this place in KLCC called Mexican Chilli. It's a very American place, by which I mean the clientele: at least 3/4 of the people in there were blonde and blue-eyed... and FAT. I mean bulging, supersized, layers-and-layers of grease fat. After that...hey, the Earth gets heavier by several tonnes every year, and guess where most of that weight comes from?
(Actually, the answer is cosmic dust in the form of vaporised meteorites, but let's pretend it's the gweilos, because that's much easier for laypeople to understand.)
Mexican Chilli has loads of lovely food in huge proportions and equally huge prices: we ordered drinks, some tortillas, a salad, and one meat dish, and the cost averaged out to nearly 50 each (including cost of drinks). Of course, we stuffed ourselves until I could barely walk. It was worthwhile, and besides the food tasted great. Simply gorgeous, the sauces that accompanied the meat and the tortillas: nice and savoury and just a hint of sour. The extreme sweetness of the honey was good, too: just sweet enough without getting cloying. It suited the meat nicely.
Unfortunately, the salad was salty, and I don't like food that (to me) is overloaded with salt. Maybe it was a ploy to get us to order more drinks, maybe not: maybe we just forgot to put on enough salad dressing. In any case, the salad was the last of all the three to be finished (and partly because it was composed of a large number of beans--there was no spoon and forking beans up gets tiring).
And my dad ordered a margarita and let us drink it! (The restaurant only sells alcoholic drinks to patrons above 21 years old.) It was salty at first and later began tasting alcoholic--I've looked up margaritas and they seem to be composed of an awful lot of salt, both in the drink itself and littered on the rim of the glass. Apparently, as the ice melts and the drink gets topped up, the salt content crops and people like me (who drink alcohol for the alcohol content) get to properly enjoy the drink.
Still, I must say I prefer red wine to margaritas. The name sounds odd, for one thing, and for another the taste doesn't agree with me.
Nothing much has happened lately, except that exams are getting worrying near (my Pure Math exam is in two days' time and I haven't even begun the necessary revision!) and my mom will be in Patience tomorrow, with my kid siblings. Hopefully they'll have the MP3 I requested with them, along with a nice selection of songs pre-loaded in it. (I also told them what songs I wanted.)
I am awfully tired right now, but oddly I don't have a headache. Maybe it's just that I haven't had enough emotional energy to get worked up over anything much, or maybe it's that I used it all up on Saturday when my Maple character got accepted into a guild (I've been trying to get into one for awhile now).
I got enough euphoria out of that to run back to the hostel singing "Guild, guild, guild~!" Of course, most of the people I told (who don't play Maple) think I'm mad. I don't disagree...much, anyway.
Oh, and I watched the World Cup finals this morning in the Gorilla's house. (This is why I'm so tired. I slept for only 4 hours or so before class.) It finally proved once and for all that the team I back always loses, since I was backing France.
It seemed like they were going to make history (for me anyway) when they scored the first goal in the 7th minute, but when Italy scored a goal of their own I knew nothing new was going to happen.
And now I owe my sister a dinner, all because that idiot of a Zidane went and headbutted some nameless blue shirt and so couldn't take a penalty. Plus he's gone and topped off his entire career with one red card. Idiot. But then I've always maintained that sportsmen haven't got much more than two brain cells, so this just proves my case.
(I'm pretty sure Jogger/D-Kun/the Gorilla/the Pig/Claus will disagree.)
So... congratulations, Italy, even if I think they shouldn't have won. That referee seems like he was blind to a lot of the stuff Italy pulled off--there should've been more than one penalty shot.
Comments