Loan? What loans?

Well, I'm bored, hence a post. Unfortunately, (for you, mostly) I've queued up an eclectic playlist on Media Player:

1. "Don't Go Away" - Oasis
2. "Teardrops On Oy Guitar" - Taylor Swift
3. "If It's Love" - Train
4. "Tiny Dancer" - Elton John
5. "Me Japanese Boy I Love You" - Burt Bacharach
6. "Nocturne No. 15 - Op. 55 No. 1 in F Minor" - Fryderyk Chopin
7. "Dig" - Incubus
8. "Mata Ng Diyos" - Wolfgang (Which kinda crept into my consciousness, thanks Nolan)

It's fairly certain now, this is going to be one of my worst, most disjointed posts ever.

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"Wait, is that Chopin up there?"

Yes it is. Contrary to what others think of me, I do listen to the occasional piano, sometimes even the whole orchestra. This phenomenon I can only attribute to growing up watching too many episodes of "Looney Tunes", fueled even further by my new year's adventure to Hong Kong's Disneyland. This particular piece, however, I'm pretty sure I heard on a movie or two. Maybe even some really deep drama chick flick.

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Was doing my groceries this afternoon, a decision made while pondering where the heck my money flew away to. Apparently, the guys over at McDonald's, KFC, Starbucks and Jollibee have been making a killing off me, which can't really be good for my financial well-being.

I did come upon a small fortune recently, which is always great. But now, I'm having some trouble deciding what to do with it. The first thing that came to my mind when I looked at the cheque was to mentally divide the sum amount by the price of a beer. That's a lot of beers. Of course, a man can't live on beer alone (which is a shame, really), so I had to set aside a portion of my fortune (that rhymes!) to some other stuff, like detergents, bar chow, a nice massage (with some extras), and Hello Panda biscuits.

First things first, though, I have to convert this little piece of paper to a lot of little pieces of paper with heads of dead presidents and heroes on them. Sadly, that's the difficult part. I hate going into banks. Everytime I go into a bank, they take my money away. These bean counters, they're the worst! First, they make you take a number and sit there, with your hard earned money in your hand, waiting for some scum to come in, hold the bank up and take your money. This goes on for a long time, half an hour in some cases, even longer on busy days. Then, just when you're sure that the fellow in the demin jacket beside you has a gun in his pants, the teller calls out your number and takes your money anyway.

Sure sometimes they give you back your money, but it always feels lighter, doesn't it? You know that someone's been having their way with your money, using it however they please, wiping their asses with it. Then when you come begging to get it back from them, you have to line up all over again and smile when they give what's rightfully yours. It's like lending out your pristine condition Playboy magazine with Erika Eleniak on the cover to a buddy of yours in high school and getting it back a year later looking like some sorry piece of soggy toilet paper.

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Eventually, I have to go to a bank, though. I've decided to open another account with another bank and use this for my future savings. So I'm keeping half of my small fortune in there, while I spend the other half on totally useless things and frivolous encounters.

"Don't you have loans and stuff?"

Of course I do, I also have a short attention span, which conveniently lets me forget this fact all too easily. Thanks for reminding me.

Loans? What loans?

Kidding of course (just in case Archie is reading this). A portion of the money goes to charity, namely the guys over at Citigroup (which has fallen on bad times, I hear). Quite a large portion, actually. Which sucks.

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Finally, I got that Starbucks planner. I intend to use it this year, as everyone else I know already has one. (Plus, it's past Christmas, so I'm not feeling all gift-giving-like anymore) Was surprised that it was a damn heavy thing, I mean, who the heck wants to lug around a notebook that weighs as much as an encyclopedia? Can't they just give out a Starbucks PDA or something? I'm sure I've sunk enough dough in that place to buy a dozen of those, would it hurt them to give a little back?

Anyway, I filled out the blank space for my name, my home number, but was at a loss what to put down as my mobile number. You see, my current mobile phone belongs to the company I currently work for, which I won't be working for in less than a month's time. And since I don't have my own mobile phone, I don't have anything to jot down there, do I? The good news, though, is that my future employer has promised to give me a new mobile phone, which is great. In the meantime, though, what do I do?

Say I meet a hot girl, and we exchange numbers. Handing out my home number seems so Neanderthal these days, right?

"Wow a landline? How retro!" Yeah baby, now if you'll come back with me to my Delorean, maybe we can still catch Doogie Howser on television! (Yeah Doogie Howser, Neil Patrick Harris, you know, Barney Stintson of How I Met Your Mother? No? Doesn't ring any bells? How old are you again?)