Art imitates life. If I ever do become a screenwriter for FOX or something, all I have to do is look back on my teenage years and I'll have an endless supply of inspiration to turn into some blockbuster drama hit.

Not that any of the interesting stuff ever happens to me.

OK, fine, maybe one interesting bit.

Went to watch Watchmen (Who watches the Watchmen? The cinema-goers, obviously. HARHAR.) with Jibrail this afternoon. And the sociological overtones and philosophical undercurrents was a great exercise in self-mindfucking. I have never in my life concentrated so hard on a movie for 3 hours, out of fear of missing some small but significant part of the dialogue or screenplay.

Misanthropy is a great stimulant of the mind.

All in all, an extremely satisfying movie. Plus the action (and sex) scenes were pretty good.

So was the chill-out session after that. Riding a Vespa down the East Coast Parkway with one of the most reckless motorcyclist in history. Dashing across the road with speeding cars bearing down on us. Flashing middle fingers at car drivers for the fun of it.

For the first time in a long while, I felt free and completely at ease in this world. Leaving the exhaustion of the past week behind, plus not being plagued by thoughts about national service, issues about friendship and girls, and life's less pleasant occurrences.

Talking trash about everything between the verdant green grass and the endless blue sky.

And retail therapy. How can I forget the retail therapy?

I bought the hottest, tightest pair of three-quarter pants EVER! WOOHOO! *claps hands in glee*

All in all, not a bad Sunday. Not a bad Sunday, indeed.