I am not sure if stewing in my bedroom with a pile of papers and mess, pacing aimlessly around the living room, and thinking of what to eat at 3.19pm have resulted in the following breaking news but I am now a fan of Lady Gaga. [Cue the sonata allegro from Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C Minor]. Er. No, apocalypse has not descended, this is merely, revelation and discerning taste. I hereby pronounce that Lady Gaga is the Mcdonald’s of music. So bad that it is actually good for you. So good that you just have to have it. And once you had it, you just can’t stop it. Lady Gaga is comfort food, she does what 9-piece Chicken Mcnuggets plus a medium fries do to me at 2:27am. Gratifying? Check. Sinful? Check. Soulful? Check. Guilty? As charged.
While the revered Lady Gaga continues to aurally assail the ears of music snobs let me tell you something, the force is palpable, strong and you shall succumb, because once you’ve been touched by the grace of Her Highness Gaga, there is no turning your back on all things fun, pop, graphic and over-the-top. So to the fans of obtuse cum jarring licks who often disassociate themselves from the mainstream fare, in the name of the entertainment, I suggest you give this Gaga Lady a go, because she not only does her job, she does it hell, well.
Oh, just so you know, this dedicated entry about Lady Gaga stemmed from the fact that Bad Romance just sets the perfect mode for the mandatory bedroom dancing. Ga Ga, ooh la la.
Yesterday ended on a high note. Lady S. and myself were treated to Acid Bar’s resident “live” duo belting out radio-friendly tunes that sat really well with us but of course, when one sings “I’m Yours” with that much emotion and panache, what’s there not to love. Do note that this entry is not about how much I love listening to ballads or how I nearly disintegrated where they were singing “I’m Yours” or how I wish I could have spent the whole night listening to them singing “I’m Yours”, of course not. I have my guilty pleasures but listening to a hit over and over from Jason Mraz is not my thing. No! No!! No!!! Affirmative no.
Right, this entry is a more of grouse to recount my faux pas that I made yesterday kudos to my half-baked eyesight. For the uninitiated on my financial status, I am currently strapped for cash and lately, I don’t enjoy wearing my glasses. Of course, having compromised vision is risky business but since I often get my priorities wrong and value buying gifts,with whatever is left of my paltry dough for my loved ones over contact lenses, I should have mentally prepared myself for the awkward situation. You know, the awkward situation like waving frantically, fanatically and psychotically at a random stranger, not once, not twice, not thrice but four times!, whom I’ve conveniently mistaken for the ex-boss. Awkward Times! Eeks! And even after she darted some “you-are-a-psycho-bitch-from-hell-please-stay-away” stares at me, I was still pretty convinced that she was the ex-boss, yes, yes, go me! The resemblance between her and the ex-boss was uncanny, save for the following: the former was shorter, pudgier, and well, to put it politely, she ain’t exactly a sight for sore eyes. Um. Yes. Shit happens.
Oh, did I mention that we had Ippudo ramen for dinner and well, although the texture of the ramen and the tangy broth agreed with my palate, Lady S. and myself agreed that Ippudo didn’t live up to its hype. I’ve had my share of better ramen adventures, like the one, Ms. S and myself had when we were in Sapporo some two years back. That. Was. Dope. Memories. Sapporo and its ramen, you’re going to be my bitch come 2010. I’m making my way! Gambatte! I need to scoot off to the December girls’ party now. Let the good times roll. Yay!