Vickiepedia

Semester over but still feeling very bleh and single as hell, I knew there’s only one thing that could spice up the day: self + trusties + endorphin + dopamine + oxytocin + prolactin + etc. (that’s my euphemism for masturbation to orgasm, guys).

And so, whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (that’s the noise of my vibrator, guys).

And then… instead of sexy thoughts and the Big O, I suddenly remembered this.

I suppose laughing also works…

Note to Self:

Remember to remove all batteries from all toys after using them, especially the ultra quiet ones, even when you’re sure you already switched them off. Stop telling people you’re jealous of the air being vibrated all night. That’s just freaky. Also make sure you always have spare batteries. Don’t bang your head against the wall when you don’t. That doesn’t help.

P.S. You forgot to introduce Trusties #4, 5 and 6 to people, so I shall do it for you:

… Oh my goodness. You brought the camcorder USB cord over here instead of the one for your digital camera. You bloody idiot!

And here I am! The wonderful, cloudless country in the other Hemisphere, where there’s more UV than Ozone, where July is cold and January hot, where you could almost experience four seasons in one day, where water in the toilet bowl twirls counterclockwise (pending confirmation), where Vickie would be staying for the next 4 or 4.5 years. Bingo! Australia!

The flight was mostly pleasant (but that belongs to another entry when I have proper internet connection after I find a proper place to rent *sigh*); homesickness hasn’t got me much since the parents have really helpful friends over here; AMD Diablos… that poor thing took some minor injuries (pictures pending) even with all that “handle with care” and “fragile” stickers. Otherwise, Vickie is cool.

Although speaking of homesickness, Trusty #1 and Trusty #3 must be suffering from it — I couldn’t turn them on no matter what I do! Argh! Must resist getting a new vibrator!

Embarrassing events (which all happened to be language-related) of Vickie in descending order, less embarrassing first.

(5) I once mispronounced “pretentious” as pre-TEN-tee-ous instead of pre-TEN-cious when I was angry. What sound argument. </sarcasm>

(4) When some of my ex-classmates asked what “plagiarism” meant and how it was pronounced, and in order to prove to them that the English pronunciation was really easy, I broke the syllables into play-gee-AIR-rism by mistake, when I knew the word should be pronounced as PLAY-jar-rism. I sincerely hope that they’ve completely forgotten that word now.

(3) I once said clutches when I meant crutches. “Clutches?” “Yes, clutches.” In a formal presentation.

(2) I never knew lasagne was not pronounced as la-SAHG-na, until I said it out loud in front of 3 friends. Now I can’t eat lasagne without remembering that event and blushing.

(1) When I came out to an old friend (oh that was ages ago), she asked whether I’d come out to my parents as well. I didn’t know what “come out” meant back then and replied, “Yeh, we’d probably dine out.”

Unrelated to languages; but if my parents somehow discover Trusty #1 and Trusty #3 among my luggage later, that would so top the list…

I just watched a soundless video of the last stages of a woman giving birth found from one of my ex-classmates’ Xanga. My reactions ranged from “oh my gosh that’s amazing”, to the sudden urge to give my mother a big hug, to a weird, weird thought: “Hmm, if I should ever want a baby… I better start loosening things up.” *eyes Trusty #3 who could even be bigger* Damn, I don’t know why everything reminds me of sex.

Now that I got the weird thought out of my head, I have a less weird and completely unrelated confession to make.

I… I have a fetish.

It’s strange. The typically bold and unblushing Vickie who enjoys sharing sex and masturbation stories (in real life alike) would feel uncomfortable confessing to having a fetish. It isn’t even anything remotely like a scat fetish, or blood fetish, or necrophilia, or bestiality, or incest. It isn’t even anything illegal. It’s… just…

I’ve had this fetish ever since I could remember, at as early as the tender age of, what, 6 or 7. Just back then I didn’t know that the word “fetish” existed, didn’t know that was considered a fetish, and wasn’t even bothered about my mixed feelings when I came across that kind of “situation”. It’s funny how things become so much more complicated as you grow older.

You’d think this is exactly the thing to share with your sex buddy… I doubt if my ex-girlfriend knew any of it. I doubt if I’d have the courage to even hint about it to my next partner (if applicable). Yet, with this fetish, I’ll need the help from a partner. Oowrrgh…

But at least I know I’m indeed not alone; bless the Internet for multiple reasons.

No, I’m not telling. Yet.