Mameha and a Stray Puppy

The way he danced was quite charming actually. Smooth moves, nicely done, nothing erratic, nothing too sassy, just (manly) enough to get my attention. He was pretty cute in the limelight, casually attired in t-shirts and jeans. After more than the half-a-year hiatus for me, nothing better than that would holla: Welcome back to Club Paradis. After all, he seemed to be alone there. Right in the middle of the dance floor. Darn you: a stray puppy in a circuit party!

Not too long ago an old acquaintance of mine, my brondong-jenius, started calling me Mameha for the obvious reasons. I am getting old, having my own place in certain society and before senilities had succeed in overtaking my sanity, I do have lots of tricks to share with younger upcoming geishas.

Last week however, my local grips were shaken (not stirred) by the arrival of another Mameha from the Philippines. Even though she was way older than me, however she was gorgeously smashing - due to her intense body and facial treatments. Her aura was glowing with “My name is Voulez-vous-couchez avec-moi-ce-soir and you are who?” written all over her forehead. You’d never guess that she held a PhD somewhere in her pedigree. Yet she insisted to drag me to this circuit party in town at the lowest point in my life. Yes, hubby just left me two weeks ago in my 32nd week of pregnancy. I felt fat and old and unwanted.

It boy stray-puppy finally looked back in my direction. He gave a warm smile prior to approaching us. Darn, darn, darn it. I thought the printed flowing short dress that Ulli (from Project Runway 3) made for me worked splendidly. “Boleh kenalan?” not surprisingly, he made a gesture to the Filipino Mameha. After several attempts, I finally told it boy: “Darling, he doesn’t speak Indonesian… better use other lingua-franca if you really want to get inside her panties”

We went to a street hawker afterward, translating back and forth, his English was darn awful. All I remember was when Curtsy, the other Mameha asked: “What do you do?”. It boy was answering: “I go to a mall today and I buy some things from supermarket”. Although I was licking my wound, I secretly thank God that I didn’t have to bring it boy home. Crushed but yet helped them secure a deal I did. The next morning both of them expressed their gratitude for my help and how they both enjoyed each other very well.

About a week later for the lack of having a man to hug, I became horny as hell. I thought of it boy immediately, as long as I can make sure that there will not be any conversations involved, I should be fine. So messaged him I did. He replied: “I’m home just listening to music. Wanna chat? Call me at home at this number…”. Surprisingly I managed to have an hour-long conversations about his life (the trick to get an it boy felt adored: just talk about him). We made a deal to have dinner later on.

I felt so sad after talking with him. He just wasted his entire life for nothing. Halfway educated, no career to be proud of, still in a school abroad learning English (while he’s approaching 30 in a couple of years). Too much partying can actually do damage on one’s life. Even in Bahasa Indonesia, we still couldn’t understand each other very well.

Met him later on, I brought my self a bunch of friends in case any conversation should go awry. And it happened. His jokes weren’t funny, he mumbled a lot. So much for the pretty face and nothing between his ears. He was introduced to another group of friends. Someone there were willing to take him home asap.

Gave him my good byes, it was late already. He asked politely, “Are we gonna meet again later tonight somewhere?”. I said no, since I was really tired. Letting him went out with that other hot guy made me feel defeated (again). But then again maybe I didn’t state my case clearer anyway.

Stupidly not only that I felt sorry for him (for people who’d laugh behind his back and only wanted him to be their sex-toy), I kinda felt like taking him under my wings. Yes, I do want to sleep with him as well, let’s not be naïve on that. But furthermore, I dunno why I felt like taking care of him, my own stray puppy.

I’m mellow and pregnant with a dead-beat hubby. Maybe it’s the maternity talking.

Interview with Stray Puppy

This is a flashback from a single conversation that happened at dinner with Mr. Stray Puppy, in front of a couple friends. From here on please imagine the entire evening.

What is your hobby?
I like playing music with a bunch of friends

Oh cool, what (instrument) do you play?
Alternative

Oh yea? Like what?
Cold play, U2…

That’s rock, not alternative. Nirvana would suit better
We used to play Nirvana and then we changed directions

So what instrument do you play?
I do vocals

Really? Now when did you last sing at an event?
Just today

Really this evening?
Yeah, in the bathroom…

…
(insert cricket sound-effect here)

Haha (sour laugh), what did you sing?
Two songs!

Spill
One was.. “Halo Halo Bandung”… and the other was…
Umm (trying to remember)…. “Ibu Kota Periangan”…

……
(insert a generous amount of cricket sound-effect here)

For the foreign readers, they were actually lyrics from the same song.

Mid Town Check Cashing

Once upon a time there was this humble country boy who finally received a payment for a task he did about a year ago. ‘Twas of course a surprise for him to receive this compensation after all these months of waiting. The timing was perfect, he was in dire need of some hard currency upon receiving this payment. The problem was simple. He never received a cheque from a foreign bank before. Thus the story began. A journey through the mazes of the Indonesian banking industry (insert orchestrated music here).

Well, of course the country boy didn’t have to be over melodramatic like that. But I guess dramawas one of his middle names anyway. The next day he was so cheerful. First thing in the morning he was already in his local bank. Trying to clear the cheque under his account number, it was so surprising that the bank would not accept it. They'd only accept any cheque issued by the same bank at the time being - due to the proximity to the New Year banking holiday.

He then asked around on how to cash in his hard earned forgotten payment. People would direct him to a local branch of the foreign bank (cheque issuer). To the local branch then he went, even though it was almost at the end of the west side. The parking was awfully cramped. There he got a heated discussion with the security personnel about where and how he should park his carriage. It was extremely maddening. When he reached the customer service clerk, this was what she had to say: “Sorry Sir, we cannot access this account on your cheque since it was issued by our head-office for corporate clients only”. The simpleton then let go a small sigh when he found out that the issuer office had in fact resided in the same building that he works everyday of his recent life. “Don’t forget it’s in the 6th floor!” she added.

Frustrated and furious he tried to go down to the stall where he left his horses and carriage behind. The lift wasn’t as friendly as he hoped though. First he took a lift which didn’t plan to go down to the stall. After that, the other lift went mad by delivering him up and down to different floors that he didn’t intend to step on.

Without further ado he finally reached his own office building and directly he went to the 6th floor as directed. Another security personnel made sure that what he wanted was actually the 15th floor. The trick was, he had to embark at the 8th floor and had an exchange to the fourth lift on the left side prior to continuing his journey to the 15th floor.

Ding. The lift door finally opened to a confusing room. Filled with a confusing system of get-your-waiting-in-line-number buttons and more directions. He pressed a button and a receipt nicely belched out from the little printing machine:

Your Number: 3041

Now Serving: 3039
Please be seated. You will be served shortly.
28.12.2006; 12:37

Yippey. Not too long of a wait he thought. Yeah, that was like 45 minutes before he realized that he “might’ve” just pressed the wrong button since the subsequent numbers were never going to be called. People started to leave the premises, even the new clients behind him already got served. It wasn’t fair he said to himself.

He went back to the machine and pressed a button with the “Cash. One Transaction Only” written on it.

Your Number: 5082

Now Serving: 5079
Please be seated. You will be served shortly.
28.12.2006; 13:28

Ding. Another bell rang for the number 5082 to a teller number 6 shortly after that.

The clerk was a mean-looking I-don’t-need-any-man type of a woman. He just loved her for the fact that she was very efficient. In under 2 minutes, the country boy finally touched his cash. All six hundred thousand of it (in local currency). He thanked the woman and he went out gratefully.

At least he learned something today: Learning by doing is annoying. Not having enough information is frustrating.

What Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone. May joy, peace and love fill your hearts. Kinda nice isn't it, to fill your message box with hundreds of similar wishes and hopes from the people that cared enough about you. But somehow this Christmas was awfully different from other Christmas that I had endured in recent years.

Then a friend of mine wrote this: “I felt so lonely this Christmas even though I am surrounded by everyone in my family. Just felt so empty deep inside”. I can totally share her pain. That’s exactly how I went through my Christmas.

At least last year I managed to gather my immediate family to go to church together, watching the Christmas Carol performed in grandmama’s house, before going to this fancy family dinner somewhere. Furthermore, the next day, me and a group of friends went to have our own Christmas family dinner. And as the dessert, followed by a trip to Carita Beach to celebrate New Year’s eve together. We planned so much last year for the sake of “togetherness”.

Bad omens kicked-off this year’s Christmas however.

Thursday the 14th: Another broken heart. Another broken relationship. The start of a mudslide.

Friday the 15th: Failed to open a branch office. We had to push it forward to January.

Monday the 18th: Suppliers told us that items might not be shipped on time for the new venue.

Friday the 22nd: Went to Heaven and found out that the the AC was too cold for the lack of people inside! (You suck!) At least some of us managed to snatch a dude from the premises.

Sunday the 24th: It was raining like hell when we got to the church that evening. Went there only with Mom. Dad had some church chores at different mass. Bro was busy entertaining people (in which he didn’t invite any of us in the family). Grandmama was hit by a bad case of flu. Cuzins went outta-town to celebrate elsewhere. After the annual; Christmas carol, we had a quick supper at grandmama’s house. And as the final insult, at around midnight, I gave a mercy-fuck (hey, it was Christmas!) to a one-night-stand who was so far-off my type.

Monday the 25th: Got a group of friends to cruise the cutie pies in SenCity. Very late lunch in Secret Recipe was good. Followed by feasting unashamedly in Hoka-Hoka Bento. Reminiscing with old friends are always good of course.

But other than that, I think the Grinch had successfully stolen my Christmas away.

Credits: Christmas ornament pictured here was provided by Swarovski.

To Flea or Not to Flee

Secretly I let go a small sigh when we got there. A sigh from a disgruntled heart of mine. Out of all the places in the world, why would he take me to this sort of place. Not only that it was late already, five-ish in the afternoon. But it was also hot, humid, and boy, it was packed with people. The buyers, the sellers, and the wardrobes from all over the universe, not to count the sneaky pick-pockets. Finally, after a decade long of successful attempts in avoiding this place, once more I was there at the flea market.















Even though he still buys gifts in places like normal people would (i.e the fully air-conditioned malls), I managed to travel to some unlikely places with my beau in the city to find one of a kind vintage chintz that he likes to collect. Down to Glodok and Pasar Mayestik. Having a so-so Sate Padang lunch squatting on storefront steps with a dozen other hungry ibu-ibu. Followed by inhalations of the uncomfortable putrid ambiance while enjoying your Sop Ceker Ayam (chicken feet soup which actually tasted pretty good) at the Sarinah pedestrian way across from the infamous Oh-Lala café. I tried as much as possible to always be there with him.

True that this guy humbled me. He showed me that there’s life outside of the comfort zone. Interesting people we’d meet along the way. These were the real people of the real world, he once said. Yeah okay, whatever lah. But even this chameleon/ I-can-be-who-ever-you- want-me-to-be Princess has her own limitations. Now, what are we doing in Pasar Senen? You wanted me to try on some used clothes of undetermined provenance? Yeah right!

I do like vintage stuffs mind you. Especially when the thing was really cute. Like that old poster I got in a flea market on the left side of the Seine, the used t-shirt I got from my office colleague (it was too big for him after he lost some weight), or that gorgeous blue-and-white striped shirt I stole from Jose’s trunk while he was in J-Town.

Busy traditional markets for me would only look good for photo essays, especially the black-and-white prints silver-tinted editions. Those photos that you’d see in magazines and art galleries. But in real, it was pretty scary. So we parked somewhere safe, left the phones and wallets behind. I only took the remaining hundred thou (Rupiah) that I got with me whilst entering the premises.

He was so proud in seeing me, the I-don’t-do-walking-unless- I’m-on-the-treadmills person, amongst thousands of used and cheap clothing items hanged or piled up everywhere. We went in and out of makeshift kiosks (which would later sell cakes, biscuits and traditional delicacies once the sun had set), bargaining hard for items that he was looking for. Thank God he knew the way around. I felt safe having him beside me.

But as you all knew, despite of all the piping-heat, the puzzling-traffic, and the not so friendly atmosphere, my homo-instinct insidiously returned to my suddenly feeling-well being. There were cute guys who’d sit spread eagle on their pile of clothing-stuffs wearing nothing but skimpy jeans and wet singlets. Another dude with a hot bronze bod just dozed off on a bench with his dark patch of armpit bush oozing-off his masculinity. Plastic tents shadowed the intense afternoon rays. However, the limited streaks of lights bouncing on people’s heads and the merchandises were truly worthy of a good photograph or a good painting. Chiaraschuro. See, I finally found the beauty of being there exposed to the environment.

“Honey, come on, hurry pick your stuffs will you! I’m already in my second get-3-for-ten-thousand choices!” I yelled at him while grabbing six used t-shirts, which supposedly came from South Korea. In my mind I was already styling meself: These are for the gym (I’d look like a hot Korean army in these), these would be for sleeping (material were so soft and worn-out), these I would use to go out (now you ladies may get the same look from Zara, Guess, L’Energie and Top Men vintage, while I was having the real-McCoy here).

Damn, I loved it so much I’d left him there and wandered off. Got another lumber-jack style shirt for Rp. 30,000 and a cute show-me-your-arm short sleeved shirt for just Rp. 15,000. And the final deal was: I got a set of 3-for-Rp.15,000,- ties, and I picked an original Giorgio Armani tie (fresh from a laundry that the owner never pick up). And so, here we go, let’s tabulate: I spent Rp. 80,000,- (or 20,000 under budget) and got almost a dozen items in that short period of time! Ahh, who-eva said that a compulsive shopper would stop buying when he’s out of his environment?

After the boiling in hard detergents and the repeated wash-ups, I was more than pleased in hearing things that people said like: “Gosh I love your shirt, where did you get it?”; “That is a cute t-shirt, where did you get it from?”. My reply was as simple as: the flea market at Pasar Senen. (Ohh, the horrified faces!).













Maybe once, a long long time ago, parents of my grandmamma would park their imaginative 1920-s Maybach Zeppelin in front of the management office. They’d treat them like some hot-shot because Pasar Senen was the it place to shop on Mondays (hence the name Monday Market in English). Things had changed within the last century. True, Pasar Senen had lost its original beauty. I didn’t even know how they covered up the small river that was supposed to be welcoming the guests. But hey, regardless of everything, I bet it wasn’t as much fun (and cheap) as the Pasar Senen we’d see today.

Embarrassing Interview with a One-Night Stand

I thought it would be fun to have sex with someone and then interviewed the guy and talk about everything you’re not supposed to talk about. I looked around a bit on the Internet but finally picked up this guy in a bar – someone who wasn’t intent on finishing it all off in a back room and who fancied a conversation afterwards. We went back to my place and…

Hold on, don’t put your pants on yet. I thought we had a deal – the interview I told you about, the after-sex interrogation.
Oh shit, really? I thought that was a joke. I tought you were teasing me, steering clear from the usual boring “wanna drink?” chat up. I though that was so sweet about you.

Thanks, but, no. I really want to do the interview. Did you like the sex we just had?
Yeah, it was fine.

Only fine?
It was okay. A little on the soft side maybe, but it was okay with me.

You prefer it rougher?
We didn’t fuck, so that makes it less rough, I’d say. I don’t have anything against vanilla sex, but the sex we just had wasn’t “all the way” if you know what I mean.

That’s weird. I wanted to fuck too but I didn’t pursue it. Why didn’t you ask me while we were at it?
I thought you didn’t want to fuck.

Why? What did I do that made you think I didn’t want to fuck?
You were very actively pleasing me all the time; you were really all over me and all over my body. So I think I was waiting for you to take the initiative. Maybe I didn’t think of it because you didn’t come across as totally focused on my ass either. You know, some guys just don’t give a damn about anything else, all they do is fixate on the anus. You weren’t like that.

I always find it hard to guess if somebody is into fucking or not.
Never mind. It was okay without fucking.

What did you like about me?
What do you mean? How you performed?

No, I mean physically?
Your ass. It’s awesome.

Thanks. Tell me more?
More about you?

No, about what you like about my ass.
It’s very round and firm. It’s a bit hairy and there are these small freckles above your cleavage. And it’s a very white ass.

I really like your toes.
And it showed! I didn’t like the part where you were licking my toes much. It felt uncomefortable. Didn’t I have smelly feet?

No. I like sucking toes. I thought you liked it too ‘cause you were moaning.
Well, it tickled… You suck cock very well. That’s the part that I liked: how you kept on working my shaft up and down without taking my cock in completely, just wetting it until you finally swallowed it. That was nice.

Your cock is funny. When it’s hard it’s really hard. I was surprised you got it up like that, given the fact that we were knackered when we got here.
I always have quite a boner, yeah.

Can I say something about your kissing?
Of course. Did you like it?

You could be a little more subtle with your tongue. You move it around too frantically. The same goes when you give head. It’s kind of a manic tongue.
You think so? I never had that complaint. Maybe I had too much space when I was blowing you. Your cock isn’t really huge.

Well, next to yours, yeah. But it isn’t small either…
Sorry. It’s not small, but just average. And you’re not circumcised. I prefer circumcised cocks. Big and circumcised.

What about my kissing?
You’re a wet kisser. You use too much spit.

Well, it worked well on your cock. And what about nipples? It’s a gay thing, isn’t it, pulling and squeezing nipples?
I don’t know.

I think you should play more with your nails. Not just pinch my nipples hard and long, but twist them softly and use your nails a bit more. And my right nipple isn’t as sensitive as my left one. Just so you know for next time.
Do you think there will be a next time?

Why not?
Well, maybe. We’ll see. Hey, but Sander, I really have to go now. Are we finished?

Not yet. Let me think… What did you think of my finger up your ass?
Oh, fine.

Fine again? It sounds you had the most average sex in years!
No, it was really fine, the finger too. And we both came at the same time, which doesn’t happen on a first date.


Text by: Sander Plug. As seen in Butt Magazine. Issue No.13: Special BAD Issue (Summer 2005). Pictures by: Lilo Raymond from art.com ("Unmade Bed"); SayImSorry from flicker.com ("Buy Butt Magazine")

Miss Money Penny and Her Guilty Pleasures

“True. Money is not everything. But it’s the only thing!” a close friend of mine said to me half-jokingly more than half a decade ago. Post-college, newly employed, at the bottom of the food chain we all were. Back then he was Mr. Frugal, smarter than everyone, a successful auditor for a top-5 accounting firm in the US, more importantly he was a very wise money manager for himself. One who will not spend on anything unnecessary, he was. Or so we thought.

People do make mistakes. We couldn’t blame him for investing in a seemingly-solid-but-trembling-inside companies, the likes of MCI WorldCom and Enron scandals. After some irrecoverable realized-lost, he became more “economical” than ever. He seemed to lead a perfect lifestyle for someone who should be concerned about any recent financial lost.

Out of curiosity, we (his dear pals) traced his movements now and then. And we didn’t seem to be shocked when we found out about his guilty-pleasures. The things he shouldn’t have done or bought at the times like this. Those were normal things, the things that he enjoyed doing when he was more stable: Playing pools and drinking copious amounts of Bud’s and Heini’s at Jillian’s, flirting with the waitress (that he longed to date but afraid to make a move on), and eating fancy Japanese food once in a while. We tried to understand his stress level by rationalizing that those things were just his guilty-pleasures to take his mind off his troubles lately.

Still in conjunction about the way we spend and save our hard-earned money below (see my blog, Tale of the Hunters and the Gatherers), I did a small survey amongst people around me before finding out silly things that we do or buy just to supply our splurges and mood of the moments, our guilty-pleasures.

There was a friend of mine with a growing 2 years old, who would buy things for her son in order to minimize the guilt of new wardrobe purchases. Another was an advertising exec who is wise enough to save some in order to splurge on travels in holidays. There was also an interesting case of a person who felt guilty all the time because of his constant urge to experience new things (by that I mean new restaurants, new movies, and new items at his favorite boutiques), while he was on a limited budget due to his mortgage on a house somewhere across the island (which he rarely visit anyway).

Topping the list of guilty-pleasures that we buy/ do regularly are:
1. Music CD-s. Especially when they are “originals” only to be converted to mp3-s and stored in a climate-controlled CD-quariums never to see the light of day ever again.

2. Movie DVD-s that you buy because they were pirated and cheap though you never get to watch

3. Novels and books that you never get to read faster than you buy them

4. Clothing items to follow some recent trends. Be it only a belt, shoes, bracelets, in which I am sure we all have enough in our closets.

5. Dining out. Sure, sometimes dining out are cheaper than if we even bother to cook our own meals. But dining out in expensive places? Once a month may be ok for some, but for others once a month should be more than allowed by his/ her budget.

6. Going to the movies. We wouldn’t feel accepted as one of the “in” crowds if we haven’t seen the latest blockbuster movie at the cinema would we?

My ultimate guilty pleasure is having a chocolate cake at midnight, followed by mutton satays and fried rice. But seriously, purchases here and there taken as your little guilty-pleasures may lead into some serious trouble with the cash flow or credit card bills.

In my case: Monthly doses of certain magazine(s) provided by Kinokuniya; Original CDs (just to be burned into my Pod) – I can argue for hours about the sound quality- but still I didn’t have to get that many; DVD-s that didn’t get to touch the player because I never had enough time to watch; Mystery Books that mysteriously disappeared from the shelf because my friends would get them first before I had the time to read; Well, lastly, ok I am a shoe addict! I felt like I never have enough sneakers in my racks.

All of these happened when we still have to pay the rents, the bills, and the loans. Damn.

Maybe I should follow an instruction from a very thrifty friend of mine, who aptly works as a financial advisor:

“I never have any guilty-pleasure. The only thing that would exist afterward will just be the ultimate… pleasure…. hmm….. (pausing for a while). Oops, sorry. Let’s continue this. You know why? Because if I knew that I would feel guilty subsequently, I wouldn’t even bother to buy/ do the god-damn thing in the first place….”

So what’s your guilty-pleasures?

How do we suppose to handle this modern problem of ours?

Tale of the Hunters and the Gatherers

I couldn’t remember exactly when I fell love with money. Not the money in its physical being, but the notion and the dreams of being rich, extremely rich. I just remembered the freedoms of richer people back in my village –well, okay it was a capital of a province somewhere in Borneo. There they seemed to be able to say, order, and do anything that they wished for. I always wanted to be one of them, even when my background was so far-off from where they were. Anything valuable that could be accumulated in any sustainable growth over time is worth considering as money or assets for me. At the end isn’t it what we are paying for? To have the freedom to choose. To have the key to unlock any door you wish to open.

Further more, crazy enough, I would observe them. How these people talked, walked, and behave in public. Some were appropriately well-mannered, some were just money-whores without class (the type that get your respect only because their worth was in gazillion digits). What I found interesting lately is how people would actually behave not only according to their personality types, but more true to their money personality. On how they are spending their money.

Rita Puspita had accumulated nine types of money personalities in one of her journals in PS Magazine recently:

1. The Achievers: Their best pay-offs are their careers, efforts, and integrity in achieving their wealth. Seldom interested in risky investment schemes.

2. The Entrepreneurs: Love their Money. Balancing their life between works and lifestyle enjoyments. Love the position, power and status that money may buy.

3. The High-rollers: There is no such things as limitations. Not only answering challenges, this type is seeking for them. Extremely competitive, creative and open minded. Get this, money is their vehicle to channel their emotions. Don’t mind the ups and downs, even the friends and foes that they amassed along the way.

4. The Hunters: Well educated. Well informed. Enjoying the modern lifestyle. Very ethical, especially in financial decisions. Do not posses strong enough self esteem. Look at success as a path of destiny or by seniority. Not based on what they can personally produce nor self-worth evaluations.

5. The Money Masters: This wise type may be able to balance financial risks and their safety nets. They believe in trust, consider recommendations and suggestions and do not believe in plain luck.

6. The Perfectionists: So afraid to make any mistake or failure. They only know how to work hard and to work harder. Extremely considerate in making any decision and will find a hard time choosing the perfect investment (since it involves risks) for them.

7. The Producers: High work-ethics but uncreative in finding ways to develop their fortunes. All they may do was just to save, save and save and at the end were forced to spend it all.

8. The Optimists: The no-worry-ers. Very impulsive in spending. Do not like taking risks. May not care enough about finances that would make their head spin or affect their lifestyle.

9. The Safety Players: Average money makers. Everything goes to savings or safety deposits or safer investments. Taking opportunities where chances/ risks are minimal. The employee type that would work forever and will depend on corporations as their bread and butter.


Gosh. Where am I today? Did I make any wise decision in my recent past? Do I save enough? Did I make my savings in the right place? Can my money grow faster?

Back then, I wanted to be served like a king, like one of them -especially when entering a financial institution. Wealth-management for me was more of a status than a necessity. Looking at this today, I felt that if you couldn’t handle your own finances, then let someone capable perform that for you. That is if I have anything left in the bank account to be managed anyway.

Day by day we are getting older (and expenses are piling up like the falling leaves of autumn). Some dreams were successfully achieved; some went into the dustbin. How are you going to get through the rest of your life? How will you maximize what you have today?

At the end of the day, we all know that controlling urges are easier said than done.