As a testament to how terrible I am with money, how much of an impulsive buyer I am(I once bought a guitar pick from a high school classmate for three hundred pesos after he convinced me that it belonged to Kurt Cobain. But that's for an entirely new post) and how I will, sooner or later, send my life swan diving into the asphalt because of the terrible decisions I make; I bought a notebook online. Moleskine. Worth 1,200 pesos.
I know this isn't much for most of you guys but you're not earning four thousand pesos a payday like I am. So you know, fuck off and judge somebody else.
Anyway, I already bought a Moleskine (which is pronounced mol-a-skeen-a. Yes I'm smart) notebook for my fiancee a couple of weeks ago and wrote a really romantic poem which, I hope she doesn't find out, is really nothing but a couple of lines from an obscure Hall and Oates song on the first page as a Valentine's present.
As I was packing the notebook, I noticed the text on the wrap-around label that came with the notebook: It said "The legendary notebook of Hemingway, Picasso and Chatwin." Because I have an inflated feeling of pride in my superiority over other people and I have delusions of being a celebrity, I thought "Hey, if Hemingway used this notebook maybe I should drop one and a half large and get one for myself! I won't even consider the fact that If I make this purchase, I'll probably live off cup noodles and old pandesal for the rest of the week. And who the fuck is Chatwin?"
So yeah, I placed an order and got the package today and thought about what I'd use it for. As big a fan I am of Merlin Mann and Gina Trapani, I'm definitely not going to hack my moleskine and jump on the entire Getting Things Done bandwagon. I mean really, the only way you can get me to do things is if you promise to give me a blowjob or dance naked infront of me to the tune of "Venga Bus" by the Venga Boys while I cry and masturbate.
With that said, I have no doubts that this Moleskine, as with most of my recent purchases, will be used as nothing but a prop in my eternal dance of immorality, deceit and date rape. I see no use for the Moleskine but to stack it on top of my Stephen Hawking books while I nonchalantly sip expensive coffee, blow my money away on prepaid WiFi cards and occasionally draw stick figures engaging in sexual intercourse on my cahier at the local Starbucks; hoping attractive college girls would notice me and if I play my cards well enough, maybe even get a beejer or two. Because really, if an expensive oil-cloth covered notebook, a cheap, preppy sweater, emo glasses, an iPod and a laptop can't impress girls, I don't know what can.
God, I hate myself so much right now.