Shows to watch.

The Exorcism of Emily Rose

Just Like Heaven

Harry Potter (I kinda forgot which one it is. Goblet of Fire? =S Sorry, Potter fans.)

Remind me please. They all open in November. Which is like now. JIALIN. YOU BETTER GET PREPARED.

Closure

N aclo•sure ( P ) Pronunciation Key (klzhr)
n.
The act of closing or the state of being closed: closure of an incision.
Something that closes or shuts.
A bringing to an end; a conclusion: finally brought the project to closure.
The property of being mathematically closed.

Closure is such an irritating word. It sounds so nonchalant, so easy and technical. But truth is, it's as arcane a concept as the abomination of pre-marital sex. Something I cannot contemplate and definitely am not the most adept in. In fact, it never really was taught to me. How to achieve closure. I don't even really understand why we need closure; prolly because I never really, technically, properly seeked for closure ever. I only have the ability to forget.

But being a damned gemini as I have been from birth, I realise I never really can forget. Mental images of memories exist. But feelings do fade, I must say. Because to me, emotions are zero-sum. You either invest it in here, or there. People tell me, geminis can love many parties at the same time. Yes. But that's because they love each a little at the same time. Not wholeheartedly. Because we weigh pros and cons, gain and loss too well. Rational creatures we are with whimsical ideals and eloquence in inexhaustive verbal diarrhea. No one can manage better to be this Jekyll-&-Hyde a compound of factors. Except the twins. All this, just to reiterate my point that, emotions are zero-summed. Our rationality is erratic. And so we have the ability to like many people at the same time for various gain and loss reasons. Of course, there are those inane and flighty intangible concepts of groundless infatuation. Things we like out of whim and fancy. Unjustified. No reason. We just do.

So now I've convinced you that I'm essentially a bipolar, neurotic person who's got voices yelling at each other in her head, debating and disagreeing on every course of action. Then the heart intercepts. Complicates things. Ideals clash with rationality. Crash boom bang. There's no better way to put it. Boohoo.

Such a confused girl like me, how can I even manage the complex technicalities of seeking closure? By theory, rational people are supposed to be able to seek closure easily. Because of the internal justification mechanism that is so naturally integrated into our frame of consciousness. The only thing that serves to complicate here is my failure to let go of the past. Old things, traditions, photographs. That's to say, I constantly live in the past, moving one step forward and two steps back. Regression at its best. And getting the best of me. I don't have a problem picking out the bones from some silly issue, convincing others in a logical, clear-cut way, churning out lists of good points and bad about someone or something. But I am a sucker for imperfection. I constantly land myself in the trap of flaws. Because I don't mind the bad points. And thus, there's no use telling me how bad this person is or me being able to criticise on this person because, I fundamentally am not bothered about bad points, flaws, detriments. And that's why I fail to find closure all the time. Because although I have the basic system which enables me to explain and justify a phenomenon, I am pagan to all this rationality. I do not buy what I have crafted out to be reasons to do or not do something. I contradict myself.

Closure. Prasad and I used to put it as a word of the month. It is such a versatile word. So layman. It's like pairs of silk stockings. Most sizes fit all but. They tear easily and are not easy to maintain and. More expensive than the other pantyhoses like the substitutive ones or the celibate-nunnery ones.

And ultimately, we don't really need them to survive. You can do with or without it. Just that with it, comes a tad bit of satisfaction and the ability to be an edge above all. And that's the beauty of closure.

Happy Halloween.

What is Halloween without the goth factor.











Living dead! I heart.

$45.20

I have no idea how I manage to spend so much money all the time. But somehow, I've been GENUINELY falling sick often these days. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's a semi-subconscious "i am not satisfied with my life" thing that's slumming down my optimistic will to fight icky bacteria and shit like that.

I went to see a doctor, finally, after an entire week of ordeal with that messed up throat of mine. He gave me a course of antibiotics and LOADS of medication. For phlegm, cough, runny nose whatevers.

Good thing's that I don't have a fever. That's godsent.

It cost me $45.20. And I had to skip work today to save me from dying at my workplace. I feel guilty. And terribly irresponsible. I wished my body could buck a little for now.

Ah. Anyway.

I've got a test to study for. Bored. Holy boredom.

From sick to sickening.

I've got to work tomorrow. And due to some highly expected procrastination, I have yet completed my revision for the test on Monday. Damn I feel like crap now.

So I shall plan out my schedule. Whether it will work out is another thing. Well, at least I tried.

Saturday - Chapter 2. On my way to work, after work, 10-1

Sunday - Chapter 3. After work. 9-12.

Monday - Revise on the bus to school, 7.45-8.45.

Testtesttest.

I feel like crying. Aiya shit. I am such a lazy fucker.

Splurges.

I made a new pair of spectacles. Yeah plastic frames again. In transparent brown, making me look like a teacher.

It actually looks around the same as my current nerd specs but the other one's thinner on the sides and make me look so porno teacher for some strange reason.

I'm semi-regretting my purchase because I already have two pairs of specs. Why did I get a new one. Maybe I just wanted to buy something that looked nice on me. Whatever it is, I realised I could have invested that amount of money on a good jacket.

Shit shit shit. This is holy shit.

Maybe it's because I was sick and I couldn't think properly. Shit I regret it all now.

But it was $48. I pulled myself away the first time when Linda was there making spectacles and then yesterday, Jialin and I fatefull stepped into the shop again. Bam. I'm dead.

I'm such a bitch, la.

Nathaniel.

He's my new alterego.

One that emerged when I saw some upskirt pictures online and decided I really wanted to do that girl.

As a guy. Penetratively. Not some sneaky cunnilingusized lesbian sex.

How the hell am I EVER going to find someone to marry me away.


Damn. Nathaniel is bad news.

And in case you didn't know, I have Victoria as well. As my alterego. She's currently paired up with Linda's Matthew who happens to be with Circa I think.

I don't know. My personas are tortured beautiful things.

Isn't this nice?

NetNanny.

Soon, blogsites will have to be filtered with NetNanny like pornography.

Because there are impressionable kids out there and blog reading might make all efforts for us to become a gracious society futile because most people curse, swear, call people names and write intellectually worthless things online, like me.

It's funny how China bans Blogger.

Maybe they should do that too.

And then, yeay. We'll become fucking Communists.

Oh yeah. I always thought Karl Marx was sexy.

I think grown ups shouldn't meddle with things kids do. I watched some talkshow with XX in it and man, was that old guy obnoxious and ill-informed. He made blogging sound EVIL.

All of them were bombarding at XX and exploiting her lack of relative competency in mandarin as compared to them.

And somehow, the host appeared biased. Impression. I can't pin point on any instance but I guess it wasn't difficult since he comfortable fits at least into the Baby Boomers - Generation X category.

They seem to not understand our view point. And harp upon this failure to understand. And the tendency is that when we face something unfamiliar or cannot contemplate, we either ignore it or deem it negative.

I am saddened by the fact that they did not include another representative in the Generation Y age group who is fully competent in mandarin. Some Chinese Studies kid shit. The representation was lopsided and unbalanced. The show just turned me off. And I could see how XX's defensive disposition would make mature viewers (which youngster watches those highly political socialogical talk shows? except me. because i wanted to check out xx's hair.) become more disagreeable about blogs. Because they see her as this stubborn ignorant little girl when all she did was failing to compose her thoughts in time in mandarin because that demeaning old guy was pressurising her with an ammunition of questions.

Maybe next time we should rate blogs. Have this filtering system. Just like how we do it for movies these days. People will have to key in their allocated ID if they want to access to certain sites. And the Barney webpage can be rated G.

It's just disappointing and disheartening, how the emergence of blogging that once caused such radical rave is becoming pathological a social issue. I can't help but let out a halfhearted, cynical laugh. Because to me, all this, is, have been, will be ridiculous.

Good lord that my parents are computer-illiterate. If they knew about all this NetNanny shit, I wouldn't know what the hell is a blowjob is even till now. We really don't learn that in school, do we. Liaisons in school corners with your puppy loved one are not counted.

A couple of blogs.

Almost everyone around me is attached. Save Allegra. And I realised the older we grow, the longer our relationships last. Like my ex-classmates. And everyone else. Clocking a minimum together-time of a year.

And there are only a couple of blogs I read. Xiaxue, because I simply love camblogwhores (hey, this is not derogatory in case someone googles my blog out and slams me. camwhores are COOL. like lin and me. WE'RE COOL.) who place pretty pictures. Whether she makes sense, or not, is subjective. But the definite independent fact is that she likes posting pictures, and I like bloggers who post up loads of pretty pictures.

The other one is pinkshoefetish. I can't find any reason to hate her. I think she portrays herself really well. Living a high life. Something I won't ever achieve, well maybe. But am not envious of. Just intrigued by how her life is always so filled with fun and nice pretty trinkets.

Both of them are, well sorta unattached. PSF just clarified that whole ex-saga online and I felt genuinely sad for her. Why do things always happen, like that? Even when it sounded so much like a fairy-tale.

I don't know the reason and point of this entry.

I'm just. ranting.

Sick.

I'm falling sick.

I can't help being an AIRHEAD!

BIMBO BIMBO BIMBOTICISM!


You really don't need skincare to have a good complexion. Just a deceitful camera and good lighting.




Now, my lashes kick ass right? PAY ME TO TEACH YOU! Haha. In case you didn't know, I do offer makeup services. Ahem. Whoever needs it. PLEASE CALL ME. Or mail at hungforbitchery@yahoo.com




A bit porno but well.


I'm a good girl after all. SO FRIENDLY RIGHT!

On being bimbotic, and not.

I realised the fact that, if I only speak about myself in my blog, I am liable to nothing but myself. How many pigs I want to throw into my face will be MY own problem and non-other. But in my case, a bloody piece of sirloin steak will do the trick in being religiously disrespectful.

You see, I've been so bored out by local TV, I've taken this keen interest in News. Mandarin and English ones. Because my desire to learn about new things added on with my laziness to search for stuff online, has motivated me to switch on my tv, slum into my couch/bed wherever I am and just ABSORB like a silly piece of sponge.

I digressed. But well, I thought, news is plainly negative these days. No news is good news I guess. The world is becoming a strange place. Well, I guess the reason why they're making such a big thing outta the chinese space expedition thing is because, we've not had good news for a long time. Hurray. God bless please.

So, as I was saying, digression after digression, I shall focus on talking about myself. I always have. But the boundaries have been officially drawn. You won't hear me talking about social issues, not that I did ever (did i?). I'll be talking about my STUPID problems, suicide inclinations, hair treatments and manicures. Oh ya, I forgot I'm trying to stop being a bimbo here.

Sidenote: I just did my hair treatment and slapped a grave amount of leave-in conditioner on my mane. Now it's wooohooo. Nice.

I almost cried during my Elements of Social and Applied Psychology that day. We were talking about self. External, internal motivations, self being I and Me, expectations, sensing of self. Who we really are. And since I'm existentialist (bring me some Absurdist theatre please.) I was feeling more useless than ever. I realised I don't really know myself. My wants. Anomie. Maybe. I almost cried in class. Somewhere deep inside that icepick was digging. The void reminding me of a void. Wait, that makes the void not a void since it can DO something. Nothing is supposed to NOT do SOMETHING. Wait, I'm confused. Damn. ANOMIE. ANOMIE!

Well, we can say, who cares. Why do we have to search for ourselves? You know why? Because it makes you a bloody boring person to talk to if you don't know what you are and what you want. Maybe that's why I've not managed to find new conversationalists. I've been revisiting my pool of kindred. To rant, talk. But the thing we talk about is our lack of knowledge of what we want in life. Or maybe we do know about it, just that we aren't satisfied. Or others are not satisfied with it. Reducing everything into this coagulated mess that irritates like a fucking Lava Lamp.

I don't know. I intend to have coffee one day with Jialin or Linda, sit down with pen and paper to sift out those nasty external expectations and find something I call exclusively MY OWN. My own being from my own framework of existence and mindset and experiences. Not other people's. But that's a really faint line. Because what makes up our experiences and life bank is other people's shared experience and existence. So when do we set the boundary?

Thinking about these stuff can kill a person. We know it has. Poets, thinkers. Suicide motherfuckers (now it rhymes!).

Mr Man was saying how when someone has many "sides" and behaves differently in front of different groups of people, when it gets too complex and, well, the change gets too drastic, you get confused and might lose that "SELF". And how he said we're not supposed to have different personas within ourselves since schizophrenia is a clinical illness. And how everyone here should have that "self" because we're all studying here in SIM, by our own free will. And how when one loses that self, that person becomes easily manipulated and that's how cults form.

I almost broke down when it reached that part. My head was crashing. I'm not the weakest person on earth, really. I guess I'm pretty strong. And I don't think I've that sorrowful a life. But there's just something missing, something wrong. Maybe I've lost that self. And that's why I'm always turning to love and relationships, letting them manipulate me, eat my existence away. Maybe I never bothered looking for that self deep within, fed too full by expectations, norms. The voices I hear the most are always external. I seldom remember the things I say or write. And that's fatal, I know. I should do yoga and meditate. OHM.

At age 20, I hope it's not too late. To search for that self. But I don't believe in being YOURSELF. It's being what is most convenient and comfortable that counts. Not necessarily YOU, in that case. Because the YOU that I essentially am is too melancholic for mundane standards. And pulling everyone's morale down with pessimism just isn't ethical.

I doubt it's an easy process, that SELF thingie. But I'll be giving it a try. But before that thought about all those intangible psychological hogwash,

I bought a new tube of lipgloss yesterday. And am eyeing for another one from KATE soon.

Murphy's Law is one hell of an anal theory. Really. People come in, and go. I wonder what is it I really want. I thought I knew, but I've been revaluating my perspectives these days. Nothing just matches, fits or coincides these days.

Thus, I quote from Jialin who quoted it from someone I forgot.

"Perversity, thy name is Man!"

Indeed.

Bloggers prosecuted.

Speechless.

Well, can I say I am disinclined towards chinese if I'm a chink myself?

Does it help to disclaim blogs?

A 17 year old boy with charges being held against him?

Now that there's a witchhunt out there, should this cease to exist?

Anyway. I WENT SHOPPING YESTERDAY.

That's about the wisest thing I can say these days.

Death By Thy Messenger.

Allegra and I have been musing about how MSN messenger has become such an imperative part of our lives that it's almost becoming the very point of our existence, and of course, lifestyle.

We'd chat till wee hours in the morning, with each other and other nocturnals and zonk out late. Go to school and write notes to each other, competing to be the sleepiest person in class. We're both on rehabilitation. Just as I am on spending rehab. Really, it's working.


The best place to die - before the keyboard.


Goth is good.


What I wore to my family's studio shoot. I wore a corporate jacket over it, of course. And my hair didn't look so slutty.


I love how my hair looks like in pictures. So gothie and all covering, black and dry. I'm going to trim my ends soon. Because they're rather separatist. Ahem. I actually wanted to curl it but decided against all that change. Because what comes with change are expectations and expectations, disappoints.
I'm a wimp. So shoot me. And there, Geminis are supposed to love change? BULLSHIT.


Welcome to my bedroom life. This is how I surf, how my hair falls nicely in place, how I doodle with lipgloss at home, and my granny pj dress that's only a turn on for ages 60 and above.
Somehow it looks like a hospital robe and I look sick, demented and thus the nickname. "Sick girls go online." Hah!

With all that hype about sensitivity over issues mentioned on blogs, how they're screened, monitored to SPH perfection, I have sorta reduced my blog into a simple, photologging bimbotic mass of narcissism. When have you seen a bimbo commit a crime?
Maybe that pornstar who started out at 16. Ooo, illegal.

Part of the cosmic malicity.

Sometimes, most of the times, it's inevitable to feel that the entire world is going against you. That there is just this invisible, invincible force that is hovering around and shrouding me like this giant fucked-up-of-a-bubble that barricades me from any form of luck and kindness, fate and positive karma of the world.

You know what's the best thing? They know where to hit you where it's the most vulnerable.

While most of the scientific morons get hit in the brains, I get trashed in the heart.

I've got so many heartstrings attached and it's tugging on all of them one by one. Making it this bearable but extremely annoying needle-prick pain.

I don't know what to feel now. I still have the rational part of me somewhere. And for those who say Geminis are RATIONAL, damn you bitches. I'm not rational. I can be, but I choose not to.

Wait. Maybe that's not much of a choice anyway.

In need of some serious motivation.

I got a new blusher from Basic Beauty. Really nice. I've been spending too much. Time to stop spending and start saving.




Damn act chio la. Haha. I was trying to put on as much blusher as I could, obviously.


I look ditsy!


Check out those reflective earrings!


I had to crop the fan in the background away.


I look drunk. I have no idea how my forehead got so red. Uh. Yeah, drunk on tuition. Bah.

Time schedule for these few days.

9-12 Class
3-5 Packing of past year notes
5-7 Preparation to take family photo
7-11 Dinner
11-12 HRM essay

If I'm lucky enough to be motivated, I shall complete the essay tonight. Doubt so though. I'm fucking on overrun for my essay! 2 theorists and I've already done 2 pages. Dammit!

FOR GOD'S SAKE STOP SMOKING.

It's fun. I love this shit coloured t-shirt. I got it from DCP some time back. My first MiniTee in YEARS.


I look weird.


My hair's still recovering. Damn that fringe.


Close shot.


Decapitated shot.


Damn, I look demented in here. Like some sick puppy. Hah.

I went to Kwan Im Temple to draw lots about romance. It said something about me going to get to know more people, feeling glad and being in luck. Maybe it's time I gotten peace with being alone.

I never blogged about it. But in case you didn't know, Norman and I broke up half a year ago.

Ah.

Random pics.

Not in any sorta order.

At 3.30am back from Boat Quay with Kaisheng. Jazz, Macallan 12 and Sampoernas. Life's good.












Oh beloved Allegra Jiang.


I look like a druggie.


At Jazz@SouthBridge. Shitassed dark. I hope that bartending guy who was wearing Levi's from head to toe appears somewhere again. Omg.


New top. Kaisheng says it looks like a bathrobe. HEY! WTH! Zara top. Cheap, nice. Bright! Can you believe it?

Hiatus.

I've not been updating for a while. Mainly because there really hasn't been anything exciting to write about over here. It's like. Well, I've started school and I work on weekends. I can't exactly afford a vibrant life although I believe I live in it virtually in my slumberine state.

So after a long nothing-to-do period, (I forgot, I give tuition on weekdays too. I'm a no-lifer. But you can still date me. Thanks.) I went shopping yesterday with Jialin-Allegra at Orchard. Total damage done, almost a hundred. Because I bought my facial wash and a $25.90 twin pack Za two way cake. You have any idea how cheap is that? One refill on its own costs $16.90 if I'm not wrong. I got two, plus a nice pretty pink coloured glittery case for $25.90. How cheap is that???

And I got two tops from Zara and another two from Fox, only because it didn't look a tinge Israeli-made. Which is good. I got vibrant colours in fact. Cyan, purple, Bumbo-Pink and black. I've gotten enough of black clothes. Not because I don't like that anymore but I have simply too many of them to buy something which has a different design. It's mere impossible.

This year, I've gotten so many shoes, bags and clothes that I've not worn yet that I think I can be wearing new clothes for every lil birthday/festive/something big occasion till Christmas. Well, that's brillant. It means that although so many people tell me I'm fat, clothe-manufacturers actually acknowledge our group of people. Yeay.

Recently I got mocked at for my weight. I was pretty traumatised. Not because I am failing to believe that I am overweight, but I was disappointed at the youth these days. It's like, well. I thought these silly lil jokes never lived past Secondary school. I was wrong. After four years of being legal, I've been exposed to kids who are untactfully verbally-illegal. I was just appalled and disgusted. It wasn't so much of "They said I'm FAT!" but more of "There are actually people around me who still has that amount of childishness to make weight a dinnertable joke?". The whole incident has been easily forgotten. Not that I'd hate that person for life or anything like that. Because I am still clinging onto the hope that he will grow up one day, one day, before it's too late.

And the funniest thing is that he's trying to get friendly with Allegra. Which is rather hilarious. You think you can make it to her with me around? After offending me by pricking my ego burst? You must be kidding.

Somehow I realised how quarantined each section of the academia is from each other. I grew up thinking the people around me, jc people, were mature enough, if not plainly more tactful and reasonable. I never got to interact with other people from various institutions. Maybe a little. But not in a live, social context. Martin was from poly. But he was different. He's much more grown in the mind than the other great majority I got to acquaint recently.

It's scary. How we've all been shielded away from each other. It's like, the system wants us not to mingle together. Because they want to preserve this purity in blood-line. Like a lil evil genetic conspiracy. Where we're supposed to know people from our own circles, academic circles, get married and produce perceivedly smart kids. Talk about playing god.

And we've been so segregated from each other, having our frameworks of consciousness placed on totally different plateaus, we'd prolly not be able to click even when we go into the labour force where everyone gets dumped into upon graduation. No common topics. No common views. Because education is upbringing as well. And we've been taught different things to optimise our performance. The technical from the analytically theoretical.

The evil of streaming, now we see it as a geno-attempt concurrent with the elitist approach to existence.

It's a sick thought really. How everything is such planned and controlled and manipulative. That's why I'm existentialist. Mind you, I'm not saying this in light of the Singaporean situation. I see it as a more or less universal thing. Because I'm existentlist in thought in totality, as an integrated package. Not only because everyone else says we're like pawns in this system.

A friend told me my Ritualistic Taoist beliefs, or rather inclinations, match perfectly with my following of existentialism. I was trying to humbly establish certain correlations. Everywhere I go. It's good to keep your mind busy.

I'll be gone now, to school. I love my classes. Interesting. Maybe, I just love learning.

Joanna is JU ON.

I messed up my fringe. The thing's that. I never realised it was actually a set of bangs.


JU ON with a recovering pimple wearing Peanuts pjs. Classic.


Isn't this freaky?

Look up. I might be there.

Maybe I am depressed.

.

Seafood allergy.

My body amazes me with new stunts everytime.

I've never had a fucking seafood allergy. An allergy that set me back $160.

I hate you, calamari, sof shell crab. Cafe Cartel.

Bitches. Pure bitches.

Credit Card payment.

I've chosen to pay my school fees with the credit card this year. Because I'm too lazy to head down to school or write a cheque. I'll be taking a loan from my cousin, who's the rightful owner of my mom's supplementary card. Yes, we are that close.

And so, all's done. But I'm too hecked to care about the pounds and sterlings I've gotta pay to UOL. Can't they just throw everything to us, and just make us pay? Do it how MOE does it. Administrative work is beyond the worry of us impoverished school kids. We ought not care more than notifying our parents about the payments that we need to make. SIM (or UNISIM woohoo) is an allforprofit organisation after all. They should come out with a more efficient system and integrate the London fees into our current billing. That'd save us loads of trouble. And we'd be paying prolly more than we need to. But that's a fair trade off, to me.

The previous time I had to head to RELC. Omfg. I walked from Orchard Hotel to past Shangri La. That's how far. Passing by the various serviced apartments, trying to look cool but sweating like a baboon while we walk by those expensive rentals. Damn. That was nightmare. The second time, I didn't bother. I took a cab back.

But I'm kinda happy at UniSIM. Woohoo. I'm getting a kick outta saying that. Damn you bastards who refuse to give us bus concessions. Why should those rich kids from SMU get it but not us? Not that they'd feel the pinch, hell. They bloody spent millions on some silly lily tree. Crapshit.

Maybe it's the caffeine. I sound like I'm on prozac and weed at the same time. I'm just glad that I finished the payment thing and connected my Epson stylus Color 680 to my current computer. My brother got a Canon laserjet and since I refused to pay for the toner, I have no access to it. DUMBASS, I'M ON WINDOW XP. MY COMPUTER AUTO INSTALLED MY DRIVER AND NOW I'M PRINTING LIKE INK CARTRIDGES NEVER EXISTED! BAHAHA!

Alright. I'm going to work for World Cyber Games starting this evening. Cool. I'm going to get to see young boys. Heh. Gamergeeks! Come buy mice from me!

My G7 is so fast you'd not wish for anything else, no matter how sexual I made that sound.

By the way, G7 is a new cordless gaming mouse we have. 2000dpi. With 2 lithium ion slot-in batteries. Like your mobile phone, bloody hell! Check that out.

Unlicensed pornstar.

Nice, ain't it.

MY HAIR IS LONGGGG.

My hair is so freaking long!


AHlian pic of the year. Best viewed small. Don't you dare enlarge it.


Long long dreadlocks!


I never grew out of my ahlianness, apparently.


See why I keep ranting about me being fat? BECAUSE I AM!


Specimen of enlarged pores and narcissism.


And I can still look like a kid. So stop calling me old and CHAO LAO. See I can still have a pimple. I'm a kid!

COMEX 2005

Tomorrow will be the end of COMEX. My feet's (soles to be specific) hurt like hell. I'm trained enough to stand long hours but my soles aren't. Because this is the third day and I usually only stand for two on weekends.

World Cyber Games next week will cost me another four days of leg power.

The people have been really nice. But I've got a feeling that some colleagues hate me. Because I'm loudmouthed and always talking to the old birds and supervisors so to speak. Damn.

It's not my fault, yeah? They look darned unfriendly.

RESULTS.

Academic Profile Student LEE XU JIA JOANNA (8518661B; UOL:030261491; Reg: 01 Sep 2004) Current Course BBZFT (5/1): BACHELOR OF SCIENCE IN BUSINESS Academic History
2005 UOL02 INTRO TO ECONOMICS Credit 34.0
2005 UOL04A STATISTICS 1 (half unit) Credit 54.0
2005 UOL05A MATHEMATICS 1 (half unit) Credit 55.0
2005 UOL10 INTRO TO SOCIOLOGY Credit 47.0
2005 UOL107 INTRODUCTION TO BUSINESS AND MANAGEMENT Credit 72.0

A few things.

I SCRAPED A PASS FOR ECONOMICS! PHEW!

I think they Brits are really sucky in their Math and Stats. How on earth did I pass? I thought it was a sure flunk. I didn't even do 50 percent of the questions I think. Damn, it's moderated.

Sociology. A little disappointed but I passed and that's what matters.

OMFG. I THINK I GOT A 1ST CLASS HONOURS FOR IBM! MANAGEMENT! OMFG! I LOVE NAGEB! HE ROCKS!

There, there. I'm rather happy. The Kuan Im temple lots were damn accurate. I really had nothing to worry.

Omg.

COMEX 2005

I'm thinking of typing my hair up for comex. Woohoo! I'll see what the T-shirt looks like. They're giving me a smaller one.

AND

I think I'm going to have leg aches throughout. Imagine standing alot! Good lord for my new Pumas. Heh.

I'll be stationed at the main booth with the LADY BOSS. UH OH!

I'll see what happens.

I'm kinda excited. Comex, here I come!

PITAS IS ALIVE!

I couldn't log into my account last night. Eeeks.

I got banged! Ahem. I CUT MY FRINGE! I [HEART} BANGS!


My face looks so small! With my hair coering 50% of it. Hurhurhur.


Bang bang!


I just did my nails. Have yet cleaned them up. Lianie aye. I love. It's rather glittery in real. The light took everything away. BLING BLING.

There. I've fully transformed into an actcuter. Hail hail.

The Poet turns IT-GeekGirl.

I'll be working for Comex and World Cyber Games on the coming and next weekends respectively.

I'm turning into a TechGeekGirl. COOLSHIT.

Well, for someone who never knew USB 1.1 existed, it's been a vast improvement.

And I hope to see some cute lil gamerboys at WCG although I absolutely hate gaming because it's destructive and mentally regressing.

I'll be they're JIEJIE selling MICE and KEYBOARDS. HAHAHA!

Come look for me at Funan Challenger on Weekends. But catch me on a goodday. Otherwise, you'll be scared to death by my pale face and irritable character. Unless you're a customer. I'll give you a nice smile and play mice catching with you.

Damn I'm bored. OH I bought a pair of Puma's yesterday. COOLSHIT. If I'm not wrong, it's $79.90 originally. I bought it at $39.90! Sale!

I wanted the Gold and White one but it was a size 9 and I did't wanna trip on my own shoe. Settled for something that isn't really my fad now but, is pretty by any kinda standard anyway. I'd have loved it in JC but it's a tad bit difficult to match. My bags are red, white, black, gold. Rich colours. I love gold now. GOLDDDDD! But, ah nevermind. It's meant for work anyway. That icky black T-shirt. Which really isn't that bad the longer I look at it.


Now, isn't this pretty. It's pretty TechGeekGirlish!

Impromptu.

Aaron gave me this.

"if i had a card to go to heaven, and you had one too.. i'd gladly give mine away and go to hell with you"

And told me to do my thing with it.

In the end I sounded corny, but he was still appreciative.

if i had a card to go to heaven,
and you had one too,
i'd gladly give mine away and
go to hell with you.

if i had a card to go to hell,
and you had one too,
eternal bliss, our fingers weave,
i'll say i do when you do.

Camwhore.

A picture says a thousand words. And lies a thousand times.

Healing Hypocrisy.

Reconciliation -
Closure, comprehension,
Acceptance, repentance.
The dilemma of the hypocrite.

Daft faithfulness and muse
From the artful player.
An instrument of replacement,
She believes in substitution.

Mistakes, flamboyant or foolhardy,
Same difference, same indifference.
Numbness that hurts;
Sensations for the berzerk.

Synchrony, monogamy -
Act of fate, the player fails to play.
Luxury stems itself in scarcity,
And scarcity in decay.

When it's painful to breathe.

Literally. My chest is hurting. Shoulders, back. It's painful to breathe. Even after Panadol.

Somehow being scrubbed clean and smelling like heavens, I feel rather down.

My tuition class was cancelled last minute. I need to rest, actually. Somehow when I really DO NOT feel like going for tuition, she'd have something on as well and we'll cancel our class. She's such a darling.

And everyone's telling they're low. More than a few in fact. Telling me they're void of happiness and they can't manage anymore. That they want to exuent from this shithole once and for all.

And they tell me, seeing my smile and frown occasionally when they get a little morbid. They see me, gazing elsewhere when I listen intently. They thank me for the audience. And it's rather affective. They didn't see me tearing. No one believes I do.

And it's not that what they're going through is very pitiful or striking a odd chord in me. I cried because I'm feeling numb. That I am perturbed by my own insensitivity to life, death, and all that kinda stuff. I am afraid that soon I won't even be able to feel afraid.

People would say. You have no reason to feel this way. What bullshit is that. You don't need a cancerous mother to feel low, depressed, punctured. You don't need a reason to die like you don't need a reason to live.

And you don't need to explain to other people what you feel when you don't even know. Like things are beyond your control. Everyone wants reasons. Expect explanations. Bug you and delve into your innermost to tug on whatever's left inside.

Why can't they just accept the fact that we're low, instead of doubting and giving us a dissing snigger.

Shit. My lungs hurt. And I don't want to cry.

Pearl Necklace.

My pearl necklace broke. And I need to get a new one.

Or maybe it was meant to be. I should just stick to my old one from my Dad. At least it's Monet.

In an Ideal World.

I'm just a camwhore.

And so I took pictures of my new little pearly things.


Shit I forgot my earrings.


Ah there you go.

In an IDEAL WORLD without EYEBAGS and DARKRINGS (by the way, the previous pictures were taken without a single trace of makeup. I love my webcam.)

Anyway I was saying. In an ideal world, I'll look like that.


Uh. I realised my eyebags are there for a reason. I look freaky without them!

I still [heart] Photoshop anyway!

Living in a time of my own.

I don't like the fashion these days. The 1990s' depressive minimalism has landslided fashion to a pit. Fashionistas are going regressive. You see tweed coming up season after season. Black cashmere and satin replacing the almost synthetic lycra that flooded the runways a couple of years back. They only serve to make everything delish. But there's still a quirky mix of american fashion and harajuku along orchard road. So I've decided to go regressive - at full speed.

You see. I'm going to don pearl earrings and necklaces, wear satin and dark woolen tops. I'm glad Singaporeans are actually having a more eclectic palate for their taste in fashion these days. Surprisingly, when I tried to look dead-alive in red lipstick and black liquid eyeliner, no one really frowned at me. Aunties always frown upon teeny boppers who wear too little. Oh wait. I suddenly reached an epiphany that. I might be dressing up as in an era closer to them. 1950s maybe. Everything historical seems to be better accepted than new things. People fear new things. I fear BIG new things. But I love change. How I digress.

I suspect I'll look like some ghostly appariation of a dame six feet under in class, town and everywhere else with my new taste for fashion. It's finally blended together for an extra noir kick. And settled long enough to be a style. And dear friends. Please do not shun me when you see me on the streets because you find me looking too horridly retro. No I'm not wearing goggle-like sunshades. I'm just living a more romantic era. That conjures images of pale faced lovelies (I never have approved of the Great American Tan), jazz, and the beginning of free-love and all that post-war nonsense. It's like living my subconscious inclination. I love Hepburn. To bits.

Somehow, maybe, you can say I'm living Sinatra. If not a Breakfast At Tiffany's.

Gaudy.

Pearls preceded diamonds as a girls' best friend. Back to the old school.


Gaudy to the max! I love this. I'll shine every lil SIM student away from my path!

Total damage done = $32.00 + $6.90 + $2.00 = $40.90 Ow.

Villa Bali

Martin, now I know why you rave about that place.

Bewitched.

Ain't too bad a movie. Nicole Kidman fascinates me.

So the next to be down would be Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I've fixed an appointment with Jialin so that's settled.

I found this decent sounding (because I wasn't inside) Jazz Pub kinda thing at the end of Boat Quay.

And an even more decent sounding pub called Chocolate or something. I don't usually look up when I club. Kinda unglam, LA.

$15 for girls. STUDENT SPECIAL. Can you believe it?

My gastric was fucked bad yesterday so I couldn't drink much. I could feel the surging up from my stomach and decided to just. Sit there.

Puffy eyes.

I couldn't sleep till around five thirty this morning. And I was feeling dreadedly hungry. So, well. I forced myself to sleep anyway.

I'm getting way excited about the piercing though, somehow.

And I woke up at 8 this morning, bloody 8 and couldn't get back to sleep. And I was still feeling really hungry.

Finally lulled myself to sleep. I think I need sleeping pills. Dammit.

I should give up for now.

Piercing.

I've got an industrial already.

Soon, I'll get a wrist surface piercing.

Yeay!

Subsistence.

For Lin:

for you, thy nectarine,
you are saccharine an intoxication.
you bind me, enthrall me.
you are as lovely as a sin.

Chicken soup for the soul.

I went to watch Corrinne May in concert with Lawrence and Martin. SHE ROCKS. Big time. Her album does her no justice at all. She's perfect live.

Live bands turn me on. Bass drums and bass guitars are lovely.

And a poem I wrote. Tell me not to be like this, if there's a chance.

Callous

The blazen heart of the furious warrior,
Charred to soot and lost to sharp,
Jagged vindictive tools of love.
This is the way we end.

Tearing apart the sheets of memories
Written into tunes that ring in my head;
Filled with lyrics that spring out of nowhere
That I cannot see and refuse to comprehend.

The shot of clamour met by a bland,
Overpowering silence.
The torch shines a dead end of ignorance.
You torture me because you can.

Fate bends cosmic revelations -
They seem to meet but rouse contradiction.
Walking into glass as the heart beseeches,
Suspicion has turned you an unlikely fiend.

Relent and vigour;
Questions unanswered:
The scathe wears the heart to a callous.
This is the way we end.

And for that unsuspecting person whom I wish was joking,
What you said was quite a burn. I'm not numbified. Yet.
I don't need friends to call me fat. I actually own mirrors.

Corrinne May.

Imma watch Corrinne May this evening!

Meeting Martin for dinner first before anything. This is way exciting.

Yeay!

Mandopop Mania.

I've been stashing my brain cells and frying them with Jay Chou. I love. I don't care.

I hit 3k of sales yesterday. It's rather heartening. And that means I'm going to get some gift from the company. Cool.

I'm having a sleep deprivation induced headache. I feel dead. Brrr.

Help. I need my afternoon nap. But I can't. Because I've gotta do housework.

Fuck la.

I said everything too early. It's all fucking coming back. Walaoeh.

I suppose...

I suppose it's meaningless to try finding the meaning in life. Paradox or parody, you decide.

Somehow I'm just living a blank for the moment. Stopping that tiny pursuit of what I call existence and purpose. Because for some weird reason, at the back of my head, there is no reason at all.

So while I try to slug myself to work, smile like an idiot and get pinched by lousy remarks people around me provide such effortlessly, I actually am numbified and not contemplative at all. When I stone nowadays, it's no longer a burrowing deep into thought but just, stagnation.

The stalemate between my bipolarity is wonderful. I've stopped crying. Stopped all that empty neurosis. But it's like. Time and again, I have to keep this escapism in serious, conscientious check. Because once I loosen my grasp on this noose suffocating my emo-fuckritis, I'm going to crash. Like I did. Some things you just know. Others, maybe you just don't bother.

And being heartstrung is painful. It tweaks your mind up to hypersensitivity and every bout seems like a bang.

So I suppose I shall set aside what I want in life, in general, and my use of being on this silly, silly world and intoxicate myself with material things.

But I'm essentially an idealist. And I know this will not last long.

Non-replies.

Don't you hate that?

I'm working for Logitech for the first time this weekend. The T-shirts are a bloody XXL. I think I'll be mocked at. The sleeves are easily past three-quarters. I'll fold them up. Omg. I'll look like some school kid.

And well. I'm just worried I won't be able to sell well or I'll stutter when it comes to sales because the customers would want to know the difference between this product and that.

And I wonder who they'll place at Funan for Rangers. Hmmm.

I need sleep but I don't want it.

Don't you hate it when people don't reply. You feel such worthless on that person's list of peope he knows.

Damn.

Bling It ON!

I bought a couple of shoes today. I actually wanted to spend a tad little but. BUT. Well, I couldn't resist the blings.

I was at ALDO. But I bought a pair of flipflops on discount. I think that's the only pair I can afford there.



But before that, I saw the most beautiful thing in my life.


Doesn't it look like the one in some magazine?


Aren't they lovely? Came together for $35. OMG. This is the first time I'm spending so much on rings, sides the Swarovski one I bought for JC Prom.

Then I headed back to Compasspoint. OMG. Shoes on sale.



$13.00. How could I say no.


I wanted a pair of flats for school and THERE! I FOUND A PAIR WITH BLINGS! I can't seem to rotate this so I shall just leave it as it is. My camera phone sucks. I wanna get a new one. OMG.

There you have it. Damage done, $48 + $29.90 = $77.90

Plus the amount I spent the other day.

($6.90 + $8.90 + $26.90 = $42.70) + $77.90 = $120.60.

I am facing a deficit comparable to America's treasury.

SAVING TIME!

Sore Throat.

I fell sick today. Missed work. Stayed at home and went on a music spree in my snap-outs from slumber.

The Strokes! The Libertines! The newest I [HEART]s.


Ain't this arty?

Spree.

I bought a DCP tee shirt (yes, miracles do happen.) and got 3 necklaces! Thank you so much NATALIE. I love the necklace as my birthday present. It's so me! I [HEART] <3!


I've been looking for something like that for so long. One that's affordable that is. $6.90. I bidded for a blue lookalike on ebay and lost. This was such, such a nice surprise.


Natalie's Birthday Gift to ME!

Look at those lil stones!


Another addition to my Dark and Dodgy accessories collection. Don't they look like rosaries? $8.90.


And man, I'm happy.

Might have to work tomorrow. But I'm down with a sore throat. Texted Peizhi but she's not replied. God. Save me.

More, more, more!

I'm starting school today. Yipeee.





Soon I'll be on an Adobe Photoshopping editing spree. After I get my Creative Suite 2 installed.

Camwhore.

The resolution sucks. But gets better when it's smaller. Well, proof of the supremely narcissistic session.



<3

More to come. I took 140 pictures. And that is just a humble approximation.

Fully Pukeable.

Prolly my last day selling harddisks. Nevermind that, I shall be fine.

Prasad came down to have Sushi. Andrew and his friend Ivan joined us. We actually thought of talking about the glamorous but somehow hush hush indulgences - sex, booze and more sex - but we couldn't, having to ob-mark ourselves a tad bit. We can always do that on the phone but it just isn't the same watching someone's animated thoughts scribbled on his face with an occasional lick of the lips given how much a slut he is.

So Sakae was fine. Got back to work late, but no one really bothers about me there. Sold a couple of harddisks. Went for a break with Roy a colleague and he treated me to a sugarroll. Learnt how Malaysians have to struggle working in Singapore and earnt another person to crap with on my "working weekends".

Mom cooked curry chicken for dinner, and that's why I'm home, otherwise, I'd be at Bishan buying my tres chic to the max pair of shoes. But, well, I could do it another day, if that pair of shoes and I are fated.

And so.

I keep feeling like puking after eating. Something's gravely wrong with my gastric and digestive system. I should be meeting Florence tomorrow but I've yet to ring her up. I actually can't see myself eating anymore. Maybe I'm bulimic. OH MY GOD. That'd be a shock.

So the things I have to do,
Buy 2 pairs of shoes at Bishan.
Check out why I'm so fully pukeable all the time.
Get a life.
Start school on TUESDAY!

Yipeee. I'm in calmer moods these days. Although the occasional tear still visits, I'm acceptably sane and sound.

Tell me why. Because only you can.

So it's kinda official.

I've got a new job. Going for training on some weekday. Getting trained to sell IT products by a friend shouldn't be so bad. I told him to do away with the powerpoint slides and give me point form notes in small fonts. Junior College style.

Yesterday went alright. The crowd was just, thin. The NDP does more things than injuring parachuters. First, I walked out of Funan, tried to walk towards the train station when I realised hoards of contigent marching pass. Although I have to admit boys in Uniform make me weak, being obscenely late for tuition doesn't.

So I walked over to the fire station on the road over at the other side and waited patiently for 147. Feeling kinda glad I actually AM a streetsmart person who can remember bus services.

To my utter horror. 2 traffic police rode pass on their bikes.

THEY CLOSED THE ROAD FOR TANKS TO BULLDOZE IN! GOD SMACKING CRUEL INNIT!

When the tanks grrr grrr pass, digging into the tar road floors, the NSmen started waving at us.
Wave what wave! Shit you la! *laughs in resignation.

And tuition was OKAY. I need to get her assessments soon. And.

I WENT TO WATCH GETAI.

Chinese, loud, hokkien yelling Ge Tai!

I'm going to blog about it. From Gigs To Getai

It was crazy. I actually remembered which singer sang what. Because I'd watched so much of it when I was puny and the famous singers are always staples. That's what seemingly makes a GeTai more "ATAS" or expensive. Wooo.

My Mom's cooking Curry Chicken! Curry Chicken!

Now I've gotta do housework. Bye.

Hall Of Fame.

When it comes to Chocolatiers the Swiss win hands down. Why?


Venue of purchase: Some candy shop at Bishan.
Cost: $2.00.
Satisfaction: **/*****


Venue of purchase: Isetan Scotts.
Cost: $1.90
Satisfaction: */*****



Venue of puchase: Marks and Spencer Wheelock.
Cost: $1.90.
Satisfaction: *****/*****


Venue of purchase: Isetan Scotts.
Cost: $4.90.
Satisfaction: ******/***** (Orgasmic. It's so bitter, it makes you go back for more.)

The Verdict:
Japanese chocolates try to FOOL you into thinking their chocolates are darned dark and well made. In fact, they're mild like M&Ms. Swiss makes tell you the percentage of cocoa in the chocolate because it's a spec chocolate eaters look for, if they can be called chocolate fanatics.

The Japanese woos only in packaging. Happens for everything, really. From notebooks to cars to home appliances. Japanese stuff are fancy but somehow, they miss the point.

The Lindt one is made in France! Wooo. But if you're really into dark chocolate, but not that into speechless euphoric bitterness, I suggest something between 70% to 75% of cocoa. Feels like heaven, trust me.

Dark Chocolate. I Heart <3!

Prata Part Two.

Jialin buzzed me up late afternoon while I was sleeping (what more can I do?) and asked if I wanted to meet up. I told her to come over and we can watch Initial D together, since I had the DVD.

She came over and we sorta ogled at Jay Chou while I typed furiously on MSN, chatting with a friend.

Then, we had PRATA. AGAIN. I think I can call her my Prata Pal.

And had ice kachang with only brown sugar syrup. I feel like puking already.

We've agreed to hang out more next week before she get confined at some roadshow for more than an entire week. I wanna go Bishan to get that rather chic, rive gauche pair of shoes and slippers. I'm eyeing to get a longer pearl necklace since the one I have is classily short.

That'll set me back say, 40 bucks?

I hope Jialin doesn't get anomic after all that working.

70%

Marks and Spencer offered 70%. I'm already on a high.

I'm waiting for my 85%. To take my Stairway to Heaven.

Crash.

I had what you'd call an emotional breakdown last night. Cried till my eyes are deformed lychees today. But heck, I don't really wanna think about it anymore. Not many people knew the reason for my breakdown. But a handful of people knew I was going through a teary episode.

Maybe it's some pre-menstrual hormonal stretch. But whatever it is, it's over. I'm still a little shaken. I still fear being alone out. How funny it is, when even though you have company, and have truckloads of people bustling around you, you feel this excavating pain inside. It's rather cliched, really. "Being in the crowd makes me lonely." That kinda shit.

But well. I'm home now. Safe. I wept. But that's that. The residual trauma is still settling at the pit of my tummy, making me feel awfully uneasy amidst my morning hunger.

I crashed. But I don't think I need sympathy. Because it makes me feel weak and cry even more. So save me the are you alright? And get on with it. I'm too tired to continue crying.

Anyway. I met Linda yesterday. Everything was kinda fine till late evening so. It was fun, as usual. Getting wild highs and lows.

I wanna write a Novella about Matthew and Victoria. Linda, what say you?

And to you, if you're reading. There's nothing I can say here without feeling too chummed up or embarrassed. So. Please. Let me know if you still bother.

There there. I'm hungry. And the drilling upstairs have stopped. Maybe I should take sedatives like everyone else. But before that. I have my dark chocolate. Did I tell you? I bought 4 bars of varying sizes. 2 Jap brands. Lindt. And Marks and Spencer. I was on a spree. The Lindt one's 85% Cocoa. Talk about Heavens.

Prozac Nation.

I hereby disclaim this article. To all my friends who are on sedatives, I apologise prior for the lack of tact I forsee coming for the rest of this entry.

A couple of my friends are/were on sedative medication. Things that will put them to sleep, or get them on an inane high. And sometimes, I wonder if I should seek professional help myself, instead of trudging into mindless escapism, delusion whatsoever.

What makes the psychiatrist decide whether this person needs medication or not?

I was having a discussion with Jialin over prata last evening and we thought, we could easily convince everyone we're sick. Because, we have really, really morose thoughts.

And not forgetting, our almost dialectic arguments on death. Life and death, as a matter of fact. We're always trying to sort them out but stop when we are getting too mental, lubricating our jagged senses with caffeine or sugary mixtures at cafes.

So we could be part of the Prozac Nation, right? Popping pills, tabs, capsules that'll push us to a stable high (how oxymoronic). To be void of any capacity to feel melancholy, with chagrin wrapped up and flushed away like a cigarette in toilet paper.

The thing is, it's so easy to be part of it, but so hard to come out. People presume that you'll never recover, and us humans as societal creatures most sadly, are prone to take in whatever others view of us. So it's rather self-fulfilling a prophecy. Others think you'll always be sick, you think you'll always be sick, you're always sick. Viola. Pass me my lithium now baby.

My friend is on lithium. Although he sounds seemingly alright nowadays with soft trembles in his voice occasionally however, I don't understand what's the source of his weak mental constitution. He told me it is biological, or rather, chemical, since the stuff up in his brain don't seem to come in balanced quantities, causing his sanity to tip off left and right and therefore, lose itself. He's been on medication for so long.

So it's rather hard a job to be a psychiatrist or a psychologist for that matter. How do you determine a person unsound and otherwise? Insane people have sane sides too, unless he fried his brains like a beef patty. And what about schizophrenia? Bipolarity? Or just. The inability to handle stress effectively.

Because I'm crazy shit and I'll sure be placed on an electric chair. Hi, I'm Frankenstein.

Puking Pratas.

After concurring in anomic thoughts online last night, Jialin and I realised we needed some kind of treat, be it for the physique or soul. We decided to Jalan Kayu our insanity back to consciousness.

So we decided to meet at Hougang interchange at 10 (I was gravely late. I had too much time leaving homework for my tuition student. Everyone has a mild sadistic streak.) and took a cab to Jalan Kayu.

Two girls. 2 egg pratas. 2 kosong. 1 cheese prata tissue. 1 mutton murtabak. 2 ice milos.

And hence the blog title.

Total cost per person, 14 bucks with cab fare. How desperate we were to perk our moods up.

But somehow, we're still ranting rubbish over MSN. Godammit.

Arial, font size 12.

In a vain attempt to make my writings look like works of academic study, meaning, assignments, I've set my font size and face as the almost standard of choice for all teachers, lecturers. I shall do away with the double spacing because I like my lines squished and compressed together. Neat.

It's like. You know it when your body's acting up already. Face starting to itch and you keep sneezing, in a mild manner that sounds more like hiccups. Something dusty is irritating the shit out of my system. And I can't do anything but peer suspiciously at my pair of Barneys.

Tell me I'm insane. For the first time, I'm irritated by not being able to get into Ragnarok Online to the max. Maybe because it's my means of catching a glimpse of him, there and about. Or maybe, maybe, my blind and narrow knowledge of good things to read online has diminished so badly, I can't even find something to entertain me beyond 15 minutes. The time I usually spend at most to scheme through familiar blogs. There are thousands, millions of blogs out there I know. But I'm too lazy to type "Interesting Blogs" on Google. I'm too lazy to type "Theatre of Tragedy" to find Bittorent downloads so you can see how conscientious a person I am.

I can't even find inspiration to update my sex blog. Why the hell do you think I'll be reduced to ranting here on this mundane blur of chronology?

Blogs or Books?

I made a grave mistake, having stated in my graduating GP essay that I feel that the book has no future. Earnt me a C6 in GP (Many people have been perplexed by the polarity of my rates. They are a muddling glob of contradicting statistics. That I shall speak of later.). I never understood why I got a C6 for that essay, till now that is. The low grade did nothing to spank me hard enough to accept the reality that, the book will always live. My brother gave me a brief low down on how daft I was, having written about the death of the books to the people we call academia who embrace the book more than anything.

In fact, the Internet has never been a laurel of publications. Academics see internet only as the most convenient and cheap way of plagiarism nowadays.

And there I was, writing about how the book will become obsolete one day and technology will be heralded as the prized means and way to learning, recreation and what not.

Maybe I went out of point. And that was what caused the literal death of my General Paper. And maybe I was never good at it anyway. I never understood why I failed and how GP was different from Literature. (Literature is just about crapping.) They always say. Funny how the people who actually say this are always people who can't do well in Literature, particularly the Science-y people who have chowed down and digested long technological essays, cloning, stem cell research, genetic modification. Making a wine yard out of a vineyard.

The reason why I thought about that almost fatal essay question I answered was because, I suddenly have no yearning to type out my thoughts. I wish to write it all out, on pen and paper. What's the use of the ease of deletion when the flow comes stumped from the start? I'm almost disgusted with doing fiction on the keyboard, I wonder why. I used to be able to type lengths of prose. And now I only want to set my nib on a nice piece of paper and start blabbering.

ANd then I realised how immature and narrow in scope I was when I wrote that GP essay. Hubris, to the max.

But I'm too lazy. My black book's too dusty. (I have a FETISH for black books. I have... 5 on top of my 14" TV set already. Disregard the ones I spent loads of money on and. Tossed them out after vandalising a couple of pages.) And considerations of having to type it out later, because it's only sane for a writer to publish her works on a public domain so as to achieve some semblance of readership, are cogging my gears. I only wish to spend a lackadaisical afternoon.

3 ways to a writer's death.

1. Writer's block. Constipated word weaving.

2. Lack of enthusiastic discipline.

3. Suicide. Head in a gas oven. Ala Sylvia Plath.

Let's take a nap shall we?

The Bravery.

I just stole their album off the net. Took less than 15 minutes to download. Woah. They are whooping ass!

There's a full 30CD H.I.M collection. 3gb. I wonder if I should download that. Love em.

Work yesterday was alright. I closed the most sales over two days last weekend. They dropped my commission rate. Dude. Ew.

The competitor's offering 5 bucks for one harddisk sold and more than 7 bucks of pay per hour. He only needs to work a day for my 2. EEEK.

I feel dehydrated but happy. Nothing beats ice cream for breakfast.

Reluctance.

I don't wanna go to work. Boo.

Indigestion.

I guess I'm suffering from a serious bought of indigestion problem. I burp the breath of death and feel like puking and shitting at the same time. Whooo.

I thought I'd be having a movie this evening but ended up with a couple of colleagues at a low key bar playing scrabble.

Patience, I know. What more can I afford.

Crazy shit.

My blogging of this entry, is a sin in itself. Gluttony to its utmost blasphemy. Here goes.

13.15. Arrival at Bishan and afterwhich Shih Lin Mee Suah and XXL Crispy Chicken (shared with Jialin). Mouth itchy. Had 2 Goreng Pisangs, trying to recollect the evening spent there with him. Freaky stalkerish shit. Who cares.

15.00. Leaves for Boon Keng for Tuition while munching on some bonbons.

14.00. Soursop canned drink. Holy sweet.

19.00. NYDC Suntec. Shared Salad with Andrew. Had "destiny's child" baked pasta and Kahlua+Irish Cream mudpie divided by two.

Can you actually contemplate how much I ate?

Bloody hell. And I actually don't feel like puking.

Love is a sick game of possession.
It prolly sounds negative to you but it's Godamned positive to me. Because, there's nothing about love that permits sending it away, in my point of view. There's nothing about "letting him go because I want him to be happy." Unless he told you to.

When love is the cure; and I'm sick to my bones.

Fatigue.

Waking up in between sleep and not being able to return to slumber is as bad as waking up on he wrong side of the bed. Both make you feel like the most unworthy person on earth to be blessed with backaches and numbness that encapsulates your body beyond awakedness.

I woke up this morning. Went back to sleep later, only to have the rest of the pissed world wanting a piece of me each. Of all days, everyone had to call me up. It's bloody thursday. And though I should already be awake, cut me some slack. I was insomniac, in the anxious way. Which tastes far from chocolate.

Derek called. He calls once in the light of years. I didn't bother to pick up cuz. I was too eager to get back to sleep after peeking into my phone.

Then my Uncle called to pass us some CAKE that his wife baked. We do not like his wife very much. Ahem. But the cake was pretty nice though. Wait. Was that arsenic? Hurhur.

Andrew called to ask whether I'd want to go play pool. POOL? Me? Post-Lianieship, I've not played pool all that often. I started to suck at it, having my beginner's luck worn off me and. No I don't really enjoy pool.

I dreamt of him again.

Obviously Awake.

Damn, I'm back. I'm bored and have nothing else to do. Somehow my mind registered my allocated timetable and only permits me to read my book in the afternoon or later today. I might regret this choice because I never get anything done by schedule.

I think I might get back to sleep soon. I've been trying to force a yawn out of my bloody consciousness to get some semblance of fatigue. But no. NO. My mind has to be so tweaked up to it's maximum highness that I feel like crap such early in the morning. I'm not a morning person. The lightening blue sky scares me. I hate all this insomniac shit. And with everyone else telling me I finally get to live, regardless that it's out of profound unwillingness, a normal person's life. DAMN YOU ALL.

I really, really, really hope I get to sleep soon. A reason why I'm keeping off my book's that reading makes me sleepy but keeps my mind awake once I put it down. GET IT? Damn.

I shall sleep, wake up at 12, have lunch and stuff. READ! Yes read. And there I always went saying my life is so normally routinal and boring. PRRRRF! It is wayyyyy beyond normalcy!

Our Beloved Blogger's blog got hacked. Hmmm. That's pretty yeowch of a thing to happen. You can flame a person, though the liberty of such an act is already pretty much debatable if you hate a blogger. Hacking? It's just plain infringing of privacy.

Kinda irksome huh. Weird ass people who go around hacking popular blogs. To think of it. Major blogs have been, at least once, under hack threat. Tsk.

GOOOD OH YEAH YEAHHH!!! I YAWNED! SLEEP, I SHALL!

ZZZZZ. Pray that I don't come back in 15 minutes blogging about constipation.

Awake at Six and this ain't funny.

Something rather serious is happening. I've been waking up at 6 for a row of three days, each with me having increasing difficulty to get back into slumber. This is weird shit. Something wrong's happening to my system.

I can't wish for anything else other than to get back to sleep. 8.30 is way too early for brunch. God.

Wet Dreams Are Made Of Him.

I went to watch Wet Dreams 2. Pretty funny. But the fact that the previous Korean flick I watched was a horror flick and scared the pee outta me, the language itself freaked me out a bit at the beginning, thinking that a shadowy figure will float pass any minute.

I was with my colleague Andrew and his friend and his girlfriend. And I've never seen that much cheese for a nachos set.

Talking about dreams. I keep having dreams about loverboy. Loads of them.

I wrote some emo poem today when I was with Lin but I decided against posting it up here lest he sees it and get scared the shit outta his existence. I tend to get too harsh on myself when I'm writing about love. It's kinda. Freaky. With all the pain and bleeding and dying crap. I don't know. I can't write child-safe, happy poetry.

Outing with Lin was ass whooping. Our Burger King-Starbucks smuggling trips are always exhilarating. It's fun to fakeely bring in BK stuff. Today, we simply stole a used mug and called it our own, immunity from getting chased out as I munched my burger away.

I'm only, only starting to read Da Vinci Code. Yesyes, I know. I am freaking lagging but. Hey. Better late than never. AND. I am held back from bringing it out to read in public because it's wayyyyy overkilled. Everyone says it's overrated, underrated,, blasphemous and shit. It's become so. OVERTALKED a book that it seemed so "trying to jump on the bandwagon" to read it in public.

I bought a packet of Viceroy Menthol Lights for Andrew. Happy Birthday there, although he hasn't gotten to know about this place yet.

Linda.

I'm heading out with Linda for some afternoon lazing and dinner and movies with my weekend colleagues.

I might stop working on weekends soon. I'll update when I've made up my mind, lest they come along and read all this.

I can't believe I'm optimistic, for once. That everything will revert to fineness.

Pasta.

Pasta makes me lethargic. My head's spinning a slumber now and I have no wish to succumb to it till I finish this entry.

Some backlash splattered over the internet. And I shall blog about it in my other blog. Not that my readers are interested in any sort of analytical banter but, anything that's related to that identity of me in that particular platform would hold more water. Since the other blog has proven itself more popular than my sad glob called life.

I can't write about Sex these days because. Too many issues come to play. Too many thoughts but that's not the point.

The thing's that, I feel like this cocooned breathless creature that. Is still and wanting to be still, resisting external influences because she knows that when someone nudges or delves into her sense of consciousness, she'll start the whole unhealthy chorus again. I don't know. I don't want to contemplate.

I finished my remaining quarter tub of ice cream. I've put on 2 kg and I'm not giving a damn.

I need to lie down again. Shit.

Xiaxue Workshop.

I named the session I had with Jialin today after our beloved blogger because it was all about curling our lashes to become sky high.

If mascara doesn't make my lashes look fake and vavavoom, I'd rather not wear it.

Jialin came by for an afternoon binge party. Watched Mona Lisa Smile. Emergency measure, actually. Had chips and loads of ice cream. I needed it badly.

I am kinda numb. I don't know. When I feel like crying, I'll turn to my remaining tub of raspberry something.

And I bought loads of pasta to cook tomorrow. Which is heavenly. Carbo always makes me happy. I hope.


My lashes are rebonded straight and always reclined at a 45degrees downwards. Prrrf.


Maybelline Volume Express rocks. It's better than XXL. 2 coats. TWO!


Close up.


See the difference? Yes I am cross eyed. O shut up.


Picture where the layout came from.



I need to lie down already. Help me.

New Layout.

Clean, simple. Gentle on the eye. Nothing more alive than dead. Aye.