Mindless dumb fucks. {040605, 2320}
Havent been updating this shite coz no one gives a fuck. And also because I have sadly and admitedly lost my momentum in writing, so yeah, I have had seriously no clue of what to write whatsoever. Anyway its not such a bad thing. Do I make your brain freeze and your balls wiggle each time I do an update? I'm darn sure I do! Damn I'm good. I am so in demand.
ANYWAY.
My mum left my sec 1 exercise book journal by my bed two nights ago. She found it amongst a pile of other silverfish-infested exercise books in my drawer and read its contents in hopes of finding dark hidden secrets, of me smoking pot or likewise, in my sec 1 days. Alas, all her efforts were in vain. To her utmost horror, what she found instead was senseless ramblings from a young girl with absolutely no brains, from which she later had to gourge her eyeballs out and wash them out in pot. It is extremely disheartening to say this, but, BOY WAS I DUMB.
I was like that crazy bimbo with the hot pink and purple blog - too much blubber up the ass. Spouting irrelevant nonsense, talking about shopping and buying friendship bands and 'oooh!' happy days and 'hmph!' angsty days, all in a bookful of bad grammar and brainless comments. I think I made myself sick reading through the book. I should, WILL, never do that again. I guess the only consolation is that what I read was me from sec 1, whereas crazy dumb bimbo is, lesse, OLD AND DUMB.
While reading, I could imagine myself from those nauseating ic photos - large full moon glasses, choppy hair, smiling anally to myself as I shlumped away on a cheap plastic chair and vigorously wrote in dumb mode in a classroom full of other dumb stinky uniform-clad retards just like me. Once again reminding me of those dumb, drooling cross-eyed dogs from cartoon network. Excuse me while I go throw up my dinner.
So anyway, just to end it on a drowsy and nauseous mode - right after you read this entry - go straight back to the shit-smeared hellholes of that slime called your 'blog', re-read every single previous shitty entry, then burn it. BURN THE DAMN THING. The same way I burnt my sec 1 exercise book right after reading it. Do it quick- before you grow up and realise what an idiot you had been.
And that is all for tonight.
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Short update for a long story . {240505, 2142}
Things have been good. Dad is pissy, my eye has had a recurring infection for the past two months, and I have finally tendered an official resignation to the dismay of my conman bosses. Hurray! I will be leaving the wretched workplace in approximately 1 and a 1/2 mths time. That is how much time I have to save up another 2 or 3k to pay for the remainder of my bloodsucking school fees.
And that is all for my pathetic life.
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A Step too far. {150505, 1811}
Dear Sir... Dear? Hi. Hello? No.
How the hell do you start this fucking letter? I refer back to the open text document I have been using as reference for the past 10 minutes. "Letter of Resignation". It reads.
Pretty short and sweet, just made up of two short paragraphs. Almost like those cut and paste templates we see on letters from time to time - much like the letter I received from NAFA two days ago. So yes, just three short days after the interview, I got accepted. These people must be pretty desperate for money, I thought to myself as I peeled open the large, crisp envelope.
So now comes the next step, which is to quit my job. To end all incoming traces of my income. Or to put a halt to my bank account, and in coming months empty its content to the expenses I will be incurring for school.
Yes, about two months from now, I will packing up my stuff at work, and bidding a solemn :) goodbye to the cats, the stinky cat litter, my sucky bosses, the days of unrecognition, and hearing my lady boss boasting to everyone about how much work she did when all of it was churned out from my bleeding arse every single day. After which, I will then proceed to celebrating to my very last pay check for a very very long time. That same paycheck I get every month, and the same amount written on it. Bonus my ass. I never got a single bonus from the first month I stepped into this job, muthafuckas! I have been working for those manipulative lying assholes for one whole year straight, and STILL no goddamned bonus?? I HATE YOU.
Suddenly that gives me motivation to write my letter of resignation. Ah yes, and so I shall get back to working on it.
Dear Employer,
Please be informed that I wish to tender my resignation with effect today, 15 May 2005 (approximately 2 months notice).
Do take your mothafucking godammned company and shove it up your arse. I also hope for you to go bankrupt. Thank you.
P/s: Don't forget to change the cat litter! Har Har.
Yours sincerely, your unjustified employee who's had enough of working for your sorry ass and has not received a single bonus whatsoever ever since the first day on the job, and who hates you very very much.
PERFECT.
And rybs, I hope you get in too.
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Ordinary week, ordinary day. {100505, 1020}
Ordinary things that have happened over the course of my disappearance:
- I am very very lazy and sleepy
- I woke up today and took a shit.
- I am not at work.
- Predictably, I am slacking at home and hanging out with my best friend, the computer.
- I don't know what to wear for later.
- I have not had lunch and have not taken a shower either.
- And oh yeah, and I have an interview at 4 pm later on.
- Oh, and shorty got into an accident last week.
Just another ordinary day, and an ordinary week.
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Stinkin Monday Bitchin. {250405, 1029}
Once again, it is a stinkin' Monday. I entered the office and received a warm welcome by a slimey pool of furball gurgle by the door, which I calmly avoided and shall pretend not to notice.
The cat litter stinks. It is mounted by a large heap of cat poop and yellowed with cat urine stains. The smell is intoxicating. I shall leave the toilet door wide open as a blatant hint for my boss.
A new guy is coming in soon. He is one year my junior and was from the same course as I was. They are stealing our bloody jobs.
My bosses adore him even before he had even started working. They sing praises for him and plan itineraries as though they've known him for years. They barely know him. They only took his card a couple of weeks ago. I hate him already. They love him more than me.
From today onwards for a week I shall work on the new DimsumDollies website. I hate them too. I hate their lame jokes and I hate how my bosses think how cool they are. My bosses think they are funny people. It makes me all pissy. I don't think they're funny. I have to churn up a bucket of vomit just to force myself to laugh. My bosses think they rule the planet. They don't think I'm good enough for them.
Enough for Monday bitchin'.
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How to Impress your Prospective Mother-in-law. {130405, 1029}
1. Organise a gameplan strategy before coming. Remember, YOU ARE ON A MISSION.
2. Buy lots of too much food.
3. Leave the short skirts and low-cut tops at home.
4. Make sure you do not have crap in your eyes and nose before you enter the door.
5. Be overly polite, remember to repeatedly mention 'auntie' before, in-between, and after sentences.
6. Do not talk too much, do not talk too little.
7. When there is nothing more to talk about, watch the tv and pretend to be amused. Even if its about dead people, blood, gore and dead people.
8. Do not kick the cat do not kick the cat do not kick the...... Hide the dead cat hide the dead cat hide the dead cat
9. Volunteer to clean up and leave used cutleries in the kitchen even though you know they will stop you in the midst of your attempt. From which you gain points and save the effort.
10. Giggle softly. Do not accidentally break into loud cackles of horrific hand-bashing laughter.
11. Omit the words fuck, shit, screw, motherfucka and any other profanities. Eek. FUCK THIS IS TOO HARD. Excuse me.
12. Lastly, and most importantly, lick as much ass as possible. Find something to compliment on - the colour of the cracked walls? Erm. The sticky floors? The dusty clock? The lipton tea served in an ordinary coffee cup? ANYTHING.
There. A lesson for all. Today, I must try harder.
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Been a Long Time. {110405, 1822}
To the anonymous, pathetic few of you who keeps updated to this thing, apologies for not updating. Internet down? Busy? Just godammned lazy, THAT'S FUCKING WHY.
Here's a rundown of what you've been missing out on in my life!
................
Okay, so you have not been missing on anything. Let me rephrase that.
Here's a boring list of what i've been up to:
- Been very busy with the damn Tangs revamp.
(http://www.tangs.com)
- I love my clients to death.
- I love my bosses even more.
- I will have to take the GODAMNED bus home today because Shorty removed his wisdom teeth and with thus will not be able to fetch me. My poor baby. (Holy shit, I just said that.)
- I gained 3 kg over the period of one month thanks to extra greasy, shitty tasting breakfast, heavy lunches, Hershey's hot chocolate for supper, and the severe lack of exercise.
- I have been offered a very HANDSOME raise by my bosses in an attempt to con me into extending my stay with the company and abandon all existing plans of going back to school. I am currently in the process of considering the tempting offer. I have been requested to make up my mind by the end of the week.
- I no longer have to face shitty looking antiques 24/7. HURRAY.
- I watched a ghost story two nights ago and am still having trouble sleeping at night.
- The cat litter still stinks.
And that is all that happened in my life over the course of holy-fucking-2 weeks. I AM PATHETIC.
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FREEDOOOOOOMM. {280305, 1700}
Time flies when you have nothing to do. Bosses are out, work is done, I'm slacking, cats are vomitting and shitting all over the place. Why they choose such perfect timing to puke and shit all over the place, I don't know.
Speaking of puking and shitting, had a little bit of trouble deciding what to have for lunch today. Would it be the pseudo-nutritious Subway meatball sandwich minus all forms of horrid limp vege bits with extra vege worms and caterpillars(which conveniently costs 1/2 the price on Mondays), or the rich, ultra-heavy, diarhorrea-inducing chicken briyani from Orchard Towers? Do I walk all the damn fricking way in the scorching desert sun to Lido, or do I feel suicidal enough to attempt to cross the busy main road of forum for some extra salty, limp, greasy fries from Mac D's? I couldn't decide.
In the end, i settled for some good old instant noodles from 7-eleven. Costs 2/3s cheaper, and also comes with added preservatives to give that extra zing and bloated feeling to your stomach later on, all of which I am experiencing now. Perfect.
Two weeks earlier, bosses brought me down to this Italian Restaurant for lunch. I nearly fell over my seat as I saw the price list on the menu, being that every damn teeny weeny plate of pasta costs more than $20, which is amazingly smallest number I could find, and fact that my wallet at that moment only contained a little less than 10 bucks. Of course, I was lucky, being that my extremely smart STRATEGY of not having enough money convinced them into treating me, thus we went on to ordering the dishes.
So there was pizza and pasta for everyone, and evil meat spread out in the most exquisite manner opposite me on man boss' plate, but that I shall not think about. To top it up, man boss ordered a bottle of San Pellegrano, that horrid drink. And we dug in.
Food was excellent, the pizza was hot, cheesy and delicious with the crispiest and thinnest crust ever, and the cream shell pasta was just to die for. As lady boss stated it, it was the kind of food that could put an end to all your cravings once and for all. Food for the gods. Food only for those worthy.
A tall glass filled to the brim with San Pellegrano stared at me as I greedily lunged at my food.
"Drink me! Drink me!" it pleaded.
Now, I especially detest the taste of San Pellegrano. If you've drank Perrier before, you'd know what the fuck I was talking about. Yes, "carbonated sparkling water from the mountains of <insert name of far-far away country here>, with a tinge of lemon", or what I otherwise prefer to refer to as tap water flavoured with shit from Malaysia injected with a large percentage of fart bubbles. THAT'S WHAT IT FUCKING IS, YOU BLOODY LIARS!
I started to feel parched. The thick cheesy content of the pasta and pizza was not helping. I stared at the glass. It stared back at me, menacingly.
"DRINK ME." It boomed.
For a moment I forgot about past memories of my encounter with similar drinks. My hand reached out hastily, unaware of its grave intent. With one tilt of the glass, I had it in my mouth. The evil juice.
It swirled around my mouth as I refused to swallow. Remembering the current situation of being in a high class Italian Restaurant, I maintained my cool and downed the fucker. Nothing I say now will be able to describe the taste of the damn muthafucka. Think tap water flavoured with shit from Malaysia injected with a large percentge of fat bubbles. That is what it is. SHIT WATER. I called on the waiter for a glass of tap water.
Don't you just agree with me of an evident problem with humans? A VERY huge problem to be exact, with Perrier-drinking humans that's what. To be drinking shit like that and not realise what the fuck they are doing. To be following the trend of the rich, lying to yourself that it is an "acquired taste" when what it is, is just plain shitty tasting water and they could be better off drinking water straight from the toilet bowl. Just like the reason we drink shitty tasting alcohol. The same reason we wear Gucci and Prada and other designer brands. The very reason we start smoking in the first place.
Because we're non-opinionated bastards with no mind to judge for ourselves of what tastes, looks or is good. Because drinking San Pellegrano may be shitty but its glamorous and "all the rich-fuckers drink it so should I, boo hoo!". Well you rich glamorous non-opinionated bastards, you take your damn XL-sized San Pellegrano bottle right now, and shove it up your ass. Because I am not gonna touch that shit anymore. NO MORE, YOU MUTHAFUCKA! Now leave me alone while I go drink out of the toilet bowl.
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Good day. {210305, 1921}
Hulloh non-existent audience! Today is a good day. :).
Today is not a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday or a Friday.
Today is a Saturday.
Today, I will not have to do any work.
Today, I do not have to stay up for 4 whole nights in a row.
Today, I can sleep all I want and not have anyone's snoring disturb me.
Today, it is not rainy, too sunny or too hazy.
Today, I am going to have a picnic.
Today, my eyebags are 20% less visible than yesterday.
Today, I cleaned up my room.
Today, I do not have to go to work and face my lousy bosses and their stinky cats.
Today, I also do not have to face that fucking Tangs website revamp anymore.
Today, I will not have to glue my eyeballs to the monitor if I don't want to.
Today, my back will no longer ache.
Today, my boss said I don't have to go to work on Monday.
Today, my boss called me up again and decided I shall have to go to work on Monday.
Today, the skies are suddenly getting darker and heavier.
Today, the skies are starting to pour.
Today, I will not be able to have my picnic anymore.
Today, my back is starting to sting.
Today, I discovered a bug in the fucking Tangs website revamp but shall keep quiet about it.
Today, I did not find the matching covers for my bolster and pillowcase.
Today is such a goddamned good day. Hurray! For today.
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Random Chatter. {210305, 1921}
I'm at work! Still. I hate you, Monday.
And yes, staying late must have its important reasons, so I should not actually be updating my entries while I'm at it, but hey, spare me some slack, I'm bored and lonely. Very lonely. It's times like this when I need company, and all the darn cats do to help is to lie on their fat bellies and take a nap. I'm a little freaked out being alone in here cause I just had a rather bad dream yesterday, which consisted of a horrid mixture of blood, gore, blood, dead children and ghouls. Let's not talk about it before I get another bad dream tonight.
Anyway it's bad news for me this week. According to the high-oh-mighty bosses, I will have to stay pretty late the next couple of days at work, to complete some super last minute projects. Been a long time since I last paid a visit to the regular bunch of very tall, very busty, very huge and very hairy hoes looking out for potential customers at Orchard Towers. Clever bastards suddenly spring out at night almost as though they can hear the male mating call for a nice, big-sized transexual.
Some of these big-burly-hairy-men-dressed-up-as-women actually dress better and look better than the average female on the streets. In fact, some are even less hairier than the average female on the streets. It is intimidating walking past those beautiful ones. Almost as though you can hear them snickering at you for being female but actually looking half as good as they do. Others, are just downright ugly.
Ah, anyway, enough of the dissing, I guess it's high time to get back to work, stay in late, and maybe say hi to one or two of them later on. If I have the balls.
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Greasy people and a bus ride from Hell. {150305, 2118}
And so, I left work at 3.30pm today to meet my mum who was already waiting at Raffles Place MRT. The plan was that I met up with her there, and then together, we would proceed to Boon Lay to collect her $50 gift hamper prize for a cooking oil lucky draw. This is the umpteenth time that my mum has actually won a prize in a lucky draw.
It was a grab and go, but lugging $30 worth of cooking oil and a cashcard thrown in to round off the $50 prize value in the hot sun made me and my mum make a mistake of our lives. WE DIDN'T JAYWALK. It's a fiddle bus!, we thought. So when the bus came by, me and mum hopped on, thinking it wouldn't take very long for it to reach the opposite bus stop that was visible on the other side. Take my advice - don't EVER repeat my mistake. Especially when you're in an ulu industrial park in Jurong and it is nearly 5 oclock, and even more so if it is a non-airconditioned fiddle bus serving an ulu industrial park in Jurong at nearly 5 oclock that you are boarding.
The bus took a few hours to reach the interchange (okay so maybe less than an hour, but it fucking felt like a few hours dammit!!!), in comparison to the approximate 15 minutes we could have taken instead, including crossing the road in the blazing sun while lugging $50 worth of cooking oil and prizes, waiting for the bus at the bus stop opposite and sitting ard on our tight asses in the bus. Suddenly thinking about it, it all seems so much more worth it.
Cursing under my breath, the sun ignored me and continued to spill itself rudely into the stuffy bus through the open window panes along with hot, thick drafts of air. Huge trucks loaded with damp wood and flammables tanks trembled past as though teasing us of what we had actually landed ourselves into.
My mum and I exchanged glances and stunned expressions occasionally whenever foul-smelling fumes wafted past. I glimpsed at the nonchalant bus driver. I wondered how long he would live breathing such pungent fumes everyday. I moaned. The fumes and heat was starting to give me a rash.
Sensing my misery, my mum reassured me we were reaching soon. In the distance, a lean tower billowed behind her as she did, its top blazing a ferocious fire. Gazing around and spotting only shaby trees, grey thick smoke and colourful containers piled high up into the skies like lego pieces, I knew otherwise.
As time passed by in its slow and agonising demeanour, more and more greasy people boarded the bus. Soon, the bus was sardine-packed with greasy people and at that point it was more of the foul fumes eminating from the passengers than from the surroundings that was bothering me. Ironically, it somehow made me feel ashamed of my frequent whining about work of late. No grease attached, no chipped nails, no toiling all day in the sun and squeezing your arse dry carrying heavy loads and no smelling shitty fumes all day and smelling LIKE shitty fumes thereafter.
Me, the spoilt designer sitting around on a crappy chair, in air-conditioned comfort all day, bossed around by stingy bosses, sharing the toilet with 3 smelly cats. - NOTHING. Compared to what these people go through every damn shitty day of their lives just to earn pigeon-feed to send to their families back home, far far away.
I left the bus greasy, perspiring, smelling like pesticide and ever-so-pissed, but a little more grateful to how easy life had been laid out for me so far.
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Sucking a whole lot of ass. {140305, 2125}
Of late, it has been sucking a lot of ass at work. Of course work has always sucked ass in my case, but this is a lot more ass than whatever ass it's been sucking previously. There's been simply too many dumb clients and whiney bitches that deserve a punch in the nether-regions, and 30-minutes-to-load 300 dpi files that looks like its been sucking so much ass that I spent the entire morning worked up about how clients who act their own designers should go to hell and also go fuck themselves. Today, my ass sucking day ended at approximately 8.45pm. That, by itself, sucks a whole lot of mean ass.
Ironically, it is days like this where I would return home and slump on bed feeling like I've done a darn kick-arse job and that I deserve a handsome raise along with a nice chunky bonus. Of course, bosses are too fucking stingy and too concerned over whose turn it is between them to clear the damn cat litter. And so, I quickly erase that thought and toss and turn on bed, still in my outside clothes, because in just a couple of minutes more, Shorty will be zooming over to my place on his shiny, brand new bike, and then I'm gonna have to ride on it with him and squeal like a wuss and have lots of fun like any other person who's never ridden on a goddamned bike before in his entire life. Once again, I am a traitor.
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Shitty hair for shitty dollars. {110305, 0025}
I've been suffering one disaster hair-cut after another. This time, it was at the mercy of a 30 year old ah-beng hairstylist who had a bad habit of gurgling phlegm in his throat and snorting - perhaps even wiping his filthy slime off his nose with his hands while unnoticed and after which smothering it on what's left of my hair. Bad experience, never going back there.
It brings me back to the memories of extreme bad hair days back in secondary school.
A couple of days back, I was in desperation of finding a usable IC photo for my degree registration, and upon rummaging through my mum's rag-and-bone collection of ic photos, we came upon several photos that could probably wind up in one of those prank sites on the web.
One of which, was an old horrid photo taken back when I was in sec 3, the day after I had returned from adventure camp - evident from the peeling nose, and tanned complexion. Still, adventure camp does not explain why I looked so darned muthafuckin' shitty in that pic. I was relieved the last time I lost a copy of that same pic in my old wallet, but alas, the past has resurfaced with dry frizzy hair, thick nerdy glasses, an awkward smile and a goddamned chunky face - complete with a blue and brown background that matches perfectly with my burnt nose and tanned cheeks. Ahh, the good old nerdy times.
Since I have your interests at heart, I shall not be posting the picture online. If however, you are in any dysfunctional state to want to even set a glance at this photo, you may want to bug the shit out of me and pester me until I eventually see the immense need to shut you the fuck up and give in. You have been forewarned.
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Anal. {270205, 1325}
My room is clean. So so clean. Not a speck of dust. Fresh, crisp bedsheets. Photoframes, vases, powder baskets all lined up in a straight row, at exact 45 degree angles. Do you really need a picture? I imagine horrified dustmites fluttering out in a hurry at the sight of my giant hand swooping down at them in an attempt to run over their asses and eliminate all traces of dust.
For two weeks, my room had been in its worst state - neglected, like a garden high of weeds. Today, the perfection which has always revolved around it has finally been restored. I have jerked up from my seat in the midst of surfing porn (NOT JERKED OFF DAMIT), glanced around for a moment, and then proceeded to clean and dust off my room in a trance-like manner. Focused, undisturbed, anal, zombified.
People have heard of my weird habit and laughed.
"You must not like your room very much, har har!", they say.
That is certainly most untrue. I like my room in every sense of the word. Perhaps my idea of 'cosy' is a clean, well kempt room, you dirty freak?
"Yeah, but if you REALLY did like your room you would be comfortable leaving your shit around har har!"
I imagine their room being a filthy dump brimed with mud and shared by snorting pigs.
I cringe. Go away. You make me sick.
People have come to my room and stood around by the door uneasily, confused, lost.
"Take a seat!" I say.
*Silence* *A slow glance around* *Pause* *Soft sniffles*
"Wheerre?... ", they whisper.
Too clean for their fancy. They don't want to mess up my bed, step all over my glossy floor panels, lay their filthy unwashed fingers on my tables, or talk too loudly and crudely because their voices might ruin the clean in the room.
Occassionally my elder sister would pop in to visit me in my enclosure of clean privacy. Dirt has stained the collar linings of her unwashed shirt. She likes her pyjamas unwashed.
"I like the familiar scent on my clothes when I go to sleep!", she would say.
Point noted. Now move aside.
She would plop her chunky ass on my bed as I hang out with my best friend, the computer. I would notice her staring at me from the corner of my eye, giggling, dewy-eyed, twirling her dirt stained collar linings around her fingers - a habit borne since I have first started having memories of life. That, particularly, is one memory I'd rather not have.
"Get out of my room! You're ruining my clean sheets!" I would scream.
She would giggle once again, grab my pillow, scrunch it tight against her unwashed pyjamas, then toss it back into its violated little corner. She'd then proceed to leave my room.
Clean, so clean! Ahh, I love my room. I want it to be this perfect forever. I want it basking in its glory of clean. I want it dust-free and crisp, the exact state granny used to keep it before she left. I want her to be pleased that I've followed her clean footsteps. I wonder how she's doing. Maybe she's looking down at my room at this very moment, so proud of its perfect state.
Oh well. This only leaves me to taking a shower.
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A girl and her diary. {190205, 0235}
For eons now, it has been a known fact that a diary is by far, the most sacred of personal belongings, where only the writer is allowed the privilege of reading his own entries, and writing them as he pleased. Any object or man that comes as close to 1 metre around the diameter of the diary could possibly be 1. slain around the throat with a rusty knife (Or at the very least that's what I would do), 2. blown to bits with a cannon, or 3. fill in the blanks.
I'm guessing the concept of the diary is not very hard to fathom.
It is the wee hours of the morning and at this very moment, a girl is writing her thoughts on her most private possession. Her diary. The only difference from the past is, the concept of the diary has somewhat distorted itself, perhaps ever so slightly? Updating her blog (whatever that damn horrid sounding thing is), she spills the beans about the events of the day in a most peculiar fashion, careful not to reveal too much, but yet knowing the audience awaits the juicy bits of her stories of the day. She writhes her words around skillfully, expressing herself in the most vivid way possible - as though writing a fairytale, and letting in those few who reads her journals a journey of her in reality less than fascinating life story.
To those who read, she hopes to entertain. They know so very little of her, so she boldly expresses the truth, perhaps once in a while, adding a notch of exaggeration to her colourful fairytale. This is her sanctity of freedom. Her only personal space. One she wishes to keep as private as possible, one that no one who knows her too well should ever intrude. She enjoys writing her crazy stories, and she would read them over and over again to make sure it was perfect. Some, she likes a little more than the rest.
It may be just a damn blog to all of you, but this girl, who is me (an obvious statement), views it more than just that. She has been writing this for more than half an hour now, and as she writes, she is so truly disappointed beyond words can explain.
Her sanctity of freedom has just been breached.
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Rewind. {180205, 2327}
Long, dreary week.
~ Valentine's day was a blast. Wonderful beyond expectations, considering my past Valentines' days had been utter shit. YES, I AM A TRAITOR.
~ Fast-forward 3 days later, lady boss dropped her earring yesterday. We're talking about a diamond earring the size of my goose-pimples upon catching a glance of Michael Buble and his pouty lips on tv the other day. The 3 of us (me, lady boss and man boss) spent more than an hour, along with a whole lot of several other erm. self-volunteers (whom I felt were hoping a share of the loot - MY loot), scrutinising the impossible-to-differentiate gravel surface of the jam-packed road (YES THE ROAD, of all places she had to lose it there), trying to look out for "reflections triggered by the diamond!" whilst lorries sped past and passerbys stared and thought to themselves about what a bunch of idiots we looked like. Yes, she finally found it!!!
Lesson learnt : Wearing a pair of diamond earrings the size of my goose-pimples = NOT WORTH IT.
~ Managed to catch up with sista yesterday. Had a zero dollar shopping spree thanks to a voucher I got for my bday. Ahh, bless the pure satisfaction of free shopping. *smug grin*. On the way back in the bus, the passengers sitting at the back were attacked by the hairiest and ugliest moth I have ever seen in my entire existence as a kick-ass feminist. A man, who happened to be unfortunately standing where the moth decided to launch its hairy ass towards, dodged furiously with an expression as though someone had just taken a shit on his face. It was then that the whole row of passengers sitting at the back, initiated by me, started bursting into rude cackles of synchronised laughter. HAH! Without further ado, the man got pissed and left. I WONDER WHY.
~ Today was yet another shitty work day. I spent the whole day staring at another bunch of ugly antiques. Man boss gave me some useful advice which I hope not to forget, then 5 minutes later I got lazy again and starting surfing porn. Later, I donated $2 away to charity forgetting that the $2 note I had just given away was the last remaining bill in my wallet. YIPEE.
I will be back with more of the crappy stories up my sleeves. Tata!
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Panic Attack. {130205, 2347}
"You have to take care of yourself, okay?"
"Surely I could take care of myself all I want, but a dying cancer patient would still die even if he did, wouldn't he?"
That was the last I heard from him till now. Next thing I knew, there was a very sickening, death-defying silence shooting through the end-receiver of the phone.
He's gained consciousness now. I called his panic-striken mom to check in. I am still jittery and worried, but the irony of the present situation insists that I go online, write this stupid entry, and then proceed to work on the damn freelance project, in hopes of finishing up by the deadline tomorrow. Cheerios for Valentine's Day, that stupid fuck. I never for once believed in you.
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Silent Phobia. {100205, 1838}
I have a phobia.
A silent phobia.
A phobia that no one knows I have, and perhaps even one that I was oblivious to, until recently.
I retrace back to that night at mel's farewell party - me, by the second floor staircase, sitting beside a drunk Raisin who was slumped against the side of the stair railings. My eyes followed a trail of ants along the white-washed walls.
"I know you said you've changed, and I really do want to trust that you have and I know you're trying your best to, but..."
I abandoned my momentary fascination of the minuscule ants and looked up at him.
"But you know, sometimes, as much as you want to change your old ways, a part of you never does change." He heaved a sigh so deep and loud that it echoed through the dimly lit stairwell.
My eyes glistened. I shook my head slowly and hesitantly. "That's not tr..".
I stopped. Then I smiled. People seldom discover me.
Recently, I have promised my entirety to someone new. Sometimes, I scare myself wondering if I am really up to it, if I am good enough.
Cause you see, I have this phobia.
One that made me reject my feelings for Raisin.
A commitment phobia.
A fear of commitment and temptation deeper than one can imagine.
So to those who did not know, this is the deceitful truth. My past was not an honourable one. It was one where hungry devils flocked along wherever I went, and were appeased at what they had sowed from me, and reaped.
I made them proud.
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Drunken Stupidity. {060205, 0935}
Last night was mel and jo's farewell party, and probably the last time I'd spend any day with any of these guys and of course, Mel, till she returns from Melbourne for a month's visit this December. So the party was held at Jo's big-ass house, that rich fucker. 2 of us usual and only girls, and close to 20 other boys.
Booze and alcohol was set up on the table, along with miserly pieces of what appeared to be marinated chicken and some other shit. As soon as I had reached the top floor of Jo's gigantonomous multi-storeyed house, I quickly grabbed a cup of sprite and hid in the crowd, trying to act cool a little. You know, the usual plastic cup, soft drink with black bits floating around in it, act cool. I spotted Raisin barbecueing in the corner so I scooted over to the opposite side with Mel. Mel was urging me to talk to him, but I simply couldnt. It was too awkward.
Didn't take long before people started getting themselves drunk. Raisin kept topping up his mixture of vile drinks and was soon making a fool out of himself, high, happy, drunk, stupid. He went up to me, waved his hand in my face and said a loud drunken "HALLO". I stood back, stunned.
"I need to piss!", he said, before breaking into a rude burst of loud cackles, and exiting in zig zag motions down the staircase. Me and Mel stared at each other in horror.
Ten minutes later, I heard Raisin's loud, happy voice mumbling some shit, and then YC, also at the top of his sober voice, mentioning my name. Was I hearing things? I have not had a single drop but everything was so blur and fuzzy I could have sworn I did.
"Aisyah!!" YC shouted.
"Ey Aisyah," YC's head popped up from behind the wall. "Rasis erm, says he wants to talk to you!"
"Err. Okay. He's a LEETLEE drunk isn't he?" I said, hesitantly. I made my way down.
So there he was, lying by the bottom of the 2nd floor staircase in his red shirt, pissed drunk, talking to himself loudly, and turning as he heard me come down. "HALLO!". He said loudly, again, as he saw me. I sat down beside him.
"How are you doing?" I heard his drunken ass exclaim as those forgotten electrifying eyes stared into mine. His pupils were dilated, but eyes as charming as I had last remembered them to be.
"Good. Great even, maybe." I smiled. I remembered about Mel telling me how she still wonders why they didn't work out.
We had a pretty long, loud, drunken chat. Started out at the 2nd floor staircase, then were forced to migrate down to Jo's garden table because of the sudden intrudence of drunks clambering down the staircase. Tipsy as he was, he looked kinda good with his lanky legs stretching out past me.
"I'm okay now, you don't have to worry", he said loudly, and grinned. I smiled back, silent. Crickets rang in the background.
After about a minute of observing silence, he went on about how he was mad at me at first, but is okay now. How he understands why I had to make the decision I made. How he's just relieved that at least I have someone to confide in now, someone worth it, someone better than my ex-bf. How he's no longer mad at me.
"You're kinda quiet. Say something". That same charming eyes stared into me once again, soft, hinting a bit of sense out of that drunken stupor he was in. I could have sworn I had a million words to say when I was at home, but then, staring into those dark eyes not a single word came out.
"I wasn't playing you out..." I muttered, a hint of guilt evident in my glimmering eyes. "I'm sorry it had to turn out this way".
"It's okay. I'm no longer mad at you. I was... but not anymore. I'm just glad you're not with that stupid ex of yours anymore." He paused. "Maybe... you know, it's just not meant to be between us. Maybe we're just meant to be as good friends as we started out to be 7 years ago. We could have fucked our friendship up more had we been together." he said, consoling himself. I nodded subtly. For a moment, I forgot that he was drunk.
We talked a bit more. About this, my side of the story, about life now, about work, about his plans and my plans. We worked out nicely, I think. I kinda missed him a little. I wondered if he would remember this talk we had.
"Would you remember this talk we had?"
"Uh, I think so".
Great. So, everything settled, we went back up. Or rather, he staggered up the stairs and me clambering behind him making sure he doesnt fall off the winding staircase. Us at that moment - once more, the friends we were since 7 years ago.
We met with more drunks along the way. Faizal had passed out on the toilet floor. Everyone was red and giggly. At the top floor, I found Mel.
"How'd it go?" Mel asked, with a worried expression on her face.
"Good, I think? Hopefully he'll remember", I snickered.
We had a last chat up on the rooftop as the stars shimmered above us. I'm gonna miss her. I'm gonna miss everyone.
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Here's a short note of what I have discovered about the different types of drunks through yesterday's experience. Writing from a sober, and utterly sane person:
- The tipsy happy, high drunk.
- The melancholy 'life sucks' drunk.
- The I'm-too-fucking-drunk-to-fucking-move, and if-I-move-I'll-puke drunk.
- The restless, red-in-face "NO, I'm not drunk" jittery drunk that's trying desperately to stand up without having his knees collapse beneath him.
- The red in the face expressionless drunk.
- The braggard "I've done this a million times and I'm not drunk " drunk.
- The passed out drunk.
Probably a lot more kinds of drunks, but I'd better stop now before I throw up.
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Ugly Mofo. {010205, 2317}
Bz bz bz + sucky comp at work that doesn't allow me to update my entries; thus explaining why I have not been updating this piece of shit.
Here's a peek as to what I've been up to lately:
~ 5 day trip to Genting Highlands, which added an extra 5-inch gut sticking out by the side of my stomach (GUT, not tummy). Nice and cold, but we perspired our buttocks off once we reached KL which was a 'KOOL' 39 degrees. Dad had to make a pit stop halfway through the highway coz I had to take an urgent shit. Woah.
~ Blew 40 FRICKING bucks on a haircut in which all the hairdresser did was to trim off a few milimetres of the edge of my hair and fringe, but which incredibly resulted in a shittified hairstyle.
~ Did not receive my end of year bonus because my bosses are a bunch of rich 5k-watch-buying but stingy bastards.
~ Hate work, hate life and hate you, still.
~ Almost predictably, had the usual nasty bits of projects to do at work. Yes, I'm still at the same shitty job.
~ And last but not least, I am still a feminist.
In the midst of doing a gallery flash page for Shanghai Fine Arts, I took the liberty of studying several "ORNATE" pieces. Here's my personal favourite:
Yes, say it. This is one hell of an
ugly MOFO.
When I first saw this piece, the first thing that came to my mind was "Holy shit! That is one hell of an ugly mothafucka!!".
This figurine is supposed to be a warrior, with boobs, a skirt, and an ugly face. At first I thought it was a woman warrior, but then it occured to me that it has got to be one hell of an ugly woman for it to be a woman. So I have decisively concluded this figurine to be an IT. Yes, an IT.
Reason why its my favourite is because babies and kids cry when they see this figurine. Too good to be true!! Heck, even I could shit my pants if someone was to shove it in my face.
Anyways, I'm just hoping this thing doesnt come to live and haunt me. In an arty farty expression, and to let it rest, let's just say the artist carved it out to be erm, displayed with humour. Or hell, it has simply got to be some other darn good reason for it to be held in awe of millions of blinded arty farty poofs.
Take care now, peeps.
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Momo. {180105, 1736}
Momo is a cat.
Momo is one of three cats living in the office.
Momo is the youngest, newest addition of the three cats.
Momo is white, with dirty grey spots on its back.
People look at Momo and exclaim, 'She looks like a stray!'.
Momo IS a stray.
Momo was rescued along Sago Street, dirty and bruised, the whites of her fur an ugly tinge of grey.
Today, Momo is horny.
Momo is calling out for her long-awaited feline sexual soulmate.
Momo is calling out at the top of her lungs.
Momo is pissing me off with her endless mating calls.
I am wondering to myself how to shut Momo up.
I let Momo continue her yapping.
Momo is testing my tolerance levels but I am more patient than she thinks.
I come out to grab a nice, cold drink and I see Momo frolicking against my new brown sandals.
Momo's ass is perched as if gazing up high towards the skies.
I come back with a drink and Momo is flirting with the large gay cat.
The gay cat looks confused.
The gay cat does not know why Momo is behaving this way.
The gay cat does not have balls.
I will tell the bosses about how horny Momo had been when they come back.
The bosses will laugh and send Momo to the pet clinic.
The pet clinic will rip Momo's tubes and guts out of her tiny virgin pee-hole.
Momo will not budge.
Momo will be under anaesthetic.
Momo will not know what they are doing to her.
Momo's guts will bleed out as the operation is pronounced a success.
The bosses will laugh all the way back to the office, holding unsuspecting Momo in their arms.
Momo will be quiet.
Momo will stare into the distance, blankness in her eyes.
Momo will feel confused, and maybe even agitated, but they say that's just normal.
Momo will join the other two gay cats in the office and not know what had just happened.
Momo will rest her tiny little head on her favourite buffalo-fur rug and go to sleep.
Momo will no longer feel horny.
Momo will no longer need to find her sexual soulmate.
As I speak, Momo's mating calls are getting shriller and more amplified.
Momo should know better.
Momo should shut the fuck up.
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{170105, 1519}
Came in late to the office today - bosses arent ard and was running back and forth all morning from printer to client and spent a whole 30 fricking bucks on cabfare (that fortunately can be reimbursed later). So here I was, the one, and only one unsuspecting employee, feeling relieved after all the panic spurred by the running around. Grabbed my keys, opened the door, and I was immediately greeted by 3 very hysterical and hungry cats. God. Did anyone feed them over the weekend? Too late to bother, I thought, as I poured out a mountain of catfood over the cleaned out bowls, the starving cats lunging towards ambrosia.
I trudged past the couch into the room. My eyes widened as I slowed down for a look around. For a moment, it seemed as though the last time anyone saw to this place was... months ago. The floor was sticky, the stench from the cat litter lingered from the bathroom and straight to the back of my head through my nostrils causing an instant headache. The photoframes of happy smiling faces were toppled, quotations and bills was all over the floor, and even the toilet light had been left on.
I clipped my nose with my fingers and switched off the toilet light. LO AND BEHOLD, Ms momo, the crazy once-kitten-now-pubescent-cat had once again been playing with the toilet paper, leaving a heap of ripped apart deemed-useless toilet paper all over the bathroom floor. Grains of stained cat litter crystals formed an ironically pretty pattern on the bathroom floor.
Ohh. My. God.
I turned and quickly headed for the office room. Such a mess! Such a mess! I thought as I looked at my table. Messy, but apparently the way I had left it last friday. I turned around. I gasped.
FURBALL!!
Right in the middle of my boss' $200 IKEA armchair sat a clump of dirty-orange furball in a pool of cat drool. On the way out to dump the icky furball now wrapped in a wad of toilet paper taken from the bathroom floor, i stopped short off a pile of cat vomit - the tiny balls of cat food still retaining its shape, soggy and lumped together like a bunch of fish eggs. Yum indeed.
Now I'm feeling much calmer. Place is cleaned up, floor swept out with magic broom wet wipes, an empty plate of from-home lunch in front of me(budget thanks to the $30 cabfares) and music blasting from the speakers. I quickly grab another piece of tissuepaper from my bag and blow out a long snuff of mucous, then throwing it out to the growing heap of snort-filled tissues by the side of the table. Yes, here I am with a sinus infection, using my boss' computer and only within the past 5 minutes, realising that I'm sitting on what was a pile of furball and cat drool.
THANK YOU CATS. Thank you so damn fucking much.
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{120105, 0005}
Yet another mundane week. Comp at work sucks and I have not been able to update my entries there, and nothing is new and nothing is interesting. Oh yeah. Apart from the part where I saw a man deep-throating a statue at Marina City Park -- YES IM NOT KIDDING. And the statue did not even resemble any life-like object to fricking begin with! WHAT IS THE FRICKING MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE. And don't ask me what I was doing there *evil grin*.
Nyways to spur off a bit of gossip, I heard that lady-boss was planning to buy man-boss a $5k watch for his birthday. No, that's not a typo. It's 5KKK. That lucky jerk. Hearing stories like this makes you wanna buy more 4d tickets and hope to strike lottery.
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{040105, 2206}
Today, I was slacking out of my fricking wits at work (yes, plenty of work but I simply cant be damn bothered as usual), and decided to surf around a little. So here I was, innocently sitting around on my arse surfing friendster cluelessly when I came across someone who happened to be one of my said 'friend' who I had no fricking idea how she got there (oh wait she was fr my primary sch and i HATE HER, and hate her even more now), and that was when I immediately heard the bitch alarm go off.
Okay, so go ahead and openly admit how much of a bitch you are by calling yourself one, even though it frankly isn't necessary. Yes go ahead and list the ten page essay of your whole life and your hobbies all under the 'about me' section that god-knows who will be interested in. Go ahead, whine, 'BOO HOO', about how 'hot' you are and how guys are messaging you asking to be friends and for one night stands (Need I say more?).Yes yes, while you're at it, why dont you include your blog address for the whole world to read about your shitty life and thus making it easier for dog-wanking old pervertic butt-scratching ahpeks to get to your contact number and thus resulting in you getting more one night stand requests? OH. So you did.
Anyway, out of that shitty EVIL thing called curiosity, I went on ahead to her blog address even though I knew my instant entrance to the page would add yet another digit to her counter thus making her thrilled out of her fricking mind at 'oooh' how many people are visiting her damn site. I was rudely shocked by a horrid greeting of splashes of rude neon pink, shitty pics and horrid music (that is at the same time also rather predictable). Which made me regret my actions instantaneously.
I braved on. Read the first sentence, skipped, read the next entry, skipped, skipped skipped, then hit the large red cross on the top right hand side of my screen with much glee, that was at that moment the only good thing about the page.
I wondered to myself. Are all girls this stupid? I cringed. Just for the sake of sweet sweet feminist rights, I took the liberty of plunging into the shit-smeared hell-holes of a few other blogs belonging to girls after sucking in a lungful of air and braving myself.
I was horrified.
Out of about the 10 sites I browsed briefly (purely for feminist right's sake, yes I love you so), there was only A SMALL MINORITY that I found a little less than painful to read. Something intelligent. Something written with thought and brains. not with an ass and a pile of boobs.
The rest of the girls went on and on about the shopping spree they had that day and the day before and the day before yesterday, and how they took a shit that morning, and what they ate for the whole week (salad, low-calory food and inedible diet mush food - god, people. is salad even food?!?!). Some even took the 'kind' EVIL liberty of posting up megabytes and megabytes of shitty images of the ugly shoes they bought and the "BEYOND EXTRAORDINARY! gasp" bags and accessories.
WHAT IS THE FRICKING POINT PEOPLE? Why are you so stupid! Here's an image for you, moron:
*insert pic of very large object to stuff up your ass here*.
I may not have the best "blog" (oh dat eviiil word) and i AM a girl afterall but at least I refrain from writing stupid stuff that people have no interest in reading because it is on every other fricking person's blog out there. ARRRRRRRRGGHHH!!!! Leave me alone while I scrub my eyeballs out of their sockets with ammonia straight out from the cat litter.
PEOPLE ARE SO STUPID.
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{010105, 1825}
Ages since I typed in this shitty thing. I typed, I deleted, then I typed and deleted again. Then I discover all I want to do is to go back to lazing ard on bed like I did all week for my one week holiday, and read a damn book. No, it does not make me a fucking loser to be reading a book all day and actually enjoying it. Yes, I still hate you. Yes you.
Anyway, kinda hard for me to admit. I actually enjoyed too damn much, this "one week of lazing around" and having completely no life watsoever. I enjoyed that stereotypically 'boring boring' time I had with myself. I thought I'd be completely bored at first, but then it was surprising when it dawned on me how much I was enjoying myself.
Think about it. When was the last time you ever did anything for yourself, with yourself, 'boring' to other people or not. When did you spend quality time NOT sleeping through the cold, cosy, horny-little-boys-running-ard-in-their-underwears weather, but instead doing something nice and comforting for yourself. Apart from partying, apart from hanging out with your friends. Hell, you'd be surprised at how much you'll enjoy just being yourself in your old grey stinky sweatstained shirt and boxers sitting ard at home doing what everyone most loves to do but forgot how to do. Being lazy. Being alone.
I think one of my new year resolutions, and should be on everyone's list, would be to just spend some quality gay ass-hugging time with myself. Yes, that is exactly what everyone needs to do to stop corrupting their stupid minds with stupid beer-drinking fag-sucking habits.
A peaceful time to themselves. Happy new year everyone.
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{241204, 0003}
Time: 0003.
It's Xmas.
People are cheering.
My birthday's over.
They're celebrating the end of my birthday.
And so am I.
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