So I'm turning 22.

That day my 10-yr old little brother was told the myth of 牛郎niu2 lang2, 织女zhi3 nu3， the goatherd and the weaving-fairy, who fell in love with other, but had to stay apart because of their difference in status. Hence, they were only allowed to meet once a year via a bridge paved by swallows and clouds. And I happened to be born on that day according to the lunar calender.

SO my brother said to me one day, "Wah jie jie your birthday is so romantic. Got story one..."

Me: Huh? what story? [blur; because i was told the story when i was his age, and at that time, I couldn't make that connection]

Brother: "Doh...the story of the niu lang[cowherd] and ji nu [prostitute], it's so poignant!"

uh.....

OKay, so that's how the cowherd spent his 364 days while he's away from the weaving fairy, with the prostitute.

LOMANTIC MEH???

What a perfect waste of a day, self destructed

***I've decided to self destruct this post, to prevent the whole world from asking me to further elaborate...***

The ex and the girl.

I haven't been checking my tracker for some time, and going on tracker once again, I found it curious that my blog has been linked from some blog addy that is totally unfamiliar to me.

You see, I don't publicize my blog, and I know which blogs that I am linked to, and it's not alot. So imagine my surprise when I saw the link. Out of curiosity, I clicked on it.

It belonged to someone...I would have called her the ex of an ex, whom I've mentioned perviously here. But after reading her entries, I am not so sure if they're still together, or is she really the ex of an ex. So let's just call her Y. And we'll call the ex previously mentioned EPM.

This Y person, she pasted my entire blog address for the amusement of her blog readers, because of something I wrote in mine - A conversation between me and that EPM. And she called him a fucking bastard.

I would have been been inwardly satisfied if this had happened 2 years ago. But I am not. I could have been excessively resentful of her, as I was in the past. I was made to believe she spreaded vile lies about me, and she was the one who came in between my relationship with EPM. My heart used to miss a beat whenever I hear the name or if I see a someone who resembles her in school. And if I do spot her 50 meters away, I'd shoot out evil thoughts towards her, hoping that they'll make her as miserable as she's made me. Or maybe she'll carry some of those evil thoughts that I shot her back to EPM, and make him miserable too. But all I did was to passively allow thoughts like these to swirl in my mind. I never actively did anything. Because I've always believed, that when a relationship ends, no matter how illogical the reason for break-up is, or how hurtful it was to you, when it's over, it's over. And it's no longer appropriate for me to articulate how hurt I was.

Later, I got into a rebound relationship with some guy, and later my mao. With the mao, the Y and EPM quickly fade into nothingness. So I was wondering WHY THE FUCK is my blog addy the highlight of an entry in her blog. And the way she said it, and pasted my goddamn blog addy, it seemed like I did her wrong, with EPM.
I didn't really know what to feel when I saw it. I didn't put up that post to irk her, for I wouldn't have guessed that she'd venture to my blog. Nor do I know that at that point in time, she was still with EPM, because, like I said it's not in me to find out how 'people from the past' are doing. Even though such information can be easily accessed nowadays, I just cannot muster that ounce of courage to find out out people of my past are doing. Or I just generally don't want to know. What can I do with the new found information? Does it do me any good to mock at an ex's new bucked-teeth, greasy-haired gf, or sigh inwardly with jealously if he is going to get engaged to Fiona Xie? And the impression EPM gave me was that he is now a swinging single. I don't even bother remaining friends with most of my ex-es, especially not him.

Instead, I do not know what to feel. Hating her was, surprisingly, the furthest from my mine, and no happiness was evoked. And my heart did not miss a beat when I saw pictures of Y hugging EPM. I felt a myriad of emotions that I cannot identify, which seemed to sink into the pit of my stomach, and settling into nothingness.

But I was definitely disgusted.

She could have done it in so many other ways. I wouldn't even have minded if she had copied out a fucking entire passage from my blog without crediting me can? And none of it needed the inclusion of me, explicitly. I've extricated myself from that life, your lives, long ago, and I have no wish to be in any part of it, anymore. Anyway, I've never ever wanted to be caught in the middle, not then, not now...And I was blissfully ignorant till the aftermath.

Get it?

I think it's pretty sad, when a guy looks like an ah niang.

SKinny, lanky, , mummy's lil' baby, wimpy-looking ah niang.

But I think it's more sad, if the guy, who once looked like an ah niang,
went for a total makeover, buffed himself up etc, and end up looking like an

AH GUA


.
.
.
.
.

I need to do something about my thighs. Actually my whole body. Bumming around hasn't been good for the beauty conscience. I don't even suck in my tummy these days. Too lazy. But in order to fit into that pair of skinny mango jeans that I've been eyeing since the sale, I've gotta work hard.

I wanna look like this.



I need to stop stuffing my face with food. And now that the BF has steered clear of things with "trans-fat" (godknowswhatsthat), I should too.
Strict diet, some excercise, more sleep, early bedtime.

And MAYBE, just a tinge of hope, that from the back, with a fleeting glance, I'll look like VB in skinnies.


PS: The pair of skinnies that I bought for $20 in Taiwan grew so fucking loose that it looks like 2 cylinders encasing my thighs. I wonder how did that happen...

PPS: Which brings me to another thought...How come all the shirts that I buy from Thailand all shrink to a baby size har?? Then all the clothes that were bought in Taiwan, got stretched and expanded so much that it can pass off as a Dorothy Perkins size 14 har???

WHY WHY WHY???

The month of June and July is a good month to earn money. After all the agents and blas have paid up for my various stints, I'm reasonably richer by alot. But alas, the month of June and July also happened to be the month when you always feel you need more new clothes,makeup,bags,shoes,FOOD and whatnots. And so you will spend a large portion of your hard earn money on things that you don't even remember spending on. Budden like I say, June and July is the month when the jobs you get pay well, and they are aplety. So you can afford to ask some gormless agents from some affiliated agency from whoknowswhere to piss off when they offer you a $15/hr pay. Hurhurhur...

Here I'm whoring the newest pictures. I'm so gonna add them to my portfolio. Hurhurhur....

The bedroom series--by Anthony












Anyhoo, I just went for my 1st ever job interview at M1. Reached there at 9am, and I ended the grueling sessions of quizzes, personality tests, logic and maths tests, grammer test, comprehension test, blabla shit tests and interview at 3pm. Phew.
But what made me really pissed off was the womaan at the interview actually interrogated me for about an hour, and finally at the end, told me I lack maturity aand I'm a messy person. All from the way I wote my scripts and cancelled out the errors. Bollocks!. Eh if she wanted to be so dismissive, she didn't have to interrogate me for a whole fucking hour. Just look at my quiz scripts then send me away lor.
And later she limplied that I looked too young for the job of a trainer, hence unable to command the respect of my trainees, whm according to her, would all be in their early to late 30s. If they thought the compan had sent a kid, who would give a shit. Also according to her, a trainer needs to be calm, but from the way I wrote my essay which was full of cancellation, and from the way I had cancelled out my name because the application form had specifically stated that I have to print my name in block letters which I did not in my first attempt, I am not a very composed person.

What a bitch. As for my interview, they told us right from the start that if we dont hear from them in 2 weeks time, we are not qualified for the next round. I needn't wait for 2 weeks. I could feel it being flushed down the toilet bowl as I took a piss in the buildings toilet after the whole shitty interview.

More coverletters and resumes....

Fuck the Fucking Casino

I just came back from a trip to Genting with the boyfriend.

I usually hate to go Malaysia. The flies, the smelly like shit toilets and the lousy shopping with ugly fashion there, and the bloody hot weather that is even hotter than Singapore. And the chinky Ah bengs. I find all of it repulsive. But Genting is different. Although chinese Malaysia Ah Bengs still roam that place, the cold air up in the hills was a cheaper and more viable alternative to New Zealand anytime soon. And plus, I've hit the goddamn 21 mark about a year ago, and going on 22, and yet I haven't been to a casino. I've heard that the chips in the Genting Casion run as low as 5RM per chip at the Roulette table.

Budden as I have learnt, going to the casino was a wrong move. So was trying to recoup one's losses by trying one's luck at the Casino's slot machines. Those pretty, slot machines with flashy neon lights. Those are an endless pit, a deep abyss that pumps you try, as you feed it with more and more money in hope of hitting the jackpot. And if there is the 14,000 jackpot waiting to be won, it means that many idiots like me have pumped in $14,000 and walked away without a single cent. Knowing that, the bf and I still got tempted to try at the Jackpot, and we lost 50RM in just one sitting at the bloody jackpot.

The night before, we were playing Roulette, and I must say, although the stakes were higher at 5RM min per game, the chances of us winning were much higher. That is if you can do the maths properly, and you have that bit of luck. Because every dealer has a fixed pattern of flipping the ball, chances are one could follow a pattern to make a winning. But the wiley casino has a system of changing the dealer every hour or so, as such any patterns observed before hand is systematically forfeited. Fuck!
And that night, we went to the casino really late, at about 2am, and they had to close the tables at 3. So just after we had grandly made a loss of about 100RM at the roulette table, and were just about to start recouping losses, they had to close the table, and the bf and I were left to wander about aimlessly in the casino looking for new and interesting things to put our itchy hands on. So we tried the slot machine lor. And then like that lor, and the like that we press and press and press and suddenly 50RM is gone.

All in all, the fucking casino earned almost 200 RM from us. Budden, I'm damn glad that I wasn't in Vegas. In Vegas the minimum bet for 1 chip is 10USD i heard. And that is damn bloody chor, especially if you are unemployed and are living on modelling money, which a few of your agents have not paid up.

Will be posting my Genting pics soon. It wasn't that bad a trip, really, apart from the bad bus rides to and fro, the place swarming with rude, fat and pompous Arabs with their whole wife-children-concubine entourage clad in black, cheesy magic shows and over-charged meals, it was a nice holiday. Because it was nice and chilly (a bit like new zealand, with a lot of imagination), and the bf did not have to entertain too many sms-es from those buyers of his.

Graduation

I've decided that this day is so fussed over (by me) that it deserves a mentioning in my recently empty blog.

I've officially graduated.

To tell the truth, it's really a Happy-Sad feeling. I love being called an NUS undergraduate. I love the student discounts that you get when you produce the NUS matric card. I love it that I only "function" for 3-4 days out of a week, because my academic timetable is always arranged to be such. And I love it that I can trample the central walkway in my pretty heels and mini skirt everyday, and feel completely at ease.

But most of all, I love my teachers and friends, whom I have learnt so many things directly or indirectly. I love my subject, and how in NUS, it opened my mind to show me how it's actually not a stuffy, boring antiquated subject that is meant for professors with thick specs and long dusty nose (from burying inside the thick history books). I love the school. I dunno what else I love, but I love it.

But enough of my love for my alma matter. This post is about my graduation.

Yea, so that day began with a frenzy in the house when my parents and my brother were busying themselves with ironing their 'Sunday Bests'. It was a blitering hot day, and I could feel my carefully made up face craking under the heat. I had taken care not to put too much make up, but just enough to portray that rosy cheeked, fresh-faced graduate look. Okie, but the stupid singapore heat had to mess it up, so that by the time I put on the motarboard (ie the square hat), my hair was already sticking to my face, and I wasn't looking so fresh faced liao.


Me. The Reluctant Graduate.



That's me on the stage being award the scroll. Which my lil' brother destroyed shortly after I came out of the hall.



Pwah!!! Bitch fight! Actually this is the work of le brother. SOmehow he stupidly, irritatingly twisted some fibre inside the scroll after he held it in his hands for 10 minutes, and afterwhich I couldn't open it. And that's us trying to force it open.



Still trying...



And then when it burst open, the inside was almost pulverized. Thanks ah...I'll make sure I destroy his scroll in about 15 years time. And see? The big kukunaden had the cheek to be cheering in the background.


But complaints aside, it was still a heart-warming event, a commemoration of the 3 years, I've spent in Uni, as one of the best years in my life. No kidding. There were friends, who made it so fun to go to school, although nerdy me likes going to school to study anyway...



That's Eileen, and together we have a favourite common gossip topic. It's too private to mention here though. And she's the ONLY nice JCRC in hall. She got honours oKAY!!!!



That's the group I always have history classes with. And in some tutorials, we surf internet, look at clothes, look at dunnowhatcock stuff and laugh over caricatures of a certain somebody. Okie I better hope that no lecturers read my blog now...That's Laurence, Jacelyn, me, yirang and Lay peng



This is Akbar, whom I will always remember as the one who wanted to work in Ministry Of Manpower to catch the illegal Bangrahs...Hummm


Not to forget my fellows within the Al-Qaeda and Soviet network, hurhurhur...budden those are too smart, and they need to do honours to justify their brains la. So they only graduate next year(with HONOURS; I'm graduating with MERIT ONLY), and so no grad photos with them.
Pity, my favourite lecturers weren't there to take pictures with me, and although Lockhart is really nice, but I didn't do so well for his modules that I don't dare to ask him for a picture.

Oh and my bestie, Laura deserves a whole section all by herself. Because I didn't tell her that I was commencing because I only had 2 tickets, and I thought it would be quite cock to ask her down only to tell her that there were no seats for her. But she came down anyway and made me very very very happy. See, this is what best friends are like...She offered to be with you in significant stags of your lives. Wah so touched that she came down all the way by MRT just for me to take pictures with her. I mean really thanks alot babe! To show that i really appreciate it, I have to put alot of her pictures here.


Here's to Laura who tolerated alot of my nonsense through out our years in school. Hey we've always been in the same school since we became best friends!!! But really, I was rreally over the moon/sun/mars when you sms-ed me to say you didnt want to miss it.




We had memorable moments during UNion Camps here, and I remembered her coming over to arts during one lunch time. We had yoghurt and talked about sad stuffs. Tee Heeh...



And zhiyou who has stood by me through thick and thin, big and small, bad mood mornings, smelly breaths, and embarrassing farts. I envisioned him at my graduation when we first got together, and here he is! E-appy. I love my Mao mao!


I'm not supposed to show this picture, but what the hell, it's funny. He looks funny. Heeh.


See, I'm Happy...Yay! And I look Pretty!!!


And then, there is my family. Coincidentally, it was my lil' brother's bday as well that day.
After all that we've been through, Mummy, Daddy, I've finally graduated!!! Although I am still miserably unemployed now, at least you don't have to worry about footing my school fees of a fucking 6000 plus each year. Hurhurhur...






I love my Daddy. Strangely, I'm not one of those girls who are very close to their moms. Throughout my growing up years, I've always felt that my dad was my pillar of strength, my role model, and I've always thought he was easier to confide in.
Not that I don't love my mom, but she never seemed to be the kind of woman I'd wanna grow up to be. So I am closer to my dad.



Okie this toilet is memorable because I OCCASIONALLY steal toilet paper from here to supply my own diminishing stock back in hall.




And I'll defitely miss the quiet corridors of my department, which I'll occassionally troop in to hand in my papers, or sneak in to hand in my very late papers, or drag my feet in to collect those papers which I didn't think I did so well, or meekly glide through to see my various lecturers abouot various things. I cannot remember if I've ever mentioned that the history department has no lift, and yet it's at the highest level in the building. I think that the school thinks that history is at the opposite end of technology, hence we don't get lifts. %#$@!!!




It's been a long time since I uploaded pictures in my blog. And this entry really took sooo long to blog. So read it slowly and appreciate it okay... Read it again if you really like it...and again. Cos it really took me damn long to load all those photos.