Recently, I'm addicted to this blog. http://www.xanga.com/ricebunny

Seriously, I think the blogger is wayyy cool and I lurrrve her tutorials. She has a serious talent for wielding the brushes and sponging her face. At least to me, who uses her finger to put on all sorts of gunk onto my face, she is good.
She is pretty and she knows all the tricks of proper cosmetics/beauty application, yet she is not stingy about sharing them.

I mean, think about it this way, she could just hoard all the beauty secrets and secretly wish that those who are ugly will forever remain ugly, and those who are already pretty and well-versed in make up tricks, will never surpass her. Right?

And the coolest part is she gets down to the details, which sits really well for people like me, who loves to be spoonfed.
For example, my favourite - her tutorial on the Aspirin mask. She even tells you what brand of aspirin is good to use, so that you wouldn't spend a bomb trying different brands of aspirin. And I love it when she tells you to "sprinkle and I mean sprinkle drops of water".

Anyways, enough of gushing. You guys can go check out her blog yourself. BTW, I'm in no way related to her, I'm just sharing a cool new site that I found, to all those makeup junkies/wannabes/dunnohowtobes out there.

I was in TTS hospital pretty often lately because my grandfather was admitted after a fall.

In the past before the hospital's facelift, on the rare occassions when I went to the old facilities to visit some distant old relative on his/her dying bed, I'd be holding my breath for fear of contracting some airborn virus from the mouth of some coughing old man with terminal illnesses. Even after its facelift, with it's swanky new lobby, starbucks and all that cool shit that defines a cool new place, I still get the creeps the moment I stepped into the place.

Sharing the room with 5 other ole man, Gramps was occupying the window bed. He looked just like he always look, on weekends when the whole family would go over to have dinner with the folks. He didn't look too bad, except his usual strong voice is replaced by a barely audible whisper; and he constantly rubbed his tummy with a pained expression, while sniffing his medicated oil that I've always seen him sniffed for 20 odd years. He didnt look scary, but the scene around him did. Morbid, rather.

The old men were in varying stages of consciousness and mobility.

The old man lying at the other far corner had a tube that extended in the depth of his nostrils and he kept hacking up terrible things.

The old man on the bed beside my Gramps was extremely grumpy to all those around him. He was calling for the Missy, and was cursing and swearing and demanded to have his teeth brushed, although he looked like he was delirious, because he kept muttering some thing about some unfilial son in a mixture of Hokkien and ENglish.

The chap lying in the bed opposite gramps kept asking his wife and his maid, which of his friends had died.
"Eh, Aloysius died right?"
"Then what about Sam? Sam died too right?"
"Ah David, is David dead? Yea i remember, he died"
"Oh and there's Christopher, he's dying too right? He doesn't recognize anyone any more, right?"
ANd he goes on endlessly...

But through all the poignancy and gloominess, all around in the room, toothless old ladies held on to the hands of their significant half, stroking their arms occasionally and listening to the old men's barely audible whispers.

Looking on, I asked the bf, would he find it a hassle, that when I grow old and wrinkly and ugly and sickly, and my pau cheeks no longer bouncy and I'm no longer sexy, to take care of me everyday, wipe my drool off my cheeks, even if I do not recognise him anymore?

He said he would. (it's a Ten-year series sort of no-brainer answer for now.) But I believed him.

I believe that he loves me, and would want to take care of me for the rest of my life, but to love someone, you need to love something about that somebody. Something about me must bring him joy: make him happy, cook nice food for him, have great sex with him every now and then, try to look cute all the time, be fun to be around, connect with him intellectually etc, for him to continue loving me. That's why I would try to not be ge gao, unhygienic, ugly and fat even when I'm 40.

But the point is, when I am delirious and gross, and have clean forgotten him and our lives together, the only reason why he'll be be my bedside cleaning up my drool is probably because he feels that it's his responsibility to take care of me, his partner for life.

Responsibility. I don't want responsibility without love, I said.

He said, by then, love would settle into a quiet sort of comfort between a couple. It's accountability, responsibility yadayadyada....And I would treasure the memories we had together, and I can hold on to that to love you.

Digressing, if memories were sufficient for passion to burn, then he would still be in love with his ex gfs wouldn't he? <--Not trying to be ge gao here

Even though I've always been cynical about love, I'm ironically a romantic at heart.
To me, love is a philosophy, an emotion. yet to him, he walks the straight and narrow path on the idea of love that has been passed down for generations: responsibility and companionship.

So even when I am 89, stricken with Parkinson, lying immobile on a hospital bed, drooling, he would take care of me, and maybe thinks that he loves me.

Me? If we grew old together, and he got into the above mentioned situation instead of me, I would defintely be like one of those old ladies there gingerly scooping water for him and taking care of his every needs. But would I call that love? That I'm not so sure.

I might, when I'm 50, have seen more of life, and is greying myself,. But I guess I'm still too young to comprehend how can there be love without attraction.

D'Element Fashion Show

OoooKie, My Bad. This post is probably like a MONTH over due and I can only recall it hazily now. BUT I had the contents typed out, and I just had to upload the pictures (which was the one that took really long)...Genius me eh? Anyways, it's about a pretty cool fashion show that I did about A MONTH ago. Pretty cool cos the girls were cool, the outfits were cool, and this time, I had 2 dressers to change for me. WooHOoooo...But before you start thinking that I'm some whip wielding slave-driver who expect poor girls to pick my toe nails and buckle my 5 inch heels for me, I have to say that the interim between my outfit 1 and outfit 2 was a mad rush, especially with the ongoing craze with the layering fashion. Bah...long shirt over tight, with boots and a wrap around that I dunno what it's called, with a plaid cabby cap, and giant hoop earrings, plus a bunch of bangles,and a vest and OH MY GOSH, I CANNOT REMEMBER LA.


My 2 lovely dressers.



Preshow, camwhoring sans makeup. the lightings in the ballroom make it possible without us looking ghastly. Lyndia and I



The pre-show runway. OKie la, almost every picture here is taken either pre-show, or post show. Cos all 10 girls were in a crazy mad stripping and piling on clothes during show, that there's no time for cam-whoring


Preshow prancing about and practicing our walks in the ill-fitting sponsors' heels or own 5inch high heels, lest we trip and fall on stage later.



I never had an issue with my height...well at least not THAT often...

I mean being 170cm tall, plus my trademark 3 inch (and above) heels that I never make an entrance without, you can bet that I tower over most people.

But for the fashion show on Saturday, I was towered over by most, despite being in my 5-inch catwalk heels. Wah Piang eh... The girls were all GORGEOUS, skinny and TALL, like 175cm and above kinda TALL(plus all with their own 5 inch heels)... You can bet that my self-esteem was looking like a raisin, if self-esteems can be seen.

DOn't believe you see...

That's Janine and Me. I'm in this Hiao flamingo dress with feathers. Poooooh, talk about couture. Janine is like 179cm? and has legs that starts from the ground and ends at my waist.

On the runway, she looks like she walks on imported air. Not me, Claire. Damn, I think I am a good 4-5 years older than her....feels ole.







Apart from the fact that they made me the flower girl for the grand finale, because well, I LOOKED like *eh-hem* a girl (with the lack of height and all), and put me in a flowery tiered dress for my last segment, I had a blast of a time with the girlies. ;p I hated my finale dress though, and unfortunately for me, that was the dress I had to take most of my pictures in.

I look like a damn tierd cake




Did I mention that my nickname was "the short one"?

But with friends like that...


and pretty clothes like that...





and fun like that....



and a buffet spread of rich sinful chocolate cakes tempuraand Har Kow for anorexic-looking girls to feast on afterwards, I guess I didn't really minded being shortie for a day. K fine, 2 days: casting & fitting day, and show day.


In case you were wondering, alot of the pictures were stolen from Lyndia. So she's highly featured here. :p

[Guess who's this? Yes, Click here!]


This company is obviously trying to be racially friendly. That's prolly how I made it there -_-||

Either that, or the people in Germany are very hungry, that's why they chose someone with huge pau cheeks to grace their kontakt page.

I hate it when I have to do OT alone in the cold, miserable office in the middle of Amoy Street at 9pm on a Friday night. Especially when everyone is on extended Deepavali Holiday.

Eee-yer, this is conservation area k?

And it doesn't take a history student to know what it means to be in a conservation area. It means this place is old, it has a history, and someone might have actually died of illnes, poor hygiene, or even murder....EEeeeps I don't want to think about it.

My office is located right next to a chinese temple, and god knows what floats around chinese temple~~ Because they cannot enter it. Eeeeps!

Let's just say that sluts get all the fun...

With nothing less than flirty fake eyelashes, 5 inch strappy heels, boobs perked to dizzying height and confidence the size of 5 Moses Lim, one could gain entry into any clubs in town for free, by just posing outside the door.

Coupled with some slinky moves on the bartop, and a devil may care attitude, you can bet that guys, who don't already have a girl in tow, will be fighting to buy you drinks.

Accept the offer, bat your super long eye lashes, down the poison in a couple of gulps....

Then RUN....

So I have not been updating....well, new job = new found busy-ness. Newer new job means new responsibility, new people to remember, and more OT.

With the newfound level of stress and insecurity, I was inflicted with a very bad case of breakouts. Not even when i was at the pinnacle of my adolescence, when everyone had red warts covering their faces did I have such major acne problems.So u can imagine how depressed I am.

Although the peeps at my new place are decent enough, but the lunch culture there is severely lacking. NOBODY EATS LUNCH LA...

I'm always a firm believer that lunch is not just the packet of chicken rice that you tapau and scoop them into your mouth without tasting them, as you loose your mind in the figures and information stacked high in front of you.

Lunch time is a time when people joke and talk with each other, about everyday nonsense. It's a time to not think about work at all. And it's a time to unwind and get recharged to get ready for the next half of the day. But no, people at my office makes calls, thump on calculators, write long reports and stare crazily at their computer screens during lunch. So almost every lunch, I'll be sitting alone in one corner of the marketplace, overwhelming with groups of execs from Raffles place and Shenton way area. I'll be starring down at my plate of wanton mee sullenly, trying to avert my eyes from curious gaze from passers-by. Because it sucks to eat lunch alone, and I totally miss the peeps back in Huntinton. Even when I was teaching, I would have lunch company almost everyday. People would jio everyone to lunch everytime, unless our timetables clash; even so, we'd try to wait for each other.

Back in Huntinton, even if I had lunch duty, Eunice would always wait for me and accompany me, and me vice versa. And we'd spend that 1 hour of our time, feasting on big plates of char kway tiao or economical rice, and top it up with tau hway and 2 slices of cut fruits. And no I didnt gain weight at all. Even though some of the assocaites would sometimes insist on packeting food back to the office, we would always sit together at the meeting room, and talk about silly nonsense to political science and lousy clients over lunch.





I miss my friends there.

The C-list socialites

At the recent launch that my company went to, I had a taste of what
C-list socialites were like.

Pretentious, cakey, shrill and whores for media attention.

Okie, when we received the invite list for some of the VIPs of that night, i was astounded by the designation of some (in fact most) of them. Eg:
Name & Designation
MR Tan KK and Mrs Gucci Tan (Businessman & Tai tai)

So i asked my colleagues, erm wouldn't the "tai tai" designation be a little informal/ derogatory for the event that we'd be attending? Considering the formalities of it all. And that shouldn't we give these women an identity of their own? Instead of naming themselves as tai tai, which literally translate to "Some rich men's wife". Like a possession.
I would think that even a "Home-maker" sounds better as a designation than a "Taitai" even though that word comes without the glamour.
But no, according to my colleague, who was liaising with the events company, THAT was the designation they gave themselves.

And so i attended the event bubbling with excitement, and awaited with bated breath like a 5 year old girl, waiting to watch the Cirque du Soleil. And boy, i was massively disappointed.
The moment they arrived in their flashy red car, first they posed haughtily at the entrance, then they waltz in somewhat not so gracefully in their 5000 inch heels (i mean if they have heels that are higher than mine, then they must be 5000 inches).
The moment they got to the register, they bent down, and planted fake *Muack muack* kisses on the cheeks of the girl doing events register. AS IF THEY WERE LONG LOST GOOD FRIENDS. But no, according to the girl doing events, it was all for the camera, for the media, for the paparrazzi. The fact is, they hardly knew each other.

I've always thought that tai tais( well at least most of those that I've encountered while I was interning at the Art Museum), had gorgeous glowing skin, and silky soft hair, that are too etheral for the touch of us mere mortals. But no ley...it seems that these bunch, whom I termed the C-list tai tais, had skin that were cakier than mine. Some had hair that were frizzier than mine. For those who has seen my hair ah, will know that I have very messy, unruly kinks for hair, almost perpetually. But u see, it's tolerable for me, because I am a busy little graduate/trainee in my new job with no money and no time, and I even have to model part time to sustain myself. What's more, these are self-acclaimed Tai tais ley...Tai tais do things like sit in the salon and do hair/nails/slim wraps all the time. So you can imagine that I was majorly disappointed. On top of that, they didnt seem like the philanthrophic type that volunteer their services at places like the Singapore Art Museum or any other charitable organizations, but are those who REALLY squander their time partying away at social events and talks only about who's a bitch and who isn't. Basically, they remind me of Paris Hilton, but a less famous, and less pretty one.

The ultimatum came, when i had to interview them.
Because i was relatively new, and none of them knew me, they asked for my name after my interview, perhaps because it was only polite to do so especailly i had asked for their name (in my case, it was because I had to insert it into the video), not because i want to google about them and marry their sons. But when i politely replied that my name is xiao yun, there were a bunch of them (with the bad hair and poor taste in clothes), went gasping to each other, and to some of the ang mo guests "Oh it's a chinese name, oh it's an asian name."

As if a Chinese name is cheaper than a western name. WTF~

And apparently, one of them had a pseudo japanese hello kitty kind of name, which i would write here in font size 42, if not for the fact that knowing they are so media-whorish, they might just google for their own names and locate my blog. Eh but a pseudo Jap name is also Asian what...so I don't understand why is my Chinese name less worthy of being recognized than her stupid pseudo-jap name. The other one was even more pretentious, she was named after a designer brand whose fashion show I can only dream of doing, if I wake up one day to find myself with legs that are 1.5m. For the purpose of illustration only, eg Bvulgari Lee.

Furthermore, the adjectives in their vocabulary do not go beyond "beautiful" and "nice", as I've discovered upon looking at my interview notepad which i've scribbled down notes of their response. There was this one with very flat hair, who obviously has difficulty in expressing her delight at the unvieling, that she kept mumbling "ah so nice....hmm just very nice...i Like, nice to put in the house etc etc etc" and it was only until i gently cued in the word "sensual" then she was like "ah yes, sensuous very sexy, very sexy" etc etc...And then she kept using my word ever since. Dumbass.

Unlike the ones who've volunteered at the museum, these were obviously lacking in good-breeding, manners and intellect.

I was actually damn sad to leave, and so were the students. They wept, they begged, but I told themeven if this had been my chosen career path, I'd need to go to NIE.

And so I left for greener pastures...

And the good thing about my work place is that there isn't any stupid males around. Everyone in my office is a female. Noobody is ugly, and nobody is stupid. They can speak well, conduct themselves very well. Because I am really allergic to stupid males.

For a 22-year old woman, it is very disturbing when she doesn't seem to be able to attract anymore men, but instead, intrigues the fantasy of underaged boys (all under 16 can?!? like how sick right?) ...

This is what I call gua gua gua....

OMFG!

I just signed up for an exotic dance class which spans over 6 weeks. When I was a kid, I used to pout and try to wriggle my way out of ballet and chinese dance classes when my mother signed me up for them, but now I signed up for an exotic dance class on my own accord. So I think I'm really crazy, because as I type this, i still can't believe that I've actually forked out $150 for 6 sessions of 1.5 hour Exotic classes for beginners. And I remember that every first dance lesson that I was forced to go to, the teacher would take alook at my limbs and automatically grouped me with the more graceful girls, thinking that I can dance the cheemer stuff. Budden, I always get kicked out of dance classes due to inattention, too much giggling, or get reprimanded for being 3 counts behind the rest of the class. Aiya because it's embarrassing to do those monkey poses in front of a mirror mah...And it's not seh like when you do a catwalk. To me, I look goofy when dancing.

People who knows me knows that I own 2 left feet, and I can only do a semblance of a dance when I'm slightly drunk.

And I just found out that I've been writing "Enclosed is my resume for your preview" Instead of review in all of the recent cover letters that I've sent out. Duh-uh...this is damn fucking emabrrassing, for who'd wanna have a PREVIEW of my resume...

Ahh I'm returning to the blogosphere again...A proof of a stale life.

For once, ever since I start teaching, I am looking forward for the weekends to end and for school to start... ...

That is like how retarded right?

She looks like she don't care
Smooth as silk
Cool a air
Oh it make you wanna cry

She doesn't know your name
And your heart beats like a subway train
Oh, it makes you wanna die...

Maria, You've gotta see her
Go insane and out of your mind

I feel like 13 again and I think I'm going crazyyyy

The Fucking entry

Of late, my blog has been the only fucking place where I can scold vulgarities with no fucking restraint.

A month plus or so ago, the word "Fucking" comprised allmost all of Yours Truly's adjective usage, A person who thought very highly of himself would be called a "BIG FUCK", people were referred to as "Fuckers" or "FUCKTARDS" and I begin almost every other sentence with "nabeh".

But now, I have to show a grerat deal of restraint because I am teaching in a Secondary school, and secondary school kids have a looong memory when it comes to things like that

There was once when the noise-level of a class rose to unprecetended levels, and I was arrowed lots of shit by the HOD. Feeling extremely in need to vent if not I'll go crazy, I mouthed a slient "fuck you". But apparently, the boys sitting in the front row saw that and went into an excited flurry, discussing amongst themselves trying to come to a conclusion if I had indeed said that "F"-word.

So if anyone wants to have an ah lian conversation, please call me on my mobile...And allow me to fuck you upside down with those glorious words,

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!

I know this may seem like a silly present, but I actually suggested to the BF to buy a giant 6 litre bottle of Camphor Oil (or commonly known as the yellow colour liquid that you pour on cuts and wounds before you paste the plaster) as a Bday present. And then Genie granted me my wish...



It'll be good if I actually become the spokesmodel for this brand of herbal oil, because I'm so accident prone, that I manage to finish in a year, what the bf AND his family took 25 years to finish. Somehow. And I apply it on any fucking place that I feel like applying it on. I think I might be addicted to this grandfather's ointment.

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So I demanded for a Yam cake from my dad the weekend before my birthday, for my birthday.

SO the silly BF went around Singapore to search for the PERFECT Yam Cake because he know I luuurve Yam cakes. He googled, checked forums bla bla bla, and finally found "The Best Yam Cake in SIngapore", and placed an order for a huge one.

So on the day of my birthday, while I was still snoozing in bed, he went out to fetch the "Best Yam cake in SIngapore" hoping to surprise me.

When he picked it up, he saw a small container of chilli sauce nestled comfortably in one corner on top of the box with the "Best Yam Cake". The box was lavishly wrapped, with maroon ribbons that had gold borders. It was after all the "Best Yam Cake" So he catiously asked the auntie there "Auntie ah...why is there chilli sauce? I thought I ordered Yam cake?"

And Yam cake it was... But not the sweet, creamy Western type that I craved, but the savoury, Chinese steamed yam cakes that our ah ma will make occassionally, or what we call the Or Kuey.



The silly baby was so afriad that I'll be angry, that he sweetened me up with a bit of "Singapore's most famous crepe"
Waiting...



then plied me with wine until I was silly, then he asked the staff at Fish & Co. to sing me a birthday jingle immediately after they brought out the cake.


Maybe it was the wine, but I found the whole thing immensely amusing. But I also thought that the Mao is the sweetest mao on earth....

....Despite the fact that he bought me ugly hello kitty (or idunno what cartoon is that) pyjamas from Pasar Malam.
Okie la...to give him credit, he also bought me a nice book, and the Estee Lauder Vinyl Lipstick set that I was searching all over the place for, and brought me to watch a musical. :P

DAMMIT I so wanted to upload my bday video of the people singing the bday jingle with my steamed chinese yam cake

I wonder why the majority of the teachers are so damn fat. I've been screaming out lessons everyday, and I fully utilized my diaphragm and every single biological voice projecting tool in my body. And I scream lessons from 8 to about 1:30pm almost everyday.

I scream history lessons to 5 classes of brats, English class to 1 class of brats, and 1 more history lesson to 1 class of older brats.

And I totter on my usual high heels, carrying tonnes of books to climb up flights of stairs everyday.

I get so exhausted by the end of the day, that I have no appetite for anything for the rest of the day.

Unless I'm the only one being over-worked, I don't see why teachers should be fat. But almost everyone of them are.

On my birthday...

8:00 am: woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Was slightly pissed that the fucktard of a principal flew me a big aeroplane. When you piss off a bday girl, you can prepare to go eat shit for the rest of your year. Wanted to contract me till late October to teach ART ... of all things. Siao~
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It's raining now...looks a bit like New Zealand in summer in the morning. Cool, crisp air with a slight breeze. Oh wait, the breeze is caused by my fan. Dang~ Well, but it's a nice kinda weather nevertheless. Haven't been up so early for such a loooong time. The times that I do experience 8am mornings, are when I'm still up. And i'm a lil excited that what the bf has in stall for me...

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


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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.

THANK GOD IS FRIDAY!!!!

Friday means the end of Communicasia 2007. This year I had the fortune/misfortune/fortune in disguise of working for Sony Ericsson. The girls whom I worked with were really lovely people. It was just too bad that our costume this year sucked, and we had no way to compete with those models from SAMSUNG and LG. And plus, we had to be there earlier than most, left later than most (because of some dumb-fucked debrief everyday idunnoforwhat), and we were paid less.

Paid less means less enthusiasm, less makeup (because makeup is expensive) and no fake eyelashes. Oh and ermm messy hair. Siao...as I was complaining the whole week, if you had to wake up at 7.30am everyday would you zhng your hair nicely? I wouldn't unless they paid me a bomb. And have I already mentioned, uniform ugly, face very nice also no use. PLus pay less means no touch up of make up after lunch. So those media that caught me after my lunch break, well too bad for me lor...

Budden there were advantages to my ugly lab-like costume. For one, the white blazer kept us warm while all other girls from other companies were shivering in their skin. We got to wear sneakers (because 4 days of exhibition on heels is A KILLER), and because our uniforms were so un-glam and un-modelly, we could pass off as staff, albeit very young ones. So I actually put that to my advantage, because when a certain someone from my ex-agency came up to me, I told her I was a staff from SE, and not a model.

Apart from the being slaved promoter style and media-whored by the company, and looking ugly, I'm happy it's froday because it means I am finally moving home. Throughout the whole exhibition period, it made sense to stay at ZY's place because he stayed sooooo near the expo. BUDDEN it's very stressful to stay at his house.

It's stressful enough to have so many rules at work. THen when you come back home, there seemed to be more 'cleanliness' rules. Something about the correct angle of the slippers in the kitchen, the hallway, the correct direction of the tap to use, the towels, the 'dirty' and 'clean' rules, having to wash your hands with dettol for touching every nitty things. Urghh i swear I can go crazy here.

Sure, I do appreciate that he and his parents really took care of me while I was there, but me being me, I hate rules. Period. And I cannot even hug Xiaobai after I've bathed because he's considered dirty. I cannot remember rules, especially those small minute details that I took for granted. Plus 'cleanliness' in his house is defined in microscopic terms. So although I have been to his house 108439424 times, I can never manage to remember what is what and how is how.

So I am glad...

I got quite substantial moolah just by doing nuthin' but sleep on my bed till half past 12 today. The photographer whom I had scheduled a shoot with called in at about 10 to cancel the shoot for some other appointments. I would have been in a raging fit and Kaobei nonstop if someone just fly my aeroplane last minute like that, but because he pacified me by nicely initiated that he compensate me via IB tmr morning, I was sweetly lulled back to sleep after sms-ing him my bank account.

So I decided to do something nice today. I cooked a feast for my dad and baby-sitted my lil' brother by bringing him out for grocery shopping and to eat shilin oyster meesua.

Oh and we bought big fresh strawberries for Daddy-kins. because I told ma lil' bro that we'd be cooking a father's day dinner for my dad in advance. My lil bro was so excited that he came out with wacky ideas for the party. In the end we settle for strawberry jelly cheescake.

Tampex Sucks, O.B. by J&J rules.

You want updates? You got updates!!!

Oh or did you mean my reaction to a certain..... LETTER?

You want to know if I cursed and swear and tore out my hair over that little piece of 'threat' that you thought was smart of you?

Too bad for you, not much excitment as you thought it would ignite.

I simply handed it to the police.

We'll hear from them soon.



Basically, nothing much...

Oh and btw, don't need to use this kind of I know where you stay kinda shit to scare me. I hardly go home.
And anonymous.com doesn't work

*BURP*

And just to let people who are very intersted in my blog know, I am pretty well connected. Policeman, MOE officers, NIE lecturers, journalists, lawyers, etc.
*Ponders for a second) Hmmm maybe not losers. No I don't remember any losers.... Yea defintely no losers.

I know it's unfair... Too bad.

**BURPS**

I love almost everything from Salvatore Ferragamo. Not Prada, not Gucci not LV. Ferragamo. If only they will sponsor me...Right...*knocks myself on the head*

***********************


A couple of days ago, an ex rang me up, and asked me if he could bring me out for dinner to 'catch up' since the exams are over. I was kind of guarded when he said that especially after a shitty, draggy breakup almost 3 years ago, and tried to think of a nonsensical no answer kinda answer, . Besides, I'm not the type who believes in keeping in contact with the ex, because the platonic feeling can never exist. Not if I once cared for this person, not if I once could feel jealous over a person's actions.

And what could we talk about? The weather? Our latest module/lecturer/school? It would be like blowing horns to the cow (Esp since I'm already ZY's mao cow), because he's from engine and I study history. I hate engine stuff, and he has absolutely no interest in mine either. Common friends? We had none. Our current partner, or partners ever since each other? I don't think I want to know... And to pretend that I'm really interested in would require quite an act. Seriously, I don't know how to behave when it comes to ex-bfs. I dunno where I stand, and the slightest glint in the eye could be taken as flirtation, because after all, we were ONCE attracted to each other. We could always sit down and PRETEND and act nonchalent, but the fact is when you see an ex's face, a text message, a stream of images from the past comes flooding back. You know you had a history.

I have been guilty of going back to the ex. Not this ex that I've mentioned above. Some other one(s). And it all came from meeting the ex for a dinner or a drink or something like that. Because it all seemed so harmless, "nah, he's just an ex, we've broken up, we're just friends. Nothing more" SO you let your guard down, because this is someone whom you've used to trust; whom you must have enjoyed your drinks with and whose scent you find so familiar that you just want to re-experience the feeling of melting into his arms. Even if it's just for a while. And suddenly you find yourself making out with someone whom you've supposedly sworn your hands off ever after.

If my instincts were correct, this ex cheated on his then gf to be with me. Either that or their relationship was on the rocks before I came and charmed him away from her. But this newer gf had just came into Uni, and like all not so ugly girls who had just stepped into Uni, she had a hoard of suitors. It didn't help that she had just started her modelling career, she was a fresh face and she met cute guys with amazing bods and 6-packs who calls her "cutie" and "sweetie" and "darlin", or rich towkays who drives mercedes and invites her to expensive restaurants and offer her a position as their mistresses. It didn't help that it was near V-day when we just got together, and most of the gifts that I had received from other guys surpassed his in monetary value. So he got insecure, and I think he started to miss HIS ex, and frequently compared me to her. (except of course I'm like 10X hotter in my own opinion). Somehow, his ex calls him up more than I do, and feeds him with information about how she saw a guy had his hands on my waist,and how some of her friends saw me at MArche with another guy. Finally, he used these as an excuse and broke up with me. I was truly heartbroken.

Later I heard from some friends that he had gotten back together with THAT ex of his, whom he had broken up to be with me.

Then while I was still mulling around in my own thoughts, he msged back again and asked me if I was seeing anyone at the moment, carefully adding a I'm just curious after some obvious after-thoughts. So I replied saying "Yes, why?"

ANd this what what he said, "Nothing really, I bought a pair of tickets to a concert and I thought it wouldn't be nice to bring you out on a date if you were seeing someone =p"

WTF...

I'm flying off to the land of hot (or not) beetlenut girls, and XXXL chicken steak, supposedly fantastic shopping, and erm...err....crazy politicians who whack each other in parliament. The last one is really none of my business.
I'm going there to smell the air soon...so See ya'll!!

I was wondering if I should update my blog as I travel or should I wait till I come back, because knowing the photowhore that I am, I'd be taking lotsa lotsa lotsa photos. And If I were to upload them all at once, the dumazz blogger is sure to hang on my again.

Actually it doesn't matter, cos I'm going on a holiday. So much to pack, then un-pack, then pack again. Sigh

Exams are out! And I am Happy-Sad.

Happy-Sad because this could very well be my last exam, and yet I think I didn't do too well for today's paper.

Happy-Sad also because if I didn't do too well, but well enough to pass, this will really be my last paper. Last paper = graduate = no more exams

Happy-Sad also because if the 2nd happy-sad was true, I'd have finally reach the end of my looooooong academic path. The bitter sweet feeling of possibly leaving this life that I've led for the past 21 years is coming to an end. No more exams ever again is a good thing, but I don't wanna leave school, and I kinda I wanna do my honours. So I'm Happy-Sad.

I dunno why I'm writing like a retard now...I sure hope I didn't write like this in my paper just now. Oh but I can't remember what I wrote. Too tired.
We're watching Spiderman tonight, and ZY is wearing his spidey shirt out to watch it. And I think he'll bring the spidey action figure. I'm just glad he hasn't manage to get a spidey suit from ebay.com, if not I'll wear a mask when I walk beside him.

I am generally quite a tolerant person when it comes to the problem of third world foreign talents. Or I should say foreign "Talents" in this case. Because the word is apparently debatale. Whether the talent is real and substantial or not, it's another matter in entirety. And if I ever do make ah tiong and ah neh comments, I mutter it under my breath. I am generally okay with them being around, as long as they the little dragon girls don't come and seduce my dad, they don't squeeze past me with some potent BO in MPSH during exams that combine with people from other facutlties, don't blow bad breath in my face, and don't speak in their native language and interrupt me during movie/lesson, and don't speak like a know-it-all just because they earned some peanut little scholarship to come to singapore to study. See...I'm okay with them. But some frigging little pea-brained ass hole had to piss me off. And yes, they belong to one of the aforementioned.

Did I mention, please do not come here and act like a major know-it-all when you cannot even speak english properly, not to mention mark me down for it?

A while ago, I received my project grade for a certain science elective that I am taking this sem. My group got a C+. I was a little shock at when I went online to check it, because I thought out presentation was pretty good, with the only screw up being that the video couldn't play during the presentation. But I didn't really take it to heart because after all, I S/U the module.

When my group met again today to sit for the final paper, I was informed by this other group member, who went to collect the comments that the TA had dispensed for the grading of the project, that made me fume.

In case anyone doesn't know, TA stands for teaching assistance. Not lecturers, not qualified teachers, just facilitators. Now, I must say that I had my fair share of superb TAs from ARTS in the past few semesters that I've been in NUS. They are receptive, facilitative, dynamic, not to mention smart, and eloquent. Potential lecturer material in the making...you can see. I've also had a couple, from a certain nationality, who can't speak english all that well, but at least they try to play fair. But these TAs from SCIENCE, fucking cannot even understand english properly, and they were grading my presentation. Do they have the right to mark me down because my english was beyond their comprehension? In the first place, were they qualified to MARK???

Now you see where did my lashing out on these "telents" didn't come from no where.

I was angry not because they gave us a C, because if I deserved that grade, then I deserve it. But no, I got a C because according to my friends, the comment went along the line of:

a) Implied that we did not visit the zoo. Reason because this particular TA so smugly asked us during the Q&A session of our presentation when did we visit the zoo.
Us: We can't remember the date, but it was in Late Jabuary, early Feb. Just before CNY.
Viet: REALLY? Because you know what, the sea lion enclosure is closed for renovations now. You sure you went to the zoo?
Me: Umm yea, So what are you trying to say? It's April now. We went in February. It wasn't close in February.
Viet: (Obviously didn't understand english) wrote something done on his paper, shook his head, muttered something to another TA, and smiled smugly to himself.

Errr excuse me Viet, our group member actually claimed the entrance ticket to the zoo, hello....do you understand that in Feb, Sea Lion enclosure is NOT close yet. Now close not equal to febraury close. Got ticket to claim = got go to zoo.
KNNBCCB! He still had the cheek to write down and implied we did not go to zoo.

Please la...if you can't even understand simple english, please go home to your kampung and rot in one corner. But don't grade me down because you are lousy and don't understand me when the rest of the class did.

b)Okay fine, I admit that my group used a set of word that is a wee little bit cheem. "Polygamous" and "Polygynous". The 2 damn zai sociology majors in my group attempted to explain them when they asked about the distinction between these 2. But they didn't understand. The distinction is not so important, but the meanings it imparts. We explained, but that lousy kennasai bunch of TAs who cannot speak nor understand english properly simply didn't understand. The difference is too colossal for square-brain to process. So they got stuck in the rut deciphering the difference.
And when they couldn't, they gave us a lousy grade and ask us "why must we use 2 different word to confuse them?"

WTF?? You get confused and so that is a fucking good reason to mark me down? I didn't invent the usage of the word on sea lions myself. Some ang mo professor who wrote a book on sea lions did. Go and mark the ang mo down la. GO!! GO call the publisher and slam the ang mo la. Say the ang mo cannot speak english properly...tell him you wanna boycott his book because he has 2 terms that you don't understand.

c) This is getting even better. This woman, who obviously doens't know what a fucking presentation is ask us to refer back to slide number X, and said, "YOu mentioned blah blah blah blah blah, how come it's not on the slide?"

Me: Erm, it's an elaboration of the point I was making.
The Unpresentable TA: Huh? But why is it not on the screen?
Me: Because it's a presentation. You only put the mainpoint on the screen and elaborate the rest. I can't possibly read off the screen
The Unpresentable TA: But it's not on the screen, I can't see

By now, I was visibly pissed by all their stupidity. Though she can't see, but she remembers it, so basically my elaboration on that point struck a chord. It means it got through, it served the point of an elaboration. Therefore it's a good elaboration, because she remembers it. And if the other TAs don't remember it, then it only shows that nobody in SCIENCE listens. They only read text books.

If you want everything on the screen, I might as well just write out a whole damn essay and use Microsoft powerpoint to flash it. I will use my standard Size 12 Times New Roman, complete with double space to write a whole full length 1500 word essay on the analysis and observations of sea lion behaviour in the zoo, and slowly scroll though the full 8 pages worth of elaborations, arguments, ideas and observations.

8 full pages of elaborations for her to see. Right smack there on the screen. Want that right? Jeez, these people have no concept of what a presentation is...

D) Then our video could not play. Somehow suay suay, it just couldn't work on the teacher's computer. I dunno why. But they wanted a video, we took good videos, just that it didn't work despite multiple runs and rehearsals at home.
So some stupid TA insisted again that we didn't go to the Zoo. Fuck la...if they really want, they can always verfiy with the module coordinator that we had receipt that said we went to the zoo one so and so date, and if they had wanted, the video cam that my group mate brought had a time and date as well.
In fact, I had the whole outing on my blog.
So there goes the whole thing about us not going to the zoo again.

Can these stoopid third world migrants just stop thinking that they are so smart. They should just go and see their own comments. See if they make any sense anot. Pity, the cohort is sooo big that the lecturers probably didn't bother going through anything. Not to mention the fact that most of us were arts students and this was an easy-peasy module, a no brainer, that no science academics would wanna waste their time on.

It didn't help that the other 2 girls in my group were drop dead gorgeous and hot. Something these TAs would never achieve, not in a million years.

You get what I'm implying?

Like I mentioned above, I dont really care if they gave me a C+ for my project. It's not the first time I am awarded with a C for anything. But they jolly well shouldn't give me some fucked up reason as to why the project warrants a C. I don't think it's fair for us to pay for their dumb ass mistakes.

The tale of a Push up Bra convert

Victoria Secrets make me miserable. Es was having a spree for VS clearance stuff. I went to check, and the smallest is too large for me. Can those ang mos make more things that are not so big? It's depressing can?

I need new bras. New Push up bras. I never thought that they worked, but after a fitting that day, I found a whole new me that I;ve never seen before. And after that time, I just found out that I've been wearing the wrong size all this while. And I just realized bras are meant to be worn TIGHT. Not move-able, not roomey, not comfortable. But TIGHT. I went for this fitting and this lady dresser who was fitting me up told me that they're supposed to be worn with only 1-2 finger space allowance btween the fabric and your skin. To make the push up possible for any bras, you need the 2 straps to support and HOLD it up. If not it's not push up. U can have bags of silicon or sponge or cushion watever, and it still wont be up. It will just become heavy and sag and you still won't get that lovely cleavage that all VS models proudly bare. If you want strapless, you get a corset.

Now it finally dawned upon me, why a certain member of the 3D, would wear that ridiculous transparent-plasticky strap whenever she wears a spaghetti strap. Because without it, she cannot tell people that she's a D anymore. She'll just be like me. And if I ever tell anyone I'm a D, the person will definitely die laughing.

That's why I need a lift. I want VS...Please VS semi-annual sale faster come. And when it comes, please have my size. I'm skinny k. Not small, just skinny, It's different. Hurhurhur

1 paper down. 4 more to go, yet I feel like I've finished having exams. I think among all my peers, I'm the laziest, slackest, and most nonsensical. During exam, I'm doing nonsense things like spree, bargaining with people to slash prices, blogging, checking my email 10 times a day and whatnot. Everything but study, even though I mentioned previously I WAS going to study. Hard.

Tomorrow's some dumb ass cosmetics and perfume module that I hardly know whats going on. I S/Ued it, so I just need to get a C for it. You know, one should not waste an S/U and get a B- or anything above. Hence I am slacking now. There's also the Animal Behaviour module on Saturday, but my group was so chin chai that we got a pretty sucky grade. So getting C is actually not gonna be a major feat for that.

I am fervently anticipating the arrival of Thursday.

On a totally unrelated note, my parents think I'm anorexic.

After a week of not seeing me, since I stay in hostel and only go home during the weekends, my parents claimed to be shocked that I've been reduced to skin and bones. Right. And I was just about to complain to ZY that I think I've put on a lil' weight from not excercising for almost 2 years. haha.

Okie I fell sick and Zy fell sick on Monday. He had to be given IV drips and I puked my stomach out and fainted. We had to eat watery porridge the rest of the day and the next day. But my appetite is fine. In fact, I think i still eat more than ZY.

But somehow my parents, when they saw me, seem to think that I've been staying in a refuge camp.

Dear mom and Dad,
I'm really fine. I might still be recovering from the bout of sickness. When you saw me, i was wearing a loose spaghetti strap that makes me somehow look alot skinnier than I really am. And my hair was messy from the frustration that I was making slow progress in my readings (not to mention I haven't washed my hair in 2 days tee hee!). And no, exam time means no modelling for me, so it's not to look nice in pictures or to secure that fashion show. So don't worry about me, and I'll be looking as I always did after my exam in 2 weeks time!

I just find it incredulous that they didn't realize I was having eating disorder in secondary school when I suddenly lose ALOT of weight and looked like I was about to faint all the time. I guess that was because they saw me everyday. But now, I don't look like I'm going to faint la. I just look a bit disheveled.

So now, I'm going to eat my harkow, lotus leaf rice, big bao, yong tau foo, chicken feet, soup and I dunno what else there is, so that when my mummy calls me yet again, in 5 minutes, I'll sound like I'm munching something and she'll think: OKie my daughter's not anorexic.

Silly billy mummy daddy...

I guess it could potentially be considered disrespectful. And I don't like to start on the 'he said it first' debate as well because it'll just be childish. Because I made those remarks, I should take responsibility airing a little the reasons for the comparisons. This is not a defence, but rather an explanation somewhat.

When we look at it, we're comparing the similarities in traits which the teachers and friends have identified in cho. comparing what he did ala adding to msn and the massacre of 32 students (33 includes himself) is like apples and oranges. as mentioned, we're comparing traits, adding to msn = part of stalking. we're not comparing the act of what he ultimately did. our dear friend hasn't done any big thing... yet. For the sake of clarification one can realise that the below post did mention that a group of girls have found the traits similar and what's shocking... the word is SHOCKING... to them was that they all linked it to the same guy that's been the subject of much unwanted discussion on the 3-4 posts on this blog. as one can see, the girls he had terrorized were genuinely worried that cho might be what our dear friend will become and they might be on his hit list. Perhaps the language used wasn't of the best in expressing their fear. i'm sorry if the language i used for identifying the traits was taken to mock the VA incident. It really wasn't the intention.

By identifying such traits in him, we are in fact identifying a possible threat to our school and preventive measures may be taken if enough people speak up against him. If you've read the news reports as well, you'd have realized that they did mention that chos are everywhere. Meaning people with such traits are in every school and level of society. He's not so much fighting a religious war but rather sees himself as being the only one going fighting for things he believes in. It need not be religious beliefs, it could just be beliefs.

Although nothing can be gained out of identifying him as a potential threat on a blog, the blogging of comparisons simply serves to wordify my shock as to the similarities between the two individuals. We're worried about the end product of what he may become really. Such things don't just happen in the states where there are guns. Remember the lecturer in Engine Fac a few years back? Not too long ago right? It happened right in our very school.

We can't ignore a potential threat but similarly we also shouldn't ignore the victims of VA and downplay the tragicness of the event in a petty squabble. As mentioned, not everyone knows all the details of whatever transpired but just to assure everyone, it was never our intention to downplay the events and make light of the whole incident. On my part I apologize if the victims or their families take offence in my identification of the similar traits of their killer and our dear friend for the purposes of identifying a potential threat to people around us.

Perhaps we typed too soon and didn't think too much that others would see it as disrespectful. To be honest, my first reaction when reading about his character traits in the newspapers was: OMG THAT'S SO HIM! yup. Really. To be frank i didn't really think OH WAIT I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO THINK THAT WAY. I was more of thinking... THAT BETTER NOT HAPPEN HERE... Such is the flaw of our brains, picking out a part here, downplaying a part there, putting bits and pieces together... Sigh. Still, I'll reserve my right to say 'I told you so' if he actually acts out like cho. Of course by then it'll be too late.