Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The problem is, if that one person who knows absolutely everything about me, has an impression that is not altogether, uhm, right/true/close to real life, then I really don't know who to talk to.
I guess that's why they tell the bimbos and sluts to smile hard but not open their mouth.
Yesterday marked the end of Promos for the JC-goers. You know, the ones you probably haven't seen for a couple of hundred years since they got out of Secondary school because they kept themselves away from civilisation. And on their own accord, I might add!
Victor and I made jelly shots and we sat around, drinking too much, taking just one more shot and throwing Ruiyi's Dad's breakfast/belated birthday present from Eme around.
I quite liked last night((:
Especially because it's been ages since we've done that.
I feel like having a Halloween party! What say ye?
But then, I really want to have a uniform party too, so i don't know if I ought to just shut the fuck up about it and blend the two together.
Thanks to the darlings who hung out yesterday, including The Little Creature who sipped unadulterated coke and collapsed about at our drunk dials.
Love you guys to the maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaax
I still want a Halloween Party!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
I decided to waste my 365th post on you.
So MISSOHMYGOD (gosh! and you called me bimbotic?)
as if a blog post wasn't bad enough, there was this:
I realized how being expected to be an entertaining, comic-relief type of host is really hard.
It's bloody simple to announce bands and thank sponsors and not give a shit about your audience, but unfortunately, that's not what being a host is about.
I suppose there's a difference between hosting and emceeing. (or is there? hmm)
But do you honestly know what beats that?
You wouldn't believe what could possible beat being an expected-to-be-funny host at an event, you just wouldn't believe!
It is being an expected-to-be-funny-as-hell-host at a typically Singaporean event!
I proceeded to type out chunks and chunks of stuff about how for some reason my friends do not classify as typically Singaporean. But that's beside the point because you guys know that I'm not talking about you and that I love you to bits. and sometimes I am so incredibly, fucking grateful because I realize how I could just as easily have spent the last five years of my life wishing I knew people as awesome and awesomely un-singaporean as you guys.
All that sappy mush aside, lets get back to point!
Last night at my Aunt's wedding, we had an extremely entertaining host.
Who, although I knew was not making much of an impression on my mom and Grand-uncle (father of the bride), kept me laughing.
He wasn't a typically Singaporean host which was probably why he got such a minimal response from the audience.
I don't understand why putting on an incredibly strong Singaporean accent and telling slap-stick jokes gets you a raving local audience as opposed to 3,4am standup comedy numbers with AN ACTUAL POINT TO IT.
It is so incredibly hard, I'm telling you.
"Come up with 50 lame jokes" I was told, "Something that'll make the audience groan."
I should've listened because I realized, that those are the kind of jokes that the majority seem to like.
It was the same thing all over again.
Comic-relief in Skins-
My first try was the Brit Bitch which had The Trio grinning hard. But Ranjeet pointed out, very rightly, that it would go over many people's heads.
So I took a full week to master the entire gossipy-aunty persona,
And it was a hit.
I didn't mind it, not in the least, though Nad probably remembers how I whined a bit because I just COULDN'T drop my accent.
Most of the time, I understand that people have different ideas of jokes and way different things that they'll find funny.
But what I can't stand is people who then point out what a bad job the person on stage is doing. Unless of course, it's dead obvious, like the person is bloody fidgety and constantly messing up.
You see, unless you can do a better job, you seriously need to shut the fuck up.
I'm guessing that I have friends who are probably friends of hers.
So if you read this, I'm terribly sorry because I seriously have a bone to pick. If you're my friend, I am definitely not saying this to piss you off, but I sure as hell am annoyed at Rachel.
So here's my take.
I can take criticism; constructive or otherwise.
I can take people just saying, "I don't fucking like you."
I can't take people who don't have the guts to tell me to my face but go on about it without me knowing.
I'm not an excellent host, but I can bet on the Size D implants that you're probably dying for, that I've done it a couple of more times. Of course that doesn't actually mean that having done it more times qualifies me as a better host that you might be. (if you've actually hosted an event that is)
It isn't often that I'll throw my credentials in your face.
So honestly, I will take pointers (if you have any) on being a better host (in your eyes! because aren't we all dying for you approval, Rachel Lim?)
If you can point out to me, exactly where I went wrong and how, I will take this blog post down.
Being "bimbotic" does NOT count.
First of all,
I readily admit that I'm a bit of a bimbo. Anyone who knows me in real life could have pointed out to you that my onstage personas are, more often than not, mixed with the me that I am.
maybe I WANTED to be incredibly bimbotic just to get the attention I required to make the necessary announcements.
Thirdly (my last point, but not the last of possible points!)
Being bimbotic does not classify someone as being a bad host.
Especially because I mean HOST and not an Emcee at a school event where all you have to do is announce the next item and end off with a lame joke that everyone clears their throat at.
A bad host would be someone in the audience who points out what a bad job the host is doing, but should that duty/privilege be chucked to that someone,
that particular someone would fail miserably.
Rachel my dear, maybe you CAN host and emcee and whatever.
I really don't know, because I haven't actually seen you anywhere. (Mustn't forget the subtle stab here!)
If you CAN do a better job, then Kudos to you sweetheart!
If you CAN do a better job, I'd love to see your pointers on how I can improve or how I might be a better host.
I'm really not saying that winning a couple of first prizes in public speaking competitions
OR being an actual public speaking coach
OR being able to memorize an entire script in less than ten minutes
OR IN FACT, being on stage more times in the last year than you probably ever will in
But what I am saying my dear, is that I made an effort.
The script was only completed less than three days before the event.
I stayed up til 4.30am right before the event to tidy the script up and think of witty things to say to make people laugh.
Jokes that, of course, probably flew right over your little Singaporean head
At the end of the day,
saying "I personally felt she was a bad host" would have saved you and I this bullshit.
But as is.
You thinking that I didn't make a fantastic host doesn't mean that I wasn't a fantastic host.
And it certainly doesn't mean that I was a "HORRIBLE HOST" either.
Because even though I might not have been great, I did my best which is (I will pointedly say) better than you could be.
I'm not the one who was in the crowd, jeering, because I had nothing better to do.
Being on stage comes with the need to adopt a persona (I emphasize this point because whether or not I'm a bimbo in real life doesn't really matter. And it's a point you should know because you probably will never get a chance to find out for yourself, you see)
it also comes with the need to have awesomely thick skin, and the knowledge that some people will like you and some people won't.
I hardly mind people not liking me or disliking my hosting (cos it's not like I know them or will ever see them again) but what you said was pretty uncalled for.
It's not like we don't know each other or haven't spoken before, and it's not like I've hated you or done anything to piss you off.
Or have I? Because if I have then it's a different story altogether!
Anyway, I've let off more than enough steam already.
Like I said,
if in your possibly slightly delusional, fantastical world, you can do an insanely better job and host a show where the ENTIRE AUDIENCE is in love with you and appreciates your jokes and NOT A SINGLE MEMBER OF THE AUDIENCE dislikes you, then I probably am not in the audience, along with nine-tenth of the entire world and their soft toys.
IF you thought you could've done a better job and made every single one of the people at Zouk that day love you, then I'd like you to keep thinking that.
But I never hope you'll find yourself in a real-life situation because if that's all you think it's going to take, then you're missing the ear plugs, blindfolds and the glass bubble with a mirror facing yourself.
It is NOT that easy Rachel.
I could have been in a potato sack with hair styled by a blind hairdresser and I still would've done better than you.
Want to know why?
Because I actually tried, and put effort into doing my job.
And then, I did it.
Which is more than I can say for you.
So a quick-tip:
Shut the lid to that trashcan on your pretty face and you can write it down in your journal as having done me a favour.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
I am a slug and don't I know it.
Clearly, am wayyyy too lazy to do that whole rant and rave session.
In fact, I'm too lazy to go to my aunt's wedding tonight.
I'll see how I feel after taking a dump.
They tell me it's the latest thing to do, you know.
V: OMG, IS THAT SHIT GONNA EXPLODE IN OUR FACES?
me: WHY DON'T YOU LEAN FORWARD AND SEE!
I like memories, they make me sappy happy:D
Gosh D, I miss you!
I will sit in the middle of my room now and pretend to magically appear in australia!
This was so bloody hilarious and unbelievable that I just HAD TO, HAD TO, HAD TO share it with you guys.
5 Insane Devices From Kids Cartoons (That Actually Exist)
Some people watch Wile E Coyote strap himself to a giant rocket and say, "Why?" Inventors watch the same thing and say, "Why not?"
This is a tribute to the brave dreamers and engineers who are working hard to bring to market the kind of products previously only found in cartoons and ACME catalogs. Such as...
In the past, anyone wishing to scale a wall for purposes of thievery or unintentionally hilarious suicide had to do it the old-fashioned way: strapping toilet plungers to their limbs. The folks at Gekkomat have taken us into a future that not only improves exponentially on the plunger device, but may also bring a series of spectacular and comedic deaths into the world.
The device was supposedly inspired by the gecko, whose climbing ability the company wanted to duplicate "as naturally as possible." By "naturally", they mean with four huge vacuum pads, a computer and a big tank of compressed air.
This gecko is only able to adhere to this tree by means of a hidden air tank and a computer.
The Gekkomat is an awesome concept, no doubt, but the makers themselves have difficulty explaining its usefulness. The website suggests it could be used as a lifesaving device, or just for any old time when you need to scale a big wall. They stop short of saying "to steal stuff or look at naked women."
The Gekkomat can hold up to a ton of weight (like if you want to steal a grand piano from a penthouse apartment, we guess), but is probably only meant for quick smash and grab jobs. Why? The tank only holds enough air for about 30 minutes of climbing.
Built-in sensors let you know when errors have occured and, says Gekkomat, "alternatives to solve the situation are offered by the computer."
Called Gasoline Skating Shoes, these babies are just what they sound like: skates powered by fuel. The skates operate with a handheld throttle, and an engine and fuel tank are handily strapped to the right skate.
Oh, yeah! Ain't nothin' that can go wrong with that!
Notice that the gas-powered engine only actually propels one foot, momentum ostensibly dragging the other one along for the ride. The kind of experts who are paid big money to point out obvious things have warned that they could cause injury or death. The inherent dangers of careening down streets with a flammable tank on your ankle aside, the inventors left out a crucial feature: the brakes.
Not to worry, though. The fact that the gas tank is made out of plastic means you would most likely be consumed in a fiery explosion anyway, negating the need to stop. Death tends to relieve those sorts of petty concerns.
Seconds later, this soccer Mom was a charred pile of flesh.
The safety experts themselves were afraid to even test the skates, most likely taking a glance, writing "Looks pretty dangerous" on a clipboard, and breaking for lunch. The skates are now illegal just about everywhere, which probably just convinced many of you to try them.
They can supposedly be found on the internet and wherever shady, dangerous things are sold. So maybe you can in fact be a part of the second-dumbest thing involving skates in history.
Roller Disco: Still #1.
At Cracked we've seen a lot of strap-on devices, so it takes an exceptionally-engineered one to raise even one of our eyebrows. To put it bluntly, what it takes is a strap-on helicopter. The engineers at Tecnologia Aeroespacial Mexicana have answered the call.
This particular device features two hydrogen fuel tanks that propel two big, head-slicing rotor blades. The device is known as the Libelula, which we think means "Flying Guillotine" in Spanish.
While the device has only, as of now, been rendered in 3D animations, TAM has built other wacky devices (like a jet pack), so expect to see at least one of these things crashing and burning on your front lawn in the near future.
The Tam website believes it won't crash as often as a regular helicopter. "80% of the helicopter accidents are blamed to tail rotor failure that is most of the times fatal", says the designer, pointing out that this helicopter doesn't have a tail rotor. That's like pointing out that lots of car crashes are due to sudden braking, so a car without brakes is completely safe.
The site also points out that helicopter packs aren't new; they've just improved it. The idea has been around for decades. Well, no shit. It's about time science finally did something about Dr. Claw.
In cartoons, mouse catching is an art. No self-respecting animated cat would attempt to snatch a rodent without a flamethrower, an alarm clock, six or seven pulleys and a wheel of Swiss. Not to mention having a backup plan: the giant sledgehammer.
In real life, no one's improved on the beautiful simplicity of a bone-splintering square of wood with some twisted wire on it. That is, until now.
The folks at Rentokil have put their best mad scientists of extermination to work and come up with the RADAR, or Rodent Activated Detention and Riddance Unit. Call it whatever you want, for mice it's their own personal Mouseschwitz.
When a mouse enters the passageway, he activates a circuit that releases trap doors, blocking off both the entrances and trapping him in sealed chamber. Before Mickey can begin to shit his little black pants, a pressurized cylinder locks open and begins to fill the tunnel with carbon dioxide, asphyxiating the guy in 45 seconds.
If you think that's some James Bond shit, hold on to your drawers: the unit then sends you a text message letting you know the deed has been done. An actual text message, as in: OMG UR MOUSE IZ DED.
For extra fun, forward your text to PETA members.
A simultaneous text message goes to the Rentokil headquarters, which no doubt is situated on a black, craggy mountain in a choppy part of the ocean with perpetual thunder and lightning. They dispatch a couple of goons in a van to pick up the body. Seriously.
At this point we can only assume they strap the mouse to a tiny, red rocket and launch him toward the moon.
It possibly happened like this: A guy semi-dozed with a six-pack of Natural Lite in front of a Simpsons rerun, wondering if he ate the rest of those Funyuns and if it would be worth it to get up and see. He sees Bart Simpson launch a stink bomb at a guy in an Itchy costume. "Eureka!" says couch guy. "We could fling stuff into space that way."
If you're betting that this guy was an unemployed dick who bought the Idiot's Guide to Patents the next day, you'd be slightly wrong. The guy worked for the European Space Agency.
Just a couple of years ago, the ESA granted $7,000 to the University of Glasgow to study the possibility of using giant slingshots to catapult stuff into space (Yeah, Glasgow. Just substitute "Guinness" and "Sheep Rinds" for the products in the first paragraph.)
The European Space Agency hard at work.
Dr. Gianmarco Radice, head of the project pointed out that, "The cables would need to be kilometres long and have to be extremely resistant. But this could provide an efficient method of transporting goods between Earth and the moon." Thanks, Dr. Radice. We don't have any rocket scientists on the Cracked staff, so it's nice to have it explained by a professional that in order to catapult junk into space with a slingshot we'd need really long cables.
We guess it was only $7,000 (pretty sure the US military has bought toilet seats for ten times that), but still, we could have drawn up this idea on the back of a notebook for half that amount.
WHERE ARE YOU!
ARE YOU DONE BEING A CAVEMAN YET, BECAUSE I SERIOUSLY MISS YOU!
Did you know that Sepia actually means squid ink?
Why, thank you for the fact of the day Mr Victor Huang!
sorry, bad habit of talking to myself these days.
TODAY WAS FUN!
MY EVENING WAS CUTE AND EVENTFUL!
I went to Frolick where I had what I aaaalways have when I'm there (PEACH YOGHURT!)
but instead of Rasberries, Ruiyi convinced me to have this strange little oat-y thing, WHICH I TELL YOU IS DAMN NICE OKAY!
went to Liquid Kitchen for like, the next million and a half hours.
Watched Eme ogre around and inconspicuously (not!) wander over to our table while Bird was super attentive to the other customers. hahaha.
It's lovely having friends around okay.
THE JC GOERS WILL BE DONE WITH PROMOS.
Meanwhile, I'll take a couple of weeks more before I can breathe easy again.
I DID just get back my Philosophy assignment though and I'm pretty damn happy.
I've gotten higher than my other two assignments, with an 89/100.
That's like an A- or well, a mark away from it which is only a bit less than a GPA of 3.67 for that assignment.
Can't wait to finish these ruddy modules, I swear!
I want to work at Cafe Del Mar for like a month or something so that I can have a bloody nice tan. I'm dying to be a waitress because I've never ever ever done it before.
Come to think of it, after doing that flyer job where I got like $5.50 and hour (and got paid for the six hours after noon when I snuck back home) I never got those kind of temp jobs like my friends. )):
I've never been a waitress or well, you know, made crepe or served yoghurt or anything!
(I would say BLEAK because of all the Ruiyi-time and the bird and eme-time after they've had lots of Ruiyi-time. It's a new word! haha)
What must I be missing out on.
I'd really like to be a waitress because I'm a really people's person and I don't knowwww, I'd just like to try it for a bit.
I shall shut up and go to bed now.
It's sort of unnerving, not being completely sure of what you're doing tomorrow.
What happened to my plan-two-weeks-in-advance-lifestyle?
Major study weeks coming up-
YAY TO VOWS OF CELIBACY!- and after that I'm doing major packing.
I will give away lots of stuff so if you find a nice furry coat on your doorstep, it's probably me.
On second thought, I'll keep that furry coat.
But you might just find that stamp collection though, but then again, I'll probably keep that.
Yes, and half a million other things that I don't actually need.
(I kept every single copy of that hao peng you chinese newspaper which we had in primary school okay. from issue 1 in primary dunnowhat to issue 300+++ in primary five or something)
I did say I was going to sleep, no?
Okay, I will and save my word vomit for tomorrow.
"None" is NOT singular. It's like zero. It is nothing. It doesn't mean Not One.
It is a qualifier and not a quantifier.
Examples of qualifiers are MANY, ANY, FEW, SOME
Examples of quantifiers are THIS, THAT etc.
"None" is also known as a determiner.
This makes sense then, to say that when the sentence clearly states the number that "none" refers to, it will then be considered (and thus, used) as a singular.
OUT OF ALL MY PIMPLES, NONE BESIDES THIS ONE IS SHAPED LIKE A HEART.
Other than that
(and not just because it is common, but rather because it is an easier generalisation),
"none" is referred to and used as a plural.
None of them ARE coming
as opposed to
None of them IS coming.
Am I an asshole for not dropping this subject yet? ((:
You're not wrong Victor, I'm just more right that you are.
alright I didn't mean that.
BUT I SURELY AM NOT COMMON!
aaaaaaaand, I was right even though you weren't entirely wrong!
I will go reward myself with sleep now,
BECAUSE DIDN'T I BLOODY SAY THAT I WAS GOING TO GO TO BED HALF AN HOUR AGO! BLOODY HELL.
okay. goodnight world((:
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I've had a lovely couple of days- with myself and with friends too.
Bird and I reached our 5hour mark (approx 44km!) but at the expense of bodies and feeties.
We bladed all the way from one end of East Coast, all the way to the other, and then straight on to Changi Beach, AND THEN ALL THE WAY BACK AGAIN TO MEET RY FOR DINNER.
Oh yes, the falling rate was
I've got grazes and bruises )):
I came back home today and cooked dinner(:
I missed my family (.)(.)!
We can't run away from reality, but it does you wonders to take a break from life once in a while.
Which was exactly what I needed.
it's time to head back I guess(:
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
and I hope, very much and with all my heart, that is isn't another one of those things.
It should be a good one, this time.
And it's nice to see that people still jump or fall, even when you can't.
Lucky you, boy(:
Very very strangely, I woke up in a fantastic mood today.
And wow, look at the time, it's half past ten in the morning!
Mother, as one of the final things she had to say to me last night - because she was quite cross with me- was that I probably wouldn't be awake, even at 8pm today.
Then I thought, hmmm, maybe I won't be awake today, at 8 in the evening.
And I sat there, I did.
For a while actually.
I heard her come out of her room and heard her eventually go back inside too.
After all, I wasn't planning on waking up yesterday but then I did in the end, didn't I?
Damn shame, that was. haha.
Then I thought for a bit more and decided,
hmmm, what fun to prove someone wrong! Haven't quite done that as actively as when I was in Secondary school.
So I put away my penknife and left death for another day.
I do, afterall, have a bit of a mess to clean up.
Instead of constantly having an endless stream of emo emo emo posts addressed to people you can only imagine, here's what's wrong with me.
I am not depressed, thank you very much, but I do think I'm going quite mad.
A bit delirious right now, in fact.
Right now's an odd feeling, I must admit.
I feel like throwing my head back and laughing at absolutely nothing, but then if I do that, I'm quite sure to burst into tears too.
I don't want to to be around either.
Not because I'm so very sad and am lacking in forms of comfort. Not at all!
Well more because of the frustration of how tiresome life is.
The whole thinking about the major move to wherever in the world (gosh, mustn't ask about that now!),
what I'm going to do and yada yada yada.
It seems like it will take such a huge amount of effort to, I don't know, breathe correctly.
And yeah, it sort of feels like I'm not doing anything right at all.
I'm still a cutter, and have been for the last six years.
I don't know why I actually typed that out but I guess, it's the start of me not really wanting to cut myself anymore.
The thing is, to most people right, it doesn't matter that you're trying to stop. Because as far as most of them are concerned, you shouldn't have been doing it to begin with.
So you incur their wrath when they found out that you've lapsed back into it.
Even though, as you try -feebly- to explain, you kept off it for very very very long, the whole point is that you fell.
God forbid we become human, now and again.
Actually, you incur their wrath the moment they find out you've been doing-what-you-shouldn't-do, even though you've now decided to quit.
Like well, smoking for instance.
The last time I went on a no-smoking spree, I didn't tell anybody about it.
I just did it.
Then there was this whole dinner incident where only The Little Creature (darling she is!) and Victor seemed to get that, at least I was bloody trying.
I'm too bummed to talk about it now, anyhow.
I am suddenly aware of how mad I sound right now, it's kind of funny actually and I'd laugh at you if I could.
I think yesterday stung for a number of reasons.
But I don't really want to defend myself. I don't want a whole case of deja vu.
It's strange I guess, but then it's really not supposed to be a surprise that I only hang out with two straight guys these days.
I don't know, really. Guess I'm wondering if that's all you think of me now.
Can't blame you for having a seventeen year old daughter and I guess I'm sorry that I do still behave my age now and then.
I'm not being sarcastic mommy,
and I'm sorry for not hanging out with the family all that much.
Sometimes though, there isn't a point talking if no one's listening- that's all.
I still try, you know.
But you could set a bomb in a sound-proof room and no one would have any idea until it blows up and they're off screaming blue-bloody-murder.
Whatever it is, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry and I love you.
I know this might sound very odd, especially to people who know me.
I'm awfully excited for Joyce and for Chloe((:
Well it's not so strange from me to Chloe, but I've never talked to Joyce in my life before so yes, it's a bit strange.
It's nice seeing people make these amazing decisions and have someone to hold their hand and go through it with them.
I should shut up real quick before someone shoots me for being too weird.
I feel an awful lot like disappearing.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Tonight, I camwhored and went for a walk with The Little Creature.
This week's been a bit crazy.
And there's just been like, this insane amount of NEWS. gag.gawk.gag.
I sat around with TLC watching the videos she took during our little Lantern Festival get-together. It's insanely funny I'm telling you.
There was one bit where I was whining at Enqing saying something like,
"You're gonna make (the camera) unstable!"
"LIKE YOUUUU!" he answers.
Then as I'm kneeling on the floor, Victor uses lighter fluid to write this HUGE L in front of me.
"Loserrr!" Janice says, from behind the camera.
But I am completely and utterly captured by the flames (as you will see on the video)
Then Janice moves the camera up to capture everyone staring at me, staring at the flames. Okay lah, they were staring at the flames too.
But there was this amazing hush that fell upon us.
Until of course, Vicky goes, "WAH EVERYONE SO SOLEMN AH."
Whereby i proceed to wail like a walrus about my broken heart and Bird sits on me.
A fun night, all in all.
And I've no idea why I'm talking about it now.
Because I am seriously Enqing-deprived (ENQING ARE YOU READING THIS! HELLO!),
I whipped out the knitting needles again. Which sort of infected mommy, so i took out my cross-stitching while mommy took over my needles.
A couple of hours later, she wanders into my room saying,
"Jieeee, I knitted this thingy for you. And it's supposed to be for your pens."
I kind of stare at her,
"mmhmmm" I say, waiting for her to go on.
"Except," she says.
"Except?" I prompt.
"Except it looks more like a dick-warmer." ))):
So cute, I swear.
I stared at it and threw out the best TV-line I knew for this:
"WELL IT'LL MAKE A GOOD STRAP ON!"
"You know why? COS THIS DICK WARMER AIN'T GONNA WARM A SINGAPOREAN DICK"
It was awfully sweet, nonetheless.
And I promised my mommy that I'll bring it out on all the dates that I have with any men in the future and say,
"SORRY. ARE YOU BIG ENOUGH TO FIT THIS DICK WARMER. MY MOMMY WANTED ME TO CHECK."
I am tired now, and I feel like jumping out the window.
So goodnight sweethearts!
"Say goodbye Leslie," he had said, his voice firm and even.
"Stop telling me what to do! Just fuck off, will you?" I had screamed back, defiant and angry.
I shake the memory from my head. It's been three years since Daddy's car met with one owned by a drunk driver. I think, more than anything, I have been angry. Angry at that irresponsible drunkard, angry at my brother for demanding from me something I absolutely could not give, but most of all, angry at myself.
If I had driven that night, Daddy would not have had to come pick me up from campus. He would not have been on the road and he would not have met with that accident.
It took me ages before I stopped being angry at the world and at myself, but it hasn't made accepting Daddy's death any easier. No prize for guessing why my twin brother and I have kept each other at arm's length since. We kept that wall between us up until six months ago, when Mummy told me he was in the final stages of lung cancer.
I have yet to decide who I'm angrier with.
It is Thursday today and I have taken a half day off to see my brother. As my tiny car pulls into the hospital parking lot, I notice that the smoking corner is taken up mainly by doctors and nurses. I laugh at the irony of it as I wind down the window to light my own cigarette.
Walking into the hospital, coffee in hand and car keys in the other, I smile wanly at the nurses who now know me by name.
"Fact of the day," I chirp, dumping my bag on the floor and kissing my brother on the cheek. He turns his head ever so slightly in my direction and manages a weak smile.
"You're still smoking?" He guesses. I give a dramatic roll of my eyes and laugh.
"I read this somewhere, and actually saw it myself today." I wait for him to share my enthusiasm with a slow nod.
"Most smokers are actually doctors and nurses!" I exclaim.
He imitates my dramatic eye-rolling, "That's my fact of the day?" he asks. I laugh and lay my head gently on his chest. He breathes deeply and manages a wheezy cough.
In the last three months, he has lost a disgusting amount of weight.. His once handsome face has given way to sunken cheeks and sallow skin. It hurts to see him like this. His breathing is shallow and I readjust myself to make sure I'm not leaning any weight on him.
With a huge amount of effort, he slowly lifts his right arm to stroke my hair. I do not even realize that I am crying until I find that my cheeks are wet.
"Say goodbye, Leslie," he says, his voice huskier than it used to be. I lift my head, kiss him on the cheek, and wait for him to smile.
"Goodbye Lesley," I whisper.
We chuckle at the memory of people mixing up our names, and smile at the annoyance of always having had to deal with sharing an androgynous name.
I slip my fingers in between his and watch him take a deep breath.
Lower the volume, because the music might be a bit loud.
But you're going to have to play the song while reading.
Well at least, try to.
I lift my head from my husband's bare chest and prop myself up on my right arm- still suffering the after-effects of pins and needles. Pulling the tiny bit of excess duvet around my front, I sit on the edge of the bed and exhale.
I feel the rustle of blankets and his warm breath against my shoulder as he kisses me. I stiffen, just a tiny, barely noticeable bit.
"I love you," he says into my neck.
"Okay." I answer softly, inching away.
"You won't be away too long this time will you?" He asks, his voice suddenly child-like. I turn to him, and smile at his wide eyes. I don't know how I've managed to do this for so long.
"No promises" I say, giving him a practiced smile.
When I'm dressed, I creep into my children's room and kiss them goodbye.
I bite a sorry into my lips and keep from whispering it into their unhearing ears.
In the car, Celine Dion is screaming a 2005 song.
"I drove all night," it goes, "to get to you." How apt, I think, and turn the damn thing off. I speed across the empty freeway. Even fat bastardy traffic policemen would have hooked up with a slut by 4.30 in the morning.
I slow down, turning right into an empty driveway, immediately off the highway and cut the engine. The faint glow of a single candle is still visible through the window.
"I fell asleep waiting," she mumbles, half asleep, as I crawl under the covers. I run my fingers through her short, dark tousled hair and kiss her cheek. "Is that alright?" I ask quietly.
"At least you're here." She smiles sleepily as I curl up against her.
"I love you," she says softly into my hair.
"I love you too."
woke you from your sleep, to make love to you
Thursday, September 18, 2008
There's so much so much too much.
And it's all bloody ringing in my ears.
Every single fucking thing I do is wrong, wrong, wrong and don't I know it.
Don't I know it indeed.
There is something incredibly wrong with me right now.
I would laugh at myself. I want to. So that I'll feel worse.
I want the ringing to stop.
And I want to finish off all those draggy letters and then bloody fucking go.
Go Charis, just bloody go already and stop fucking talking about it.
No one's listening anyways.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
I have honestly never felt this tired for the longest time.
I crawled into bed at eleven and still couldn't get up in time to teach. Which also means that I don't see a point in going down to the office (in sunset way!) and back just to drop off stuff.
Which also means that I've suddenly got the entire day free. Which doesn't mean that I am going to go for that audition.
Which basically means that for once I am actually being responsible and rearranging priorities.
Which also means that instead of blogging I should be studying for my Philosophy AND English Midterm WHICH IS TOMORROW.
Fucking hell, so many fucking things to do.
It pisses me off just thinking about it you know.
My toenail feels like it's going to fall off. But then, it's a lot better than yesterday. At least my study session yesterday didn't go to waste. Although, I didn't actually study because I was finishing up work due TODAY.
Just because you don't give a droplet of shit and I need to clear my head,
I shall proceed to type out my schedule for the rest of my life.
Okay, not really. More like the next four weeks.
Today is September 17th 2008.
My modules finish on October 15th 2008.
Which, plus and minus, gives me about four weeks.
FOUR WEEKS TO COMPLETE:
6 assignments = 3 English + 3 Philosophy
3 projects = Visual Arts = Project 1 + Tour to Art Gallery/Museum + Project 2
4 exams = Philosophy midterm + Philosophy Final + English midterm + English Final
Average= 3 assignments/ 3 thingys a week
THIS WEEK: Philosophy + English Midterm (ONE THINGY SHORT!)
TODAY: Must finish Philosophy assignment 3 (not included in 6 outstanding assignments)
Visual Arts Project 1 expires on Friday, September 19th 2008. Get fucking extension.
Visual Arts is the hardest, so leave all three projects to last one and a half weeks.
NEXT WEEK: September 22nd - 27th 2008
6 assignments + 2 exams outstanding.
2 English Assignments + 1 Philsophy assignment
FOLLOWING WEEK: September 29th - October 4th 2008
3 assignments + 2 exams outstanding
1 English Assignment + 2 Philosophy assignments + 1 attempted Visual Arts Project
WEEK AFTER: October 6th - 11th 2008
2 projects + 2 exams outstanding
1 Visual Art project + 2 exams (October 9th 2008 - Philosophy and English Final Paper)
+ 1 attempted Visual Arts project
Deadline for final Visual Arts Project : October 13th 2008
There we go.
Post October 13th: DISAPPEAR
please don't ask me out or like get me to do you favors like stroke your cat while you're away or feed your fish while you elope.
This feels like Secondary school. TSK
Awfully awfully scary.
But then again, it really is my fault.
The landlady's coming over on Thursday.
I HOPE NO ONE WILL BE HOME TO SEE HER.
I AM NOT TIDYING UP MY ROOM FOR YOU! I WILL ROLL AROUND IN MY PIG STY AND GRUNT IN YOUR FACE.
TIME TO STUDY AND MUG AND NOT HAVE A LIFE NOW!
Lizzy the Lezzie will be my friend only friend):
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I didn't know
and now, I guess it's a tad bit hard to ignore how horrible homophobia can get.
I remember once, on Ner's profile, she had written:
I hate homophobes because obviously, they hate me.
I don't think it's as bad for girls as it is for guys though, I have to admit.
For some reason, it just seems a whole fuckload harder to accept.
Being a girl, it's really easy to shrug your shoulders and walk away.
We do that a lot I think.
Or at least, when the topic comes up, we talk about it.
Other than that, we don't seem that bothered.
I'm sorry though,
I am awfully bothered by this.
The fact that a fifteen year old boy was killed just because he was gay.
There are homophobes who are homophobes because they think the whole thing's unnatural or wrong or strange.
And then there are homophobes who are homophobes because they're afraid of themselves.
Would you like to know what happened?
Larry King was fifteen years old and in eighth grade. He was openly gay.
He was killed by a fellow eighth grader called Brandon.
He had asked Brandon to be his valentine and this homophobe got it into his head that he had to kill Larry.
This happened on February 12th this year.
I don't know what's happened to Brandon since. But you know, I hope he pays for it over and over and over again.
For the anal retentive: Go stick a carrot up your ass.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
I need to shut the fuck up about Lizzy the Lezzie.
She is just sooo incredibly addictive.
In case I didn't talk much about yesterday's event, it was very nice.
A bit messed, as events always turn out to be, but quite fine.
Believe it or not,
the band who was easiest to talk to and who surprised me most,
was Cigarette Sex.
I'm not just saying it because Bunny is Lian's girlfriend.
One always tends to have a vague idea of people before actually knowing them.
And well, I kind of assumed that they might be the sort who had a tendency of being all-consumed by their genre of music.
As it turns out, not only could I actually talk to them, I also realized that their taste in music varies. They don't just sit around listening to the same sort of music day in day out.
One or two of them (I think it was the drummer and the guitarist) actually play jazz and blues sometimes.
Always a shocker, I say.
But definitely nice to know.
On the other hand,
I simply must mention how I can't stand cocky, I'm-too-good-for-you-because-I'm-a-musician attitude. I'm not saying anyone yesterday had that, it's just a topic that's come up recently.
Anyway, Vee's said her piece and I'm too damn lazy to go on about it.
After all, people tend to get offended easily.
What you'll realize though, is that the best bands/people to work with are those who are right in the middle of it.
I guess it's because they're at that point in their career where, they love what they're doing and they're where they need to be. They're not starting out, asking to do a couple more songs here and there for a few more minutes of fame. They're also not jaded and tired with bad breath and telling everyone else how they've been in it for forty years and now what they're doing.
HAPPY MOONCAKE DAY.
I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN MOONCAKE-ING AROUND AND MOONCAKE-ING AROUND!
And bloody hell, I need to type, talk and think.
There's this girl I know.
Except, I can't say for sure if I really do know her.
And she pisses the fuck out of me.
It's those odd times when I catch a look at her (most usual times, it's fine)
and think, goddamn, she ought to die.
She self-absorbed and selfish, just as melodramatic as she claims not to be.
And gosh, it gets me how she thinks she's all that.
Like that she's strong, or strong enough.
I hate how she might mistreat people, or be too dependent on them.
Either ways, there's hardly a way to win.
And she's so bloody fucking annoying these days;
going off in daydreams and tears and hysterical laughters .
For fuck's sake, get the fuck over yourself.
No one gives a flying fuck about you.
Get over it.
But at the end of the day, they'll all just put it down to hormones.
and so, no, there's isn't a point explaining.
I had a day set aside to celebrate this with friends.
And by celebrating, we mean burning lanterns and dipping our fingers into hot melting candle wax.
So, armed with a bottle of wine and tiny pieces of mooncake,
we made our way down to Maplewood Park to make a mess of the fitness corner.
We set off sparklers, and lit up pictures and words and weird symbols and generally,
had a decent amount of good clean fun.
It gave us the time we needed to catch up, swap stories and fear for the lives of polar bears, suffering from global warming.
The event at Zouk was good.
Inevitable mistakes, last minute clarifications and messing up of the sponsors' names.
Other than that, not having much sleep, not eating for 24 hours and standing around in six inch heels for eight hours in total, everything was dandy.
It's a shame, the timing and all.
Was hoping there'd be more able to make it.
I think secretly, I was also hoping there'd be an energy for me to feed off.
C'est la vie
Kudos to you, Freemansland.
You guys did fab(:
Saturday, September 13, 2008
IT IS 3.10 AM
AND I'VE JUST FINISHED MY SCRIPT AND I'M STILL LOOKING FOR JOKES.
Now what the fuck,
I'm stuck on this fucking incredibly cute thing called
LIZZIE THE LEZZY.
I'M LIZZIE THE LEZZIE
THE MUFF-MUNCHING DYKE
I'M LIZZIE THE LEZZIE
IT'S PUSSY I LIKE
I'M LIZZIE THE LEZZIE,
SO LETS HAVE SOME FUN
I'M LIZZIE, THE LEZZIE
I'LL SLEEP WITH YOUR MOM
bloody hell, it's hilarious!
it's like a serious of 30 second stand up jokes.
You have to watch it.
OH MY WOOOOOORD.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I don't know how to do a fucking screenshot.
So i had to take pictures using my phone and send it back to Heather.
Anyway, instead of bathing like Bird's been nagging me to for the past hour, I've been doing south park characters of people!
THEY ARE ADORABLE OKAY!
MEET MY MOMMY!
She's happy with her beer, and being a mommy, she needs guns!
"Hi mom, I brought a guy home with me today!"
*chkchk* (sound of gun)
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT SORT OF EVIL BASTARDY INTENTIONS DO YOU HAVE THAT INVOLVES MY DAUGHTER!"
I love you mommy! ((:
THIS IS ME!
Okay, no it isn't. I just thought it was cute.
And I wanted to be in a classroom cos I haven't been in school for ages! Oh look! The boy beside me is checking me out! yayyyy!
THIS IS BIRD
HELLO, it is SUCH an accurate portrayal okay. The hat and the pan and the racquet. Give me credit for that!
And doesn't she just look adorable!
Obviously, that's not her colour.
But all the colors either made her look malay or indian or weird.
GUESS WHO GUESS WHO!
MY ADORABLE SISTER!
THE LITTLE CREATURE!
complete with backpack and camera and "jie you are so lame"- eyes and a rude t-shirt!
PLUS computer in the background!
THIS IS VICTOR.
Complete with cigarette and wrongly buttoned clothes.
Guns and light sabres which only he can use all at the same time.
He could take over the world.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
WAIT FOR IT
WAIT FOR IT
THIS IS ME IN FORTY YEARS TIME!
I love you, world! (:
Today was quite something.
As promised, Bird and I met up to go blading.
WE BLADED FOR FOUR AND A HALF HOURS STRAIGHT.
I have noooo idea how I managed it, but if I'm hurting like a bitch right now, i cannot fucking wait til tomorrow.
I guess it was really fun because, believe it or not, I haven't bladed with someone who actually blades! (I am SO tired that I nearly spelt that as baldes)
The second last time I actually bladed (the last time was with Victor) with a friend,
I think it was like in Primary six. And it was with this friend who is, well was -at the time- terribly self-conscious. So she made a huge deal out of falling down or not looking too fantastic while blading.
Because of that, we couldn't really blade properly.
I suppose after that we kept the bonding to makeovers and hair styling.
Right now I am aching so much I feel like passing out.
I bought belly belly nice mooncake. with chocolate baileys inside:D
I am berry happy right now.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
WAIT GEE I'VE ALREADY BEEN DOING THAT.
No I haven't. haha
In fact, if you think about it, they kinda mean the same thing.
OH I FINALLY GOT WHAT THIS QUESTION MEANT!
I think the question is
Are you more of a introvert or extrovert?
Bit of both really(:
YAY I THREW YOU OFF AND PROBABLY MADE YOU GAG.
Of course it's fine, just don't let your grandma see if she's gonna tell you you're a slut. You don't need that.