Fidelity and such..

The topic I want to touch on today is fidelity, and the question I wish to pose would be this: what constitutes cheating? I have a lot of thoughts whirling around in my head, forming half-fucked sentences and questions. As such, my fingers' attempts to keep up might result in incoherent sentences. Please do read me out though.


I've been listening a lot to Adele, so much so that she is pretty much my only source of music now. 

A line in the song goes

 "I know I have a fickle heart, and a bitterness, a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head."

This line has been resonating in my head, probably due to the fact that I can personally relate to it. It then got me thinking, and then realising, that maybe I am not that great of a person after all *ahem*.


The one thing I've always prided myself on in life would be the fact that I am NOT a cheater. I am a stickler for romance, and firmly believe that anyone you're with at the moment should be your Great Love. There should not, and cannot, be another person who causes your heart to flutter and your palms to moisten with sweat. I am, and always have been (or so I thought) a One Man Girl. I believe that if you get tempted by Another Person, your love isn't great. If you flirt with A Random, your love isn't real. Real and great loves should (I naively thought) consume you, your entire being, your entire heart. How can there possibly be room for another?


Life, however, seems to be teaching me otherwise. I've come to realise that likewise with everything else you do, loving a person and choosing to get involved with them is a conscious decision you make. Regardless of your reasons, be them good or bad, it is a choice you've made. In my case, it's very simple. I want someone I can come home to, and be happy with. I'm not practical, nor am I very logical. I'm romantic to the point where I believe that love really IS all you need to be happy, hunger and security be damned.


(I know it sounds like I'm going nowhere, but patience is a virtue and good things are worth waiting for. Stay with me.)


Is it then safe to say that, as long as I do not choose to love another person, I am not cheating on my partner? As long as I do not betray my ideals of a relationship, I am in the clear? Would casual flirting for the sake of boosting my own ego be okay? If I do not attach feelings to my actions - if a drunken kiss was viewed simply as a mistake brought about by a lack of control when drinking - does that then make it alright? Is my love still real, still true, still great and still intact?


Of course, a relationship is a partnership, and both parties should work hand-in-hand to make it work. It has to be an understanding between those involved that no hurt is intended. 


Then again, what if you suay-suay* fall in love with a girl like me? My over-sensitivity, my paranoia AND my insecurities act together to make me feel like every little misstep taken on his part is an intentional act to hurt me. THEN HOW, right?


Okay you know what. I thought I had a point to this post, but it turns out that I don't really know if I do. If I'm to guess what I want to say, I would sum it up this way:

1. How would you define cheating?
2. Do drunken mistakes that don't mean anything count?
3. Does flirting (with no intent other than it being a pathetic attempt to validate your attractiveness) count?
4. What if, and it's a really big IF here, you really do love your other half, BUT you still want to spend time with other boys because you have a connection/they're really good-looking and you enjoy having an eye-candy? 
5. If your partner expressly forbids you from doing something, and you comply even though deep down inside you really wish you didn't have to and would give anything to lie to/ignore him, does that then mean you don't really love him? Cause if you do, wouldn't you willingly give up whatever upsets/hurts him?

I guess this might not really have anything to do with fidelity after all. Thanks for sticking around though! Kudos to you, and cheers if you leave a comment on your thoughts. No judging/guessing what I'm going on about though. That isn't much fun.

*suay-suay, loosely translated into English, means unluckily. If you're not Singaporean, don't even bother trying to make sense of it. You won't be able to. 

The (losing) battle

My stomach and I are fighting a losing battle with the bad oysters I ingested earlier on in the evening. I am rushing out a post in between runs to the toilet whereby I attempt to purge my body of the evil it took in. My forehead has come in contact with the seat of the toilet bowl so many times, I'm afraid it has left a permanent imprint (on my head of course.) 


In case I do not make it through till tomorrow, please remember:


Do not pit yourself against food turned bad just cause a) you've had worst, b) you're broke thus feel compelled to eat whatever you've spent the last of your money on and c) you're too chicken to go up to the cook and bitch slap them for serving rotten food. 

You can't threaten a man into staying in a relationship with you.

It seems unlikely that anyone who knows me personally doesn't already know that I'm freshly single. It would seem that my violent threats don't really work, especially when dealing with someone who is much taller and broader and stronger than I am.


I also did something extremely stupid this morning - I went to beg. I know I know, the shame. I guess it sounds stupid, but I didn't want to go down without a fight, so to speak. Of course, my romantic ideals of happiness didn't stand a chance against the harsh practicality of life (or one that he wishes to lead anyway.) Or maybe that's just my way of coping, to lighten the sting of having a person walk away from you.


People tell me that it's not so much me he's giving up, it's just our extremely differing ideals and personality. I would like to believe so, but the love I know and recognise is not something I would ever walk away from simply because it isn't logical to stay together. The love I know is passionate, and great, and grand, and overcomes all obstacles, and doesn't ever quit. The love I know is a conscious decision I make to stay with a person through thick and thin (be it financially or physically.)  And rejection will always be personal, regardless of what others tell you.


I'm assuming he (and maybe everyone else) thinks that this is for the best. A part of me does believe that, is excited even to embark on this new journey. Another part of me feels a little dead, and misses and longs and wants everything that I just lost.


But as a very good friend has pointed out, I did not (and will never) define myself by a relationship. I thank everyone for their ridiculously generous outpouring of love and concern. I'm strong (relatively) and have pulled through worse.


I'll be okay. 

Maintaining a relationship.

Many of you may wonder how I manage to keep a boyfriend of such high caliber around for such a considerably long time.


This is what I sent to him last night before he went to sleep:


"Don't ever, ever, ever give up on me. I will hunt you down smash your brains in from the back pull your eyeballs out from the sockets and feed them to you."


For extra dramatic effect, whisper menacingly into his ear right before bed time.


Disclaimer: I refuse to claim responsibility for any bodily harm inflicted upon anyone as a result of this post. STAND BY YOUR PARTNERS. 

Bra

I not-so-recently caught No Strings Attached, that fuck buddy comedy starring Princess Leia and Mr Demi Moore.

For those uninitiated with the Hollywood crew.

What puzzles me most about the movie isn't the premise of there being girls being more horny and sexually forward than guys, and guys being so fucking romantic (and closeted gay) that they would actually burn a period mix; nor is it the fact that ashton is a bajillion times natalie's size therefore making the angles in their first sex scene a tad unrealistic.


What I want to know is, why is she shown with her bra on even during sex? That thing is NOT comfortable enough to be worn during a workout session. It has wires and hooks and elastic, and it pushes and squeezes your flesh (read: fats) together to create an illusion of a valley. WHY would she leave it on? No no, why would HE leave it on? Given men's great obsession with le boobies, the only way he's okay with it is if he is [insert name of super hero with x-ray vision here].


Either cut the scene off before it gets to the point where she's half-naked, or find some way to portray them getting it on without it looking like an expensive porn flick. Or be a porn flick, whatever. Just don't be half-fucked about it.


Note: bra scenes are totally acceptable before/after sex or any other random occasion. Just not actually in the midst of it. Unless it's an office quickie, in which case, bravo for taking time out to remove clothing.

Living in the Past.

I once knew this boy. He was my everything.


We were very different. We fought constantly over every little thing. We had contrasting dreams and aspirations and ideals in life. We were stubborn and headstrong and much too proud to bow down to the other.


We were exactly alike. We laughed and wept over the silliest things. We listened to music and drank fine wine and talked about life like we knew it all. We were passionate and full of zest, ready to take on the world.


We were idiots. We were mean. We did stupid shit we regretted and said hurtful things we couldn't take back. We were volatile and unstable. We were the ship caught in the eye of the maelstrom, too weak to get out and too afraid to let go.


This boy and I, we became one. He now lives in my every movement and my every thought. He creeps into every nook and cranny of my existence. He is all I see and all I know. He is with me in every decision and every relationship. He is, and will always be.


This boy and I, we must part. 

CHILDREN: imagine the most narcissistic adult you know, then strip away their years of human experience.

I decided to take a sick leave from sitting around doing nothing to hopefully sitting around elsewhere contemplating the next step in my life while doing nothing.


RIGHT, just got a text from the mother telling me that I'm going to be picked up for dinner in 35 minutes. I take an hour to shower, so this means that I'll be going to Jack's Place in my birthday suit all soapy and drippy.


Don't judge me. It's not wasting water if I do it once in 3 days.


In the mean time, READ HER. 

Ambivalence

Have you ever felt like you're permanently on the verge of tears? I'm not sure what's common for you common-folk but given my over-active tear ducts, I am ALWAYS on the verge of tears, regardless of my mood. I attempted to psychoanalyze myself, but given how I slept through/skipped all my classes in school, it did not succeed very well.


Yesterday, I caught Girl, Interrupted in the midst of my channel fliipping and nua-ing on the couch. Let it not be said that my days are unproductive! In the movie, our protagonist Winona Ryder, was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. She then went on to incorrectly use the word ambivalent.

I feel like I can strongly relate to her character somehow, and I'm not just saying this to appear all ohmygod-I'm-so-cool-cause-I-can-relate-to-depressed-slightly-mental-girls-in-movies. I'm saying this because I personally do feel that way, and have been told by several people (who know me very well) that I am slightly insane, unstable and full of contradictions.


I'm not crazy per se, but it does feel like like my entire life, or rather, my way of thinking, is a little unbalanced. I simultaneously loathe the idea of working to pursue wealth, and can't stop fantasizing about the life of the rich and loaded. I enjoy the idea of being in a stable relationship, yet somehow feel that deep down inside this is not what I want. I believe in a God and I believe I love said God, but I can't come to terms with the Bible and my religion as a whole. At times, I want to give up on the entire idea of life, yet I don't want to come across as a defeatist. I want to stand my ground and not care about other people's opinions of me and believe in myself and who I am as a person, but who likes being disliked? I want to appear independent, but I really hate being alone and doing things on my own and settling shit myself. I want to be grown up and mature and serious, but I want to have a life and have fun and be silly and do silly stuff.


MY GOD what am I saying?! I'm totally rambling. Right..


And all these conflicts just fester inside of me and they kind of create this whirlpool of turmoil. I get angry and lash out viciously at everyone within the vicinity. I say things I regret and create big fusses over nothing. It's like my brain is this huge tangle of thoughts and ideals but nothing ever comes out right, and I'm tired of not knowing and feeling envious at people who do know. And for once I would really like to know for sure and have it all figured out.


I don't really know the point to what I'm saying here. I guess I just want to feel normal. Or not feel at all. You tell me. Or don't. I don't know. Do you?

You are everything you say you are. Most people don't see it cause their shades are too dark.

So, a certain friend of mine once told me that if you want something really bad, you just gotta have faith and BELIEVE that you will get it. Just believe, and if you believe hard enough, somehow it will just happen for you. Subconsciously, your mind (an extremely powerful tool) would get cracking and make things happen.

What I Believe In:

1. I am extremely gorgeous, and even though the reflection I see in the mirror may disagree with this statement, it is only because I am so gorgeous that my mind blocks it out from myself to prevent my ego from over-inflating.


2. My short hair, instead of making me look like a mushroom, actually looks chic and gives my face the illusion of having strong sharp cheekbones.


3. I am the long lost sister of Carey Mulligan, and when the day comes that we meet, we shall embrace and become instant BFFs.


4. I am winsome and charming and an instant hit with anyone and everyone I meet. I do not repel people.


5. I am actually an excellent singer, I just do not sound like it to prevent overwhelming fame.


6. I will one day be published by the New Yorker. 

I HATE SUNDAYS

 I absolutely loathe Sundays spent out and about. Sundays are meant to be spent in bed, cuddling or snuggling with your comforter, not leaving even for food or toilet needs. Not waking up early and forcing a smile on your face, meeting other equally miserable people who are tired out from a long week of work.


Think about it. EVERYONE else on Earth gets off on Sundays. The thought of commuting in too-packed trains and buses, the taxis are ALWAYS busy, the roads are always jammed. Everyone else in this tiny tiny island is also trying to get out of their homes and get a bit of enjoyment out of their only true rest day. Everyone else is out in full force, squeezing out every ounce of conceivable pleasure from our extremely limited choices of entertainment. All the good restaurants and eateries are overbooked and understaffed, and the lousy ones make use of this opportunity to take their own sweet time knowing that this is the ONE day that they have the upper hand.


AND THE WEATHER. Do not even get me started on the weather. It is either sweltering hot to the point where one can see actual heat waves rising from the tarmac, or so cold and wet and dreary that I actually once thought that I was in London. Today actually managed to be both. Find a middle ground maybe? What about those windy and bright yet not burning Sundays singers sang about? Where have they gone to?


Everyone thinks that because it is the last day of the weekend, we should make full use of it. Well, has anyone thought of the fact that it is in fact the prelude to the start of a new hectic long week? Maybe having a well rested Sunday would make us not hate Mondays so much? This mad rush to do something productive and accomplish something, just to not waste a day. WHY?! We're humans, and we need a breather!


I say from now on, we abandon all Sunday plans, and take this one day a week to just laze around in bed or on the couch, drinking wine and watching mindless television programs. In other words, nua.


PS. I'm not hating on weekdays cause technically they are SUPPOSED to suck. They are work days after all. Saturdays are fine in my book cause I hardly ever leave the house then. 

I seem to enjoy writing at unearthly hours.

When I was a baby, I fell off my parents' double-decked bed. According to them, I didn't cry out or make a single sound. I just laid there on my back with a shocked expression on my face, waiting to be rescued. 

When I grew a little older and my parents got their divorce, my mum and I shifted into my maternal grandma's place and shared a room. She would wake up really early in the mornings and be off to work, leaving me confused and bewildered whenever I woke up to an empty house. I would repeatedly request that she bids me goodbye before leaving, but apparently I sleep like a log and am impossible to wake. 

This went on all the way till we shifted out of that room and into our own home. For the first time in my 11 years of life, I was to sleep alone in a room. I kept putting off unpacking in hopes that my mother would relent, but apparently my lack of independence is unhealthy.

To date, there is nothing that scares me more than having to sleep alone in a dark room by myself. This, of course, could be easily solved with a night light, except that lights distract me and keep me awake. I learned how to stay up all night, waiting for the gentle rays of the morning sun seeping in through the curtains to lull me to sleep. This would probably explain why I was hardly ever awake or even present in school.

I think the truly scary thing about being the only person left alive during a zombie apocalypse isn't the zombies. It's having to go to bed every night alone, and wake up alone, and know that you're going to be alone for the rest of your life. There's no one to hug and rock you to sleep, no one to rest a hand on your chest to calm your furiously beating heart. You're alone, indefinitely.

I'm not afraid of spiders or lizards or armies of fire ants crawling around in my underwear. Loneliness is my Achilles' heel.

(This post is written in response to a question an anonymous person left on my now inactive Formspring ages ago.)

Nothing good ever happens after 2am.

So, my best friend and I decided to grab a bit of beer at about 130am and it's now close to 5am and we've progressed to a bottle of sparkling wine and we can't finish it cause we're both a bit high. We've resorted to calling up random friends of ours in hopes that a kind soul would come finish up the wine for us. How pathetic are we seriously? Oh, and we're both blogging. If I survive my parents finding out the fact that I've just wasted a perfectly good bottle of sparkling wine for nothing (and diluted it with ice) you'll hear more from me!

Running out of witty things to title my posts.

It's very difficult to be funny and light and humorous when you're writing with a heavy heart. It's very difficult to be clear and concise when your thoughts are whirling around in a mess all jumbled up like the cords on your earphones get when you leave them in your bag for too long. It's very difficult to tell a person (what more an audience) funny anecdotes and attempt to be funny when you don't feel remotely funny. 


You know what the worst thing about feeling like this is? When you don't know why you feel like this. It's the same with being happy for no apparent when you wake up, and it feels like sunshine and butterflies and unicorns when in reality it's pouring buckets outside. You don't know precisely why you're happy, but you let it go and don't let it bother you because it's a good thing. You immerse yourself in the feeling, and enjoy it for as long as you can. You walk around the entire morning, desperately clinging on to that feeling, pushing away and ignoring every thing that threatens to burst your little bubble.You're happy, and you just don't care.


Well, it's the exact opposite when you're down in the pits. You analyze and think and over-think and stay up all night long wondering what exactly is wrong with you. Something's gotta give, you figure. But no, nothing does. Now you're desperately trying to remember when was the last time you smiled, and why. You watch an episode of a comedy, you watch the entire fucking season; you read shit, funny shit stupid dumb shit depressing shit; you listen to music, the entire range from classical to opera to house to r&b to Justin fucking Bieber. Nothing works. You're back to obsessing about the trigger, that tiny little thing that set you off. You rationalize and hold a mental debate and come to the conclusion that you were over-reacting. You feel worse. And you start from the top again. 


Whenever I feel this way, I cut my hair. I can't do it this time because I just went for a haircut yesterday. 

Carey Mulligan's look was more or less what I was aiming for.

Looks better/worse (depending on your angle and height) in person.

I guess I only have my deluded self (and this blind friend of mine who told me I sort of looked like an Asian version of her) to blame. I am now stuck in my vicious cycle of depression, with no hair left to cut. 

Do not blog next to your boyfriend when he's sleeping cause it will make him grumpy.

Apparently, people write better when they're 'under the influence'. No one did really specify what influence it is (and I'm going to pretend that I don't drink/do anything illegal because 1. my blog is public and 2. my Dad reads this.) Right now, I'm ridiculously alert and awake even though it is 5.47am. I believe I'm under the influence of extreme over-eating and just plain adrenaline from my body having to digest so much food at such an unreasonable hour.


I was on Twitter the other day, and ladyironchef asked the age old question: why do people write? I immediately replied saying that I enjoyed forcing my opinions down other people's throats, which is true to a certain extent. Honestly though, I write mostly because I have so much to say, and not enough time and people to say it to.


This blog is a very good example. You see, I have hopes that one day, I'll be successful enough to be published and recognised not just in major bookstores, but on the internet (which I totally spelt as interent, and just COULD NOT understand why it looks wrong) too. I mean, blogging is a pretty easy sit-back-on-the-couch-sip-some-wine-listening-to-Bob-Marley-while-eating-fried-chicken kinda job. I'll never have to do my hair and make up, look for impressive work clothes, or even shower. The only thing preventing me from being able to actually accomplish this, is the fact that I don't have enough readers. Without you readers, no one would care enough about me to advertise on my blog.


So you see, instead of having to go around explaining to all my friends and acquaintances and random people who add me on Facebook that I really hate showering and would in fact really appreciate a job that would allow me to stay home in my underwear all day, I can now just write it here! And really, it is for the betterment of everyone that I stay home. I always hear complains from friends about people who don't shower and stink up the public transport. I may not smell bad, but I do shed a lot of skin cells. Do you really want to rub up against old moldy skin while taking the train home?


Also, you should read and follow me here because I'm still quite unheard of (for now), thus still rather 'indie' and 'cool'. You don't want to become a fan only after I'm famous and be accused of jumping on the bandwagon, do you?


PS. even though refreshing the page does up the count for my page views, it doesn't actually give me more unique hits. SPREAD THE WORD! MAKE ME FAMOUS. I'll buy you a jet plane.


PPS. stop asking me why I don't shower. I'm a hippy environmentalist, and showering less makes me feel more 'in my skin'.


PPS. if you oppose to jet planes on the account that you're a hippy environmentalist too, I can buy you a whale instead.


PPPS. 6.23am now.

How To Be Likable 101

So a friend of mine recently told me that I'm not a very likable person. Which is like, you know, whatever.. I don't care about popularity.. Much. If, however, you wish to be instantly liked by everyone you know, here's a list of things you most probably should NOT be doing, based on my personal experience. 


1) Do not have an opinion on EVERYTHING.
I'm not sure why, but apparently going around giving your opinion on everything and anything from the weather to the architecture of a building annoys people. Don't walk around Borders exclaiming to everyone that the Twilight movies are shiteous and so are the books so please read Harry Potter instead. Don't yell and scream as though your ears are bleeding every time a Bieber/Miley song comes on. Be a mindless sheep; failing which, be quiet. 


2) Do not go around correcting people.
Be it their pronunciation or spelling or grammar. This one puzzles me too. I mean, wouldn't you like to know that you're wrong? Apparently, in the words of another friend, doing this makes you seem "like a douche." Besides which, Herve Leger is Herve Leger regardless of how you say it.


3) Do not drop random trivia/science facts.
People generally do not find this interesting, especially when they're loading up on drinks in a club. They have not ever wondered and probably do not care why they are served tequila with salt and lemons. Or how vodka became so popular. They just want to drink.


4) Do not stop abruptly while walking to pet and talk to stray cats.


5) Do not be honest with anyone with regards to their looks.
They're fat? Lie, and tell them that they're bloating. Ugly? Abstract. 


6) Do not loudly exclaim that the general public is made up of idiots. 
People do not wish to acknowledge the fact that they're stupid. 


This should be enough to guarantee you a favorable first impression. If you, like me, can't be bothered, then pray and hope that your friends love you a shitload. 

On a slightly more serious and tiny bit inebriated note..

(I'm gonna be really general about this and use the words 'we' and 'us' in place of 'I' and 'me' cause well.. I don't want to sound like a deranged psychotic clingy girl.)


The thing about humans in relationships is that, we tend to nitpick on every little upsetting detail, instead of taking a step back and looking at the bigger picture? We feel like they're short-changing us at every turn, at every little minute thing that goes wrong.


Like how we get upset when The Other Half cancels on us because they ran out of contacts and they're really vain. Or how they have a change of mind even though they so very clearly said that they would be spending the night. Or how they make plans without the courtesy of informing you first. How about that time they jokingly called us a bitch? And that night we spent at home sick and in pain and they were out having fun with their friends, rubbing it in our faces with their texts?


We don't think about the times they've called us beautiful even when we're crying with mascara running down our faces AND puking at the same time (amazing feat, I know. But even the best of us have gotten drunk and let our emotions take over control. What, YOU haven't?! Freak..) Or how they're willing to forfeit a night out with their friends because spending time with you at home cuddling over a movie is more meaningful. How they put up with the fact that you calling them a bitch would be one the nicest insults (in jest of course.) And how they came over and spent the entire day with you cause you swore you were dying and it turned out to just be the monthly cramps.


I guess what I'm trying to say is that we humans tend to forget that we are in a relationship with another human too. A flawed person figuring their way through life, going through the very same shit that we go through. Those crappy days where you wake up and EVERY FUCKING THING goes wrong; having ridiculously bad mood swings and feeling like shouting at every other living thing including your rabbit, which probably doesn't understand what all that fuss you're making is about; lazy unmotivated alone days where you spend the entire time lying on your couch watching The Food Network Asia. They get them too.


So instead of blowing up at all the little things they said and did (or didn't), we could try to understand that love is very hard to come by these days. All people really seem to care about now is sex and booze and plastic boobs. And things as precious as waking up and smiling at the snoozing pig next to you, your heart skipping a beat when they kiss you on the forehead, sitting down at the void deck having a smoke and feeling like the most contented person on this planet - these are things worth fighting for. And more than that, it's worth letting go of all those petty little inconsequential missteps.

Completely irrelevant and random photo, totally unrelated to the post. 

Of course, if everything that I've said do not relate to you, then my generalization is wrong and uncalled for. Bear in mind that if that's the case, it's all fictional and nothing is based on real life events. At all. I am NOT a deranged psychotic clingy bitch. 

I am bad at keeping to my word of blogging everyday so now I fill this space up with photos in a desperate attempt at making my blog look alive and not abandoned.

**ANOTHER POST BELOW! I broke them up into two separate posts in a sneaky attempt at upping my post count. Not so sneaky now that I'm declaring it of course, but I get honestly points right? **

Oh wait! Photos of me wearing the BPTSWFT that I was grumbling about.

It doesn't look that bad cause it's ME I know..

Okay no, even I can't save this shirt.

Some useful tips on how to take photos and what to do with them.

Always put up photos of you looking your best, regardless of how everyone else looks. 

Photo-bomb when necessary, to appear more in the album giving the illusion that you're really really popular and well-liked.

Always give a funny face, so that the whoever is trying to look sexy will feel embarrassed about it. 

When all else fails, imitate a member of another species.

I know I'm not exactly a very consistent blogger, taking it in turns to ignore my blog completely and then churning out two extremely lengthy and wordy posts. I am, however, an artist, and you know how we all are like. 

When in doubt, spam with photos.

You would think that sitting around on your ass all day doing nothing but typing out a string of words would be the easiest job on the planet (by using the word job, I am wrongly implying that doing this actually PAYS me. It doesn't.) Contrary to popular belief however, writing about one's daily occurrences isn't easy when nothing actually OCCURS. 

The night I finished an entire pot of beehoon. In my defense, my mother has kept it in the fridge for a really long time and threatened to throw any remainder away. Let it not be said that Charmant wastes food.

The day I made rosti and sausages for G-man. It may look a lot greasier than Marche's, but that doesn't mean it tastes any less delicious.

What I opened with, which is an incredibly beautiful hand for someone with as little gambling luck as I do. I did not win this hand. What I did win though..

Mahjong pays better than blogs do.

The day that G-man decided to become my personal delivery service boy. Calamari from Fish&Co.!

Fried buttered calamari from Ah Loy Thai!

There you go, your 6000-word essay!

100 annoying things to do to your friends which they will appreciate if they have any sense of humour at all

1) Forward all your calls to your favourite fast food delivery service. Act ignorant.


2) Start every sentence with "I have something to say," but don't.


3) Start a list of 100 items and fill it with only three.

HOT AND NEW!

I have a new boyfriend! I know, it's not right to keep skipping from relationship to relationship. I just really couldn't resist myself when I saw him. His big brown eyes, soft curly hair, affectionate kisses.. I ramble I know. Put yourself in my shoes though; which girl would be able to resist this combination of cliches?


I met him on a certain late night/early morning. Some friends of mine and I were at our neighbourhood's 24/7 MacDonald's, doing absolutely nothing at all and acting all important. Our conversation got more and more dull, to the point where we stopped using words and started merely grunting and pointing. It was at this peculiar moment when one of them mentioned something about this amazing boy he knows.


And amazing he was. The boy took close to an hour to arrive, but the wait was worth every single minute of anxiety and impatience. He too, seemed put off by how long it took him to meet someone like me. We clicked instantly, and like every other cheesy movie, it was love at first sight.


Enough bragging right. Of course I have a photo. And while some of you may think that Brad's more handsome, I beg to differ.

Isn't he gorgeous?

Oh alright. He's not exactly mine per se. I'm getting there though, no worries.


Oh yes. I need more readers! Or else I'm going to actually get off my lazy bum and look for a proper job. I already went for two interviews as it is. Fingers crossed that I do get the job - I'm going to need something to fall back on when you fickle people decide not to love me anymore. 

open love letter to singers with lyrics that don't make sense.

Dear Katy Perry,


I don't know about you, but I've never actually heard of anyone feeling like a plastic bag. A condom and a tissue yes, but not so much plastic bags. How does that figure out anyway? You feel flimsy and really really thin and fragile? Why do plastic bags need to start again? How do they start out anyway? And really, what could they be carrying that's so bad it makes them want to reboot themselves?


Curiously yours, 
Charmant.




Dear Nelly, 


According to this and this, 'only' and 'just' kinda mean the same thing? So what you're singing is that it was 'only only a dream'? It's a bit like saying 'I attempted to make sense, but failed.' It is extremely redundant, seeing how 'attempted' already means that you failed. You are extremely rich and famous. Please hire a lyricist with better grammar sense. 


'Extremely annoyed with your song because it sends out the message that if you're rich and famous you can butcher the language but still mildly in love with your song'
Charmant.

the pits

On the bus ride home today, I saw a man get on wearing a white wife-beater singlet and light blue baggy hip-hop torn jeans, carrying a khaki-coloured knapsack. He looked like a really rich homeless dancer. My first thought, of course, was whether or not he had shaven armpits. Which raises the question, should guys have clean shaven armpits? And if not, how long should the length of the hair be before it crosses the line from manly to trapped in a jungle for twenty years, thereby losing all knowledge of grooming? And how do you propose that they keep it at the ideal length? Continually trim it? Shave it all off when it gets too long?


Anyway The Other Half has a lot of spiders all over his room and toilet, which would creep other girls out, but is an extremely educational experience for me. Here is a video I took of a spider spinning its web in the toilet! Enjoy.!

Friday's quickie.

Ah! I HAVE READERS! Thank you guys very much, although honestly I am extremely stressed about this. I've never been very good at public speaking, and every time I had to make a presentation, my entire body would shake so badly from my nerves that I would inevitably end up chattering my way through it. I sounded like an Eskimo on crack.


Anyhoos, I need to run off and play mahjong and lose money now. It's not that I'm too lazy to blog or anything.. How dare you insinuate that! 

THE ALOT MONSTER!

 DAVID THORNE'S SON

MISSING MISSY

Okay I really hope you guys have not read those links and find them extremely funny and if you've already read them, and because it's Friday, here's a song!

I feel a little guilty for not putting a photo up of The Other Half (hereby condensed TOH.) I'm not sure if you guys will understand what I'm talking about cause maybe not everyone is as competitive and selfish as I am, but it's like discovering an indie band and listening to it obsessively and declaring yourself the NUMBER ONE FAN, only to hear it on the radio while you're cruising along the CTE and then seeing the lyrics of the song ALL OVER FACEBOOK. I remember seeing this happen in Secondary 4 to one of my absolutely favourite Panic! songs, and have from then on vowed NEVER to share good music again.


I feel a little like this about TOH? Like putting his photo up would somehow increase his value and suddenly all those stupid ahlians who were asking "is it still me who makes you sweat" back then will be wanting a piece of my G-man. But I value my blooming readership way too much to be so selfish, so I have decided to POST UP HIS PHOTO and hopefully entice a few unsuspecting lonely girls and boys..


But first! A couple of self-indulgent shots of myself going about my cute ways. *cough*

I (have always) believed I can fly.

I also believe I'm a little teapot, although not short nor stout.

Okay! Here comes the great big revealing moment!

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He looks A LOT like someone else, doesn't he? I can't quite put my finger on it. This is gonna keep me up all nigh

shameless whoring for attention

The downside to starting a blog and trying to live off it is that the discipline in NOT coming I've been trying so hard to cultivate has now been rendered useless. I logged on at about 1AM, and told myself that I'll be done 3AM latest. It is now 6 in the morning, and I am still sitting on my white cracked plastic Ikea chair pounding away furiously on my keyboard.


To make it seem like I'm spending my time meaningfully instead of squandering it away on useless gossip tabloids  and mindless sites like textsfromlastnight.com / dearblankpleaseblank.com , I'm churning out a picture post! Went on Facebook to look for worthy photos, and got suckered into *almost* going through all 2102 of my tagged photos.

Beat (left) & I (WITH MY SEQUIN-ED BEANIE SHE HAS KINDLY HELD ON TO.) This was taken in one of the ladies' in Far East Plaza, after our Super Exclusive and Secretive Photo-shoot.

Tess with her swanky new Ray-bans, showing off as usual.

Obligatory "hot girl"

Ray - Tess - Jacq, sitting on the hammock at Ray's which have provided me with many falls and dizzy spells. Jacq's holding a packet a biscotti which I'm assuming is expensive and really yummy (we'll never know, as we never did try them) as it elicited a "YOU DID NOT" from her boyfriend when he saw this photo on Facebook.

Again, at the Kallang bridge. I swear I took like 3 million of this one same photo, cause they refused to hold still for me. And the shadows were never right. Nor were their smiles. And oh no, (imaginary) fats. Girls...

Me attempting what is known as Jazzercise, which according to www.jazzercise.com , is a workout that combines "hip-hop, yoga, Pilates, jazz dance, kickboxing, and resistance training". Wow, talk about ambitious.

This is the cat that sulks around my church looking for hand-outs and ear scratches during Sunday brunch. 

This is Junior, Melsteph's dog. Do not be deceived by how morose he looks here.

Favourite couple in the world. Mr. & Mrs Maniam. They've recently moved out of Singapore to a bigger country somewhere else on the globe not very near us. Heard that they're coming back some time soon, I think.

Wings from Cuscaden. Worth every gram you put on.

And thus, my picture post has concluded. I believe I've covered every demographic available to me?