Have to check the year after writing the date once again
To come up with content for today's post I went back to my archived private entries. Remind me never to do so ever again: It is a traumatising place where bad grammar and terrible spelling breed like rabbits, but the worst thing is that I had to go through all the entries detailing days spent with Mr X, and it was nice in the most awful way possible. I can't even find a metaphor dramatic enough to reflect how weird the experience was. Like eating ice cream in a hot desert while getting instantaneous third degree burns? Painful, but not amusing enough. Like making passionate love with your significant other only to discover that (s)he is a hermaphrodite? Amusing, but not devastating enough. It's probably closer to suffering a prolonged and painful death, then waking up to realise that you're right next to the thing you want the most in life, then waking up to find that you actually do have a terminal disease and will die in approximately three hours. Alone.
Is it possible to die of melodrama? It would be nice to know that there's an upper limit to it. Drama of such epic proportions is tiring. I need a more boring life for a while, preferably in a boring package with a boring house, a boring car, and a boring credit card with a boring pink! design. (Because people need a little colour in their lives.) Throw in a boring dog with a boring bark and my search for ordinariness might just bear fruit.
31 December 2005 was one of the best days of my life, special especially because it was transient, though I guess at my age pretty much nothing lasts. That day spent with Mr X ranks right up there next to the time The Ex and I tried to jokingly shove each other into the rain (he started it), and the time What's-His-Name was about to ask me to be his girlfriend and I slapped his shoulder and lied that there was a mosquito. I know this is going to sound like I'm talking about a pickle, but it's strange how well that moment in 2005 has been preserved, in my mind, right down to details such as my slip of tongue: I'd asked Mr X if he took mustard with his sausage and it came out sounding all suggestive and wrong, primarily because he had been eating a sandwich, not a sausage. Obviously I have to learn to use my memory for information that is actually useful.
On that day right after being chased out of a store for being more interested in The then-Boyfriend than in the CDs for sale, I'd envisioned 2006 as a year of freedom. The year has turned out to be totally freestyle and absolutely unpredictable, one of the strangest years of my life, the worst year ever because of what I lost, and the best year ever because of what I had, and still have, left. I'd wanted the eighteenth year of my life to be liberating, and then I was dumped. Life certainly has an odd sense of humour.
I see 2007 as a refreshing year of adventure and am placing bets with myself with regards to whether aliens will abduct me, though my primary concern is whether they have Internet access so I can update this blog. Next year I might also successfully persuade Mr X's girlfriend to leave him for me and then he would have two exes dating their exes' exes. With my sort of luck with respect to drama, you never know.
You have no idea what suffering you put me through yesterday.
While waiting for one page to load I had enough time to read all of Dickens' novels, BACKWARDS, and then I still had a couple of centuries left to watch civilisation develop as the dust piled up around me and my very white hair. And when the page loaded I clicked the download button that should have saved a tiny bit of heaven onto my computer, but instead of getting to see cute male Korean faces I found myself staring at the words 'Connection Timed Out'. I couldn't blog, and even Google wouldn't load. Like, are you kidding me, I can't cyber-stalk my ex's girlfriend anymore?
Why did you have to strike at Taiwan? Three times? If it's an attempt to let the world know you exist let me tell you that it is a horrible failure, primarily because you don't exist, at least not in the 'sentient being' sense. (No idea why I'm writing to you, but I had a feeling you wouldn't mind.) Do you realise that you don't even have a proper name? Great hurricanes have human names but you'll remain The No Name Quake Which Damaged Undersea Cables And Screwed With Our Internet Connection. I hate you. You could have thrown a mushroom pizza (Gawd I hate mushrooms) at my face and I would totally have forgiven you for that but you chose to screw with my Internet connection. I bet even Mr X is feeling sorry for you right now. YOU DIE SO BAD.
Next time could you please throw your tantrums at the North Pole? Santa owes me eighteen years of Christmas gifts so you can help me shake things up a bit and persuade him to relocate his factories to save on transport costs and time. Globalisation is so in right now, and I bet Santa's elves are overpaid lazy bums who should be fired.
Also, stay away from Singapore or I will stick gum in your nonexistent ears. You, my friend, have anger management issues.
This one was taken at Nami Island the day before we reached Seoul. A boy in our tour group was curious as to whether the ice had been fully formed in a small semi-frozen river, and right after he jumped in he screamed and I nearly died from the frequency of his cries for help. In this picture you can vaguely see falling snow catching some of the sun's rays; when I was at Nami Island it hadn't been snowing but because accumulated snow on tree branches kept falling, it was almost like real snow. This was disastrous for my camera and at one point when I tried to switch it on it grumbled about the cold, literally grumbled, let out a rattling sound. And when some snow descended upon it from above I screamed and everyone turned around to check if someone else had decided to test the 'waters'. So to speak.
Our hotel in Seoul overlooked the Han River, but frankly I cared more about the pink sunrise.
Icicles! I was the only one who noticed it, but after taking photos of them and attempting to shake them off the branch, others scurried in my direction and 'em cameras started flashing like light bulbs on a Christmas tree. And our departure from the hotel was delayed.
This is the Blue Presidential House, obviously a misnomer colour-wise. It's located very near North Korea and right next to the mountain in the background, apparently so that if North Korea decides to launch a missile it's tough to target this place without first burrowing through the mountain.
Would look exactly like Tokyo if you replaced the Korean characters with Japanese ones.
Just another alley in Seoul
Right outside a building called Doota!, exclamation mark included.
I stick my camera out the window with my frostbitten fingers and take a random shot, and the picture still looks artistic. I miss Korea.
I removed my gloves so I could get a better grip on my camera while sticking it out of this tiny window, and ended up getting frostbite at the tips of my fingers everyday.
Here's where I got tanned at night. My butt, it is so massive that when I fell on the icy ground my primary concern was to ascertain whether the impact triggered an avalanche.
Film site of "Winter Sonata"
Those white specks are snowflakes (:
On the road, after a night of snow
Boat ride to Nami Island
The two famous rows of trees where the lovers in "Winter Sonata" strolled through
Because it would mean that I'd successfully completed what I'd set out to do today, and because reading an ex's blog when attached to someone else should be considered a cardinal sin.
After a while it suddenly occurred to me that you might not have meant to intentionally insult me this way. I assumed that due to circumstances it had been too late for you to avoid the situation, a conjecture later confirmed by Kiwi. Interestingly I'd been banking on you being hurtful enough to ask her along because I'd wanted to meet her, something I will explain later in this letter.
When I realised that you weren't aiming to hurt me with her presence I was relieved and started making weird chainsaw jokes with Kiwi, the ones that go: I have a chainsaw, want to guess where it is? It's really huge and great for slicing ex-boyfriends' new girlfriends. (Technically not funny, but there you go, my strange sense of humour.) When Kiwi asked me where it was hidden I pointed to the first thing I saw, some dark purple cloth lining the bottom of a wall, with Christmas exploding all over it. That's why we suddenly stopped in our tracks and bent down pretending to reach for something under the cloth. When you came over to ask, Kiwi joked that I'd claimed that there'd been food underneath.
It was really my chainsaw.
I'd known about your girlfriend since October; after some crucial exams ended in late November I gave you a call to set things straight between us, and I was desperate enough for closure to, even though it hurt me, request that you return every note and letter I'd ever written to you, close to three hundred of them littered with words documenting how I trusted another person 100% for the first time in my life; to me our relationship was special and unforgettable not because of what I received but because of how much I gave and gambled. And lost. Getting the letters back was primarily symbolic, and contrary to my claim it wasn't because I "just wanted to read them". I'm sorry. I lied.
That phone call turned out to be an accidental disaster, as documented here. It made me so angry that I even wrote this (previously unpublished) letter way back then, to a person I'd never met before:
Dear ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend,
As the new set of boobs and ass next to him, I hope you're more intelligent and more beautiful than I am, not because I believe he deserves it but because I'd feel deeply insulted if he'd dumped me for an ugly dumb slut. Not that I don't see you that way, but we both know that I'm not at my most objective right now, being at that stage of life where my judgement of the ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend is exceptionally poor.
The logical part of me knows that he has impeccable taste in women (coincidentally, all my exes do) and just needs to work at keeping them around. So if I did meet you under more positive circumstances I'd probably wind up inviting you over to dinner eventually. I also feel a little sorry for you; hopefully he doesn't dump you over the email like he did me. He owes both of us that much respect.
I wanted to tell him that personally, with a slap to drive home the point, but after I calmed down I realised that violence wouldn't solve anything. Also, I do not want to touch him and am thoroughly capable of seeking out more worthwhile tasks than giving myself cause to soak my hands in disinfectant for several hours.
If you eventually marry him, make babies! His sister is so pretty. If he dumps you, drop me an email so we can meet up to bitch about him together.
I promise not to burn your house down, I promise. Not that I give a flying rat's arse about your house, but because against my will I will be moving to your town in a few months, something I have ranted about sufficiently here and in the last paragraph here. And I don't particularly fancy big fires in the town where I live.
Going through private blog entries from long ago I also found this paragraph:
I have a recipe for Ex-boyfriend's New Girlfriend Curry which despite the scary name (which, I assure you, is a misnomer) is actually quite a fun dish to prepare; I would post it up here except that it's a secret, but I can tell you that the crucial ingredient here is curry. Honest.
I'd wanted to meet both of you to tell you that I don't actually have such a recipe. I don't really enjoy curry either. Nor consuming people. Out of curiosity, did you guess why I made it a point today to randomly tell you that I've turned vegetarian? Probably not, since it's easy to pass it off as another of my random and unpredictable moments.
It's been more than eight months since the break-up; I used to write a letter to you on this blog every month, on the 10th. This letter is late because I'd never intended to write it. My search for closure was supposed to end last month. I did not expect myself to reopen these old wounds by meeting you, to stretch them wider with the memory of you holding another girl's hand. For the past few months I'd been avoiding outings with our mutual friends because I'd been running away from what you remind me of -- loneliness and betrayal, the things I fear most -- but yesterday I decided that I had to stop running once and for all. If not for mine then for your sake; if not for yours then for her sake. Because every girl deserves a boyfriend who's found closure with his ex.
Whether you disliked or were annoyed by today's outing is wholly irrelevant, and I won't pretend to be noble or magnanimous: As of writing this I can honestly say I pretty much hate her and would also love to shove my chainsaw up your ass. But please allow me the tiny belief that today has given you the closure that both of you deserve, the closure I owe you from so many months of emotional pussyfooting on my part. Closure I want for you not out of hate but perhaps of just a tiny bit of its undeviating opposite.
15 December 2006 No idea what time AM Singapore - Incheon, Korea
Took off @ midnight. Am stuck in small plane seat. Only mild turbulence -- Disappointing. The guy seated in front of me just reclined his seat about forty degrees and with my big butt that means that I won't be able to get out to use the toilet. I guess I'll just have to pee in the airsick bag later. Inconsiderate, selfish bastard.
I bet he's a Singaporean.
15 December 2006 6PM Anmyeondo, Korea
I did not pee in the airsick bag. Thankfully nature's call coincided with breakfast on board, and as per standard procedure seats are shifted into the upright position to make space for the meal. And also for an escape route that my butt can fit into.
AM: Hour-long bus ride from Incheon airport to Everland Theme Park. Scenery here is beautiful. So far what I've seen of Korea has made me realise the epic extent of Singapore's ugliness. Why don't we have trees that look artistic too?
Three tour guides here: a Singaporean Carol; a Korean Carrie; a Korean Novel. Carol - Chinese/English Carrie - Korean/English Novel - Korean/Chinese The three guides communicate in Chinese. One day and I feel as if my grasp of Chinese has improved tremendously. Hooray, I can now speak Chinese to save my life!
Went on a cute safari thingy in a bus, and all that was separating us from the animals themselves was the bullet-proof window.
Korea's famous Liger (Lion + Tiger)
If you ignore the distraction that is light reflecting off the window you can actually make out the bear trained to stick out its tongue. Haha!
Later I wanted to take all the crazy roller coaster rides that equated manual induction of bulimia, but no one wanted to accompany me. Mom and Dad placing their palms on their chests sighing heavily, "Weak heart, weak heart"; brother looking straight at me and shouting unnecessarily loudly, "NO." Where's the fun in these rides when you don't get to scream with someone you know? Threw hissy fit till brother went on one ride with me, the roller coaster that had two loops so we were upside down twice. I didn't feel much and it was pretty boring. Brother nearly died. "No more, NO MORE!" So, no more rides. HUMPH
Would totally become a fighter pilot if I weren't so short. Already have the utter disrespect for laws of gravity down pat.
@ Everland, bumped into a girl who tops my cohort in nation-wide examinations. So absurd to see her doing something I consider leisure -- She's like the type of person I would imagine can only be satisfied by the completion of mathematical problems with solutions that provoke psychosis. I have a friend who thinks that she can be turned on only by porn videos of couples having intercourse while manipulating complicated equations at lightning speed. Heh, sour grapes bitchiness.
My brother attempting an imitation of the face (>_<):
From Everland, two-hour bus ride to hotel in Anmyeondo. Checked into beautiful spacious room with everything a person could ever need, except Internet access. THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING. GET ME BACK TO SINGAPORE! NOW!
Parents doing well so far; averaging only about ten billion arguments per second. Significant improvement from yesterday.
Holy shit, there's a spa tomorrow and we have to attend it naked?
This morning I arrived back home in Singapore around 2AM, and instinctively I turned Cassie on. She apparently wasn't happy to see me at all, probably recalling my ability to spend a week on her without giving her any shuteye. I am that addicted to the Internet; after discovering that there was no Internet access at our hotel in Korea I'd wanted to take the first flight home.
Anyway I decided to leave Cassie alone for a while and went to bed. Hours later when I woke up her royal hissy fit began. My dad brought her to two computer specialists for repair and had her graphics card replaced by one which didn't resemble the burnt part of burnt toast. When we got home and plugged her back in, she worked only long enough for me to find out that I had about ten thousand unread emails and then promptly died again.
This time the two specialists diagnosed it as an allergy to dust and I had to unscrew all her bits to clear out the dust that was obstructing whatever (I am giving up on technicalities at this point) and then the whatever would stop working which in turn would cause the whatever to halt resulting in Cassie's dark screen. The cleaning part was terrifyingly gross and there was probably an entire ecosystem breeding there underneath the inch-deep coat of dust. After the whatevers were cleared of dust, my dad and I screwed Cassie's bits back together and then tried to restart her, the operative word here being 'tried', because I am still trying. After every few sentences I'm still pressing Cassie's buttons attempting to get some reaction but it's still a blank screen. Frustrating!
I think everything is ganging up on me; this afternoon the heater refused to work so I had to bathe in cold water and then when I attempted to use the hairdryer it swallowed some of my (long) hair and then somehow there was a short circuit. Also, the television in the living refuses to be switched on.
I'm typing this on my dad's laptop now, the one which died on me back in Seoul just two days ago. I rediscovered civillisation with the sudden wireless internet access, but right after I posted a blog entry, the laptop decided to go into hibernation. I don't even mean this figuratively; out of the blue the screen turned dark and there were the words "Preparing to hibernate..." flashing like a pervert to crowds in broad daylight. Thinking that the low battery level was behind this I plugged the charger in, but not before seeing sparks. Literally. There was a tiny burst of light at the contact points of the plug. That night I returned to my cave and continued scratching stick figures onto the walls.
To be on Korean TV, be accompanied by Korean subtitles, you must!
Just checked into this hotel in Seoul and was so delighted when I discovered it supported a wireless internet connection! I feel like I'm back in Singapore already, even though when I look into the mirror I'm reminded otherwise by my tanned face and two white rings around my eyes. I got a tan after skiing at night, obviously I have a talent for accomplishing the ridiculous, and because I'd been wearing goggles I now look like a reverse panda.
I spent the past two days in different hotels in Anmyeondo, the first with spa facilities and the second at a ski resort. Been doing all sorts of crazy things including lots of nudity and butt prints in snow but details will have to wait because every part of my body is aching for sleep including my butt (Yes, it is always about my butt), which very enthusiastically took part in an epic and disastrous scientific experiment just yesterday in which Angelique had to move down an icy slope without breaking anything while holding on to two very sharp sticks. Like, dude, are you kidding me? I have a hard enough time not destroying anything with my very lethal hips while on flat dry land. So. I sprained my finger.
Tonight I'm leaving for Korea. Because I want to absorb every molecule of multiple award-winning service that Singapore Airlines (SIA) provides, I need to stay awake on the flight later on, and my strategy is to adopt a nocturnal lifestyle. I can't really remember what the sun looks like but the travel experience later on will be totally worth that little sacrifice; I speak from the experience of having flown with this airline almost every year in the past two decades. Six years ago I told my mom that I wanted to be an SIA stewardess; she told me to go for one of those operations where they cut your bones into two and stuff metal in between the bones to lengthen your legs, that way when I hang out with my colleagues it wouldn't remind her of Snow Whites and the one dwarf. I told her that I could hide stilts under my skirt.
I love long-haul flights with lots of turbulence. This year when I found out that the flight was only going to be six hours long I was really disappointed; I'd wanted another eighteen-hour flight like in previous years. I want to visit Korea desperately enough to overlook the short flight, though. I'm not sure why I enjoy these things when many people I know detest or fear them, but the clearest memory I have of serious turbulence was many years ago when I was having tomato soup during breakfast and the plane shook so much in every direction that I tried to finish as much soup as possible because drops of soup kept hopping out of the bowl onto the table. The woman sitting on my left, she was grabbing the armrests to the rhythm of the bursts of free fall sensations and was staring at me because my top priority, it was to finish a bowl of soup so that I could spend the rest of my time enjoying the turbulence. You don't have to deal with disruptions such as soup on roller coasters do you?
The thing I'm looking forward to most of all is the snow. We never get that in Singapore; here it's always too hot and the first time I wore a long-sleeved shirt out I nearly got heatstroke. We never get to dress up like marshmallows here, and that is such a miscarriage of justice. The last time my family and I went to Frankfurt there wasn't any snow in sight and I threw a hissy fit so huge it must have shaken up the clouds because that afternoon I looked out the window and thought our neighbours upstairs were throwing bits of paper onto the streets. That day it snowed for the first time in years. After that I threw a hissy fit about the snow being way too light to see, you could throw bits of Styrofoam out the window and I wouldn't know the difference. The next day we were caught in a snow storm. When we walked along the snow-covered streets I threw away all dignity by singing very loudly the line, "I'm wishing for a white Christmas, just like the ones we used to know". A stranger looked at me, nodded and smiled at my parents in the same way you would sympathetically identify with a distressed couple while their kid wails loudly and wallpapers his face with spaghetti sauce.
Going off to do some last-minute packing now! I'll be spending about a week in Seoul; hopefully I'll find an Internet connection there so I can update this blog. I'm also crossing my fingers to meet certain famous Korean singers so I can kidnap and bring them back to Singapore. And then use my limited Korean vocabulary to express my love for them.
Qualifying hands down for rent-free stay at the local mental institution
Lately I've been talking to myself lavishing attention on my pet dino in Maple Story, which I named after a Cantonese pork bun. Some partial screenshots for my therapist-to-be's future reference:
So it's true, the part about neglecting blogging once you're gainfully employed elsewhere. Last week I got an occupation (other than Student) for the first time, one that still entails in part memorisation and regurgitation of facts but at least now lands me cash. My employer is my mom.
When I first told my mom that I wanted job experience she laughed until she needed to be medicated and afterwards immediately offered me a salary; she did not want to be indirectly responsible for a few billion deaths (depending on global population tally) as a result of my running errands for someone else. I don't see why she should be convinced that applying for a job at my age might either get others killed or myself kidnapped, raped, murdered and then my body abducted by aliens. For their dinner table. From a young age whenever I wanted to find out exactly how the kitchen stuff works my mom would yell at me to get out! and to study something that would actually add to my academic qualifications; obviously in the future when I cook alone I am going to accidentally burn my kitchen down.
My new job entails teaching my younger brother two years' worth of Math, so that in the next two years he will be a professional at being hated by his classmates. To add insult to injury (of my pride, that she thinks I'm incapable of working), she offered a hundred dollars for a month-long three-hour-a-day crash course, which meant that I would have gotten a little over a dollar per hour. Would have better luck in a sweatshop in China. In return I offered to teach my brother, for free!, every single mathematically incorrect thing I can possibly come up with. Maybe then he will become as endearing as Dudette (who cannot count).
We eventually agreed upon five hundred bucks, after I discovered that the art of arguing with my mom was simply not to argue whenever she became unreasonable, since arguments are after all only meaningful when a perspective or opinion is debatable, as opposed to blatant insistence upon facts that are totally untrue, for example the part about me being raped once I get a job. I learnt this trick from Mr X; at some point in time he probably noticed that his then-girlfriend was bossy and that if he pissed her off she would withhold all physical contact, so whenever I said something of a questionable nature he would smile politely and reply, "If you say so." And there's nothing more difficult than arguing with someone who isn't interested in winning the argument. He may have been an asshole, but he was a smart asshole.
It's been a week and not quite the torture I'd expected, largely because two years of sitting next to Dudette in Math class has prepared me more than sufficiently and given me enough patience to teach even the most incapable of counting, without crying even once. I did, however, throw a pillow at my brother once or maybe ten times. We have completed about eighty percent of the syllabus; another fifth to go and I will have succeeded at making him the most professional outcast in school. I've been doing pretty well at this job and this isn't gloating at all; while my brother may now instantly reduce his popularity in class with just one paragraph of Math-speak, one week ago he was completely ignorant: When our first lesson began he pointed at a symbol and asked what it was called. "Is that a fishy?"
One morning last week I woke up, switched to a random channel on TV and started watching a table tennis game in the Asian Games. I realised that 'Doha' was printed on the net. My brother entered the hall to ask why I was watching the Doha games, was I really that bored? I sleepily told him I needed something sane in my life and for God's sake, it's the Asian Games and not the Doha games! You don't call a Rolex-sponsored golf tournament the Rolex Tournament, do you? He gave me a look that approximated the face one makes when changing the dirty nappy of a baby with severe diarrhoea, and pointed out that Doha was a place, not a brand. What year is it? I think I may have been living under a stone for maybe ten thousand centuries.
Lately I've been swamped with personal problems and for the past few days I have had the persistent, nagging conviction that I was going to fall over and die in the next minute or so. Obviously I am still alive, mournfully and pitifully alive, because the awfulness just took an exponential leap today and I have no idea where I should start, really. Should I write an entry with a gradient of awfulness, from Awful to Dreadfully Awful to God Why Am I Not Dead Yet? This reminds me of a nightmare I once had, about me cooking alone (which is already a recipe for disaster) then eating the food I cooked, and with every bite the taste got increasingly worse. Then I managed to accidentally burn the kitchen down in a house that wasn't insured. Immediately, though, I realised that it was just a dream because if I bought a house, the first thing I would settle would be fire insurance. Duh!
It's graduation night tomorrow and I didn't intend to attend it until the overwhelming guilt finally won today. When my brother asked why, I told him that Dudette begged me to go because she needed a crazy friend to "laugh at things with". He simply replied, "Beg her not to beg you to go."
Anyway, today's last minute shopping for prom was pretty horrifying. My mom picked out many pieces that I thought were more suitable as casual wear in her millennium, but I humoured her and tried them on. I hate dresses. I hate dress-shopping. And I hate dresses. Have I mentioned? I really hate dresses. Me and dresses, they go together like oil and water. I see no joy in wearing something so fragile I might shred it into bits before the social obligation to wear it ends, much less shop for such an item (to wear just once!) when the prices of the pieces I like start at a few hundreds. To add to my disgust, I wanted an S-sized dress but when I got home I realised that what I bought was in fact M-sized but erroneously tagged S. Tomorrow I'll have to make a trip down to the shop to exchange it for a new piece, size S, and I hate dresses so much I'm going to puke sequins and zips.
Yesterday morning my brother wanted me to wake up at 7AM to accompany him on Maple Story, and even though it was already 3AM that day, I agreed. He wasn't convinced that I could haul my heavyweight ass out of bed as promised though, and because it's fun to make use of my subconscious fears I told him that he could hit my tummy with the heart-shaped cushion that Mr X gave me, knowing very well that I would sooner bleed to death than be reminded of my ex that way; after we broke up I used to pretend that the cushion was him and I would talk to it for hours whenever I felt lonely because talking to Mr X then would have yielded exactly the same reaction anyway. As I expected, this morning I bolted out of bed at 6.58AM for no reason, sat upright in bed as if I knew that in approximately two minutes something would happen to make me throw a major hissy fit. Seconds later my brother ran into my room, and when he saw me his face fell and got stuck to the floor, so disappointed was he that he was soclose! to gaining a secure advantage in the pillow war we started back in 1997.
What I didn't expect, though, was that last night I dreamt that I attended a wedding dinner with Mr X and after that we went for a stroll outside and watched the stars together for a while. At one point during the wedding dinner the host was at our table of ten asking us what we should toast to, and when no one answered I offered words very loudly -- wisdom, courage, happiness, and beauty, in this order. Who toasts to wisdom at a wedding dinner? What struck me as truly strange was that I totally forgot that Mr X left a long time back; in my dream we were just having a fun time and nothing else mattered. And the part about watching the stars is an omen that if I were to become a screenwriter I would totally receive an award in lame screenwriting; I can even come up with a plot on the spot, behold:
Girl and Boy meet and it is love at first sight. Girl loses memory in tragic accident. Boy attempts to regain her love. Lots of heartbreak, drama, and sad music. Then Girl finally begins to fall in love with Boy. On Valentine's Day while buying flowers for Girl, Boy trips over his own feet and suffers a concussion and then amnesia. Lots of heartbreak, drama, and sad music. Then Evil Bitch comes along and attempts to snatch Boy away from Girl -- Do you see where this is going? -- Boy has an epic internal struggle which results in lots of heartbreak, drama, and sad music but finally sees the value of Girl and the two regain their memory on the same night under a blanket of pretty stars. That glitter. And they kiss. Meanwhile, Evil Bitch's plots to kill Girl and possess Boy fail miserably. In a psychotic, suicidal moment, she uses the poison she'd planned to plant in Girl's food on herself. Next shot: Intensive Care Unit, and a doctor whispers to the magnanimously concerned Boy and Girl that while Evil Bitch may survive, she will certainly lose her memory for good. Epilogue: Boy and Girl get married, with Evil Bitch Who Lost Her Memory as one of the bridesmaids. Pink flowery background with the words: The End.
See what I mean?
I also wanted to complain about ten other different things including how my doctor is forcing me, this certified carnivore, to go vegetarian, but I'll probably turn fifty before I'm done. This one thing really can't be ignored, though: This afternoon my parents bought an apartment in the same town Mr X lives in. Yes, why not add to my grief by making me live in the same area as the person I am trying my bestestest to avoid? Because our social circles have a pretty huge overlap, I'm okay with making small talk with him, 'okay' as in Would Rather Die But God! I Must Be Polite, but beyond what is necessary for courtesy is totally unnecessary, including moving to his town. I can think of many torture methods that would hurt less, such as hammering my arms onto planks of wood attached by rope to two horses running in opposing directions. Or plucking out my toenails one by one. Why must I be forced to relocate to his town? WHY???
Yesterday two dudettes and I went to the zoo. The lighting was horrible since most of the sun was filtered out by the trees, but here are the better shots.
Don't the leaves look like they're about to swallow us up?
That's Dudette and Dudette II. I sorely lack creativity. Anyway the first thing Dudette II said when she saw me was, "I wore pink for you!!!" in a voice that suggested that it was a great sacrifice. Hahaha... I'm so touched! =)
I was able to get this close-up only because the Singapore Zoo features an open concept; animals are kept in cageless enclosures separated from the visitors by a moat (except the more dangerous ones, which are kept in glass enclosures), and sometimes it feels as if they might jump over the moat and run away. If I were an animal living at the zoo, though, I wouldn't even try to escape. It just looks so comfortable and... natural, I suppose, very unlike any other zoo I've been to around the world.
In fact, in the following picture the elephant was just strollin' along and I held my breath when it was just a metre away from us though I wanted to touch it to see how rough its skin was. Was afraid that it might break into a run or stamp on us. >_<
The greedy elephant on the right kept raising its trunk that way throughout the show demanding for food.
The log that was just pushed into the water weighed about 400 kilograms!
It's raining noodles! Hallelujah! And the noodles shall inherit the earth!
If you know me, pretend you don't. If you don't know me, don't pretend you do.
Comments are not necessarily reflective of my opinion. Only people who love me are allowed to comment. I'm serious. Trolling is so last season.
Bitch in my face if you have to.
It's only polite!
I live in Bloggerland, Singapore. Please don't stalk me. (:
CMNT
Recent posts...
I still believe pigs can fly.
Angelique
November 20, 19xx
blog 
Blogger 
claims to 
all 
Bloggerland, Singapore
