The only thing that can trump my craving for a hotdog right now would probably be... Having a hotdog with Neptune. And I mean REAL hotdogs, the U.S. 7-Eleven ones which I love to top with obesity-threatening amounts of chilli and cheese, not the scrawny, anorexic, overpriced ones in Singapore. Seriously. The hotdogs here are puny. Sort of like... Oh my gosh. I am SOCLOSE! to making a very mean joke about asian sizes right now, and I'm talking about this in a general sense, unless you get my specific meaning... In which case: YOU DIRTY MIND, YOU~
I still remember the first time I've ever had a hotdog in the U.S., and it was late one night when Neptune and I were cold and hungry and tired after hours of shopping. (Well, okay, hours of me shopping, and Neptune waiting.) We walked past a 7-Eleven outlet, and Neptune asked if I'd wanted a hotdog, and I was like, what? There is no way I am going to pay U.S. dollars for an even more overpriced hotdog. But do you know how Neptune convinced me? CHILLI CHEESE. Chilli and cheese dispensers. Not your asian plant sort of chilli, but the western ground beef sort of chilli (I don't even know why it's called chilli; it's sounds so weird to me). Are there fellow good-hotdog-deprived people out there? DISPENSERS OF CHILLI AND CHEESE. DISPENSERS. Oh goddddd I am so hungry nowwww.
See, I think you U.S. readers are probably laughing at me but you have to understand the paralysing state of happy shock that I found myself in when faced with chilli and cheese dispensers for the first time in my entire life. It does bad things to your brain, sort of drives you a little more insane. The moment I saw them dispensers, I was very tempted to run off carrying both of them. Instead, I settled for a box containing a hotdog and overflowing with chilli cheese, because I am a person of integrity and will not steal, even if it is chilli cheese! But it was a very close call, people. VERY close.
You can just imagine how much fun I had at the dispensing machines, with Neptune beside me equally happy to equip our hotdogs with a lifetime's supply of chilli cheese. Suddenly, the cashier came over to say hello, even though we had already made payment for the hotdogs, and I was like, hi!!!!! And then I gleefully turned my attention back to getting more chilli cheese. But he didn't get the hint, and asked me where I was from. Because I am a very nice person, I replied that I was from Singapore, and he mumbled something about being from India and something about a girlfriend from Singapore and giving me her number, or something. Thinking back, Neptune and I probably didn't catch what he'd said because we were so caught up with the chilli cheese.
So I thought at that point that it was really weird that this Indian guy was giving me his girlfriend's number and asking me how much longer I'd be in the U.S. and telling me all about this AWESOME! calling card that he has, that would allow him to talk for five hours, and I was like hehe! That's great! Polite smile! (Can my box take more chilli cheese?) I saw Neptune glance at the empty counter, where a line had begun to form. He ignored them and continued to flip through his messy wallet for a piece of paper, then finally gave in and ran back to the counter to do his job, mainly because I was more interested in the chilli cheese than in some Indian dude's girlfriend. Is she hot, though? ;)
Just kidding. You're my one and only, Neptune!
After realising that my box was whimpering sadly, begging for reprieve from the chilli cheese assault, I told Neptune that I was finally satisfied and ready to leave, so we headed out. Weird Indian Guy nodded goodbye to me and Neptune and I walked back to our place in silence. I was incredibly disturbed by the fact that someone had just tried to pimp his girlfriend out to me. If you've ever met me before, you'll understand why I have a 100% success rate of not appearing on other people's lesdars. So why was this time an exception? Finally, I spoke up and asked, "What was that about? Was he trying to--" Neptune read my mind replied, "Yeah I do think that he was trying to pick you up." "Then why tell me about his girlfriend? Did he mean... Me being his girlfriend from Singapore?" And we were like, OH MY GOD.
I have before never experienced so severe a breakdown in communication with someone on a first meeting. Neptune was a little disgruntled; you would be too, if someone had just tried to hit on your girlfriend (albeit very unsuccessfully) in your presence. The whole experience was -- how do you say this without being a terrible person? -- just tragic, really. I've never come across a more dismal pick-up failure.
For many nights after that, Neptune and I would peer into the 7-Eleven outlet to realise (with great sadness) that it was his shift again, and then we would hurry past it and forgo the hotdog -- the lovely hotdog with the even lovelier CHILLI CHEESEEEEEE! -- all for the sake of avoiding that weird dude. Which I am currently regretting, because right now? I wouldn't mind speaking to ten weird dudes with obscure pick-up techniques, if it means I get to devour a hotdog dressed in obscene amounts of chilli cheese.
This afternoon, I was in a tutorial class analyzing a hypothetical case involving a contract for the sale and delivery of computers. We have a new professor this semester who seems to love similes and metaphors; he traces an rectangle in the air when referring to a main framework, and then imaginary curves as he points to the details, the "contours and shaping of the law".
We thought through a few pieces of legislation and when it came to s14(2) of some Act -- an Act you are not interested in, and I know this because I was once a normal person non-law student -- he asked the class how it could be relevant to the case at hand, in particular the quality of the computers. When met with contemplative silence, he got someone to read that section of the Act aloud and then said, "So that's section 14(2). What does it mean?" We were mystified. "Okay, let's unpack this box. What's inside?"
And my very cute and endearing classmate hazarded a guess and went, "Umm, computers?"
We were in Bellevue, Washington, when we spotted this, and I was like, which sad person with an inherent inability to drive learnt to do so despite the very grounded inner belief that it heralds disaster? I think people like that (like me) should be responsible enough to avoid the steering wheel. So I laughed at the scene and told Neptune that I was going to rant about bad driving after posting this picture, and Neptune was all, "You should caption this: WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF ANGELIQUE LEARNT TO DRIVE." I was stunned, because do you have any idea how infinitely grateful I am to have a significant other who accepts me despite my various incompetences?
This is some inane road sign I spotted along Pike Street in Downtown Seattle, as you can probably tell. I like the cute green heart in between the two words. My theory is that they probably printed something wrongly there and covered it up using the heart. Cost savings, y'know? And then they also had to print 'ST' in smaller font to save on ink.
Also, no turn on red! What is with this obsession with cutting down on words so much so that the remaining letters sound so... wrong? This reminds me of a sign that Neptune first noticed months ago; being new to the country, Neptune asked out loud, "What is PAD-SING?" before being laughed at and told that PED XING? Is actually a fancy cost-saving substitution for pedestrian crossing. I dunno about you but if I were to found a civillisation on a different planet, I would totally call them PED XINGS. And also enact laws that say NO TURN ON RED.
This one was taken in Vegas, right after I attempted to take a picture of mounds of sand and gravel at a construction site and a very bored and scarily friendly construction worker said hi and suggested that "the Grand Canyon is an awesome place for photographs man!" which sort of distracted me until the crowd had pushed me too far away from the construction site to take a clear shot of the mountains and valleys of construction crap. Tourists all too often are preoccupied with taking shots of the themed hotels (castle-themed, Paris-themed, Venice-themed etc) and forget that the Las Vegas Strip is essentially a series of man-made sandcastles. Anyway, I just realised that I am behaving a little crazy, what with getting all reminiscent about a few mounds of sand which were special to me so... Moving on!
Oh yes, people, repeat after me: RIGHT LANE MUST TURN RIGHT! Man I love these signs. They're so catchy! Though I have no idea if this sign applies more to road users or to the roads themselves. It's like rebuking the lanes, y'know? Like, hey you, lane on the right! MUST! TURN! RIGHT!
For some reason, I find this picture quite surreal. It took me ages to get the perfect shot; trees are pretty unruly in Bellevue where I took this, and at any one point there were at least five different trees threatening to barge into the picture. Loads of passer-bys kept staring at the traffic light wondering what I was trying to capture and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, frowned and went on with their own lives.
I think, though, that there is always something special to find, even in the seemingly most common of things.
waking up before you every morning to see you still sleeping, then going back to sleep, and waking up with you again later that afternoon;
kissing your sleepy eyes when you wake;
cooking you breakfast before school, and inevitably making a mess of the kitchen because I'm sleepy and clumsy (I didn't tell you, but umm I hit an egg too hard against the edge of a bowl and it sort of exploded... but I cleaned it up!);
doing your laundry because you're too lazy;
cooking for you, watching you do the dish-washing after, in appreciation of my cooking;
owning a set of keys to your apartment;
accidentally leaving a trail of mini gummy bears all over the house, and watching you laugh at every random gummy bear you find;
watching you laugh;
cuddling in bed watching movies with you;
holding your hand tight when I'm scared that something bad is going to happen in the movie;
sharing meals with you, both of us always leaving the last yummy piece for each other, both refusing to eat it precisely because it's delicious;
ordering loads of sushi with you, shocking the cashier with our humongous order;
eating the pasta you cooked, the one that turned out undercooked, though it somehow tasted great to me anyway;
wearing matching outfits with you;
picking out shirts for you;
going to theme parks with you, laughing at you laughing at the definition of fear enshrined in my expression in photos discreetly taken on roller coaster rides;
messing up your hair;
drawing on your face with eyeliner;
getting into my side of our bed first, cowering under the blankets, you checking to see if I'm ready for lights out, me mumbling a reply weakly, you switching off the lights and then dashing into bed to wrap me in your arms because I'm scared of the dark;
how much it felt like home.
Last June, I really should have asked you to take me with you. Both of us knew what we were getting into, this legendary long-distance thing, but everything I'd read and listened to, all the advice procured from numerous sources could never have prepared me adequately for this.
I sometimes get irrationally and selfishly angry when people who have been in near-distance relationships all their lives tell me that they know exactly what I'm feeling, because I know what you don't know, and it is precisely what I am going through that you have no idea about, that you can't even begin to imagine. It is pure, unadulterated pain, sometimes insecure, sometimes furious, but always haunting.
For days on end after I left this place, I kept replaying things in my head, voices questioning and accusing: Where did I go wrong? What else could I have done? And the worst, knowing the answers to those questions: Nothing. There was nothing I could have said to you to have made it alright, or even marginally easier to bear, nothing I could have done but kill myself a little more with every step away from you because it was time for me to leave.
Law school may be encouraging the development of bi-polar depression in me. Just a few hours ago I was sobbing on the phone to my best friend, sobbing in despair IHATELAWSCHOOL and ICAN'TTAKEITANYMORE and IFEELSTUPID. And he laughed at me on the phone because he found it incredibly amusing that it was possible for me to despair over studies, which I suppose could be a very strange anomaly given that I had managed to get by with quite a few 'A's without much studying for the past twelve years or so. I was feeling very depressed, but I have just read a case which I understand, so I am happy! And the case was funny! I love law school! <3
What potential law students need to understand -- and what I need to get used to -- is that this system was designed to be one big ego trip, an institution devoted to describing, illustrating, analysing, mocking, and then flaunting the extent of one's stupidity. They should put this right next to "Law school is empowering!", a bright orange sign with bold black letters spelling out WE WILL MAKE YOU FEEL STUPID AND USELESS. Because it is a sad fact of life that real power lies in the courage of facing one's own utter vulnerability. Yes, I am only getting all philosophical bullshitty on you because I'm trying to convince myself that law school is alright. Why must I go through a legal education before lawyering! Stupid rules.
On to this fabulous case I just read. It was roughly forty pages in eyesight-damaging font droning on and on about whether "or" could mean "and". Oh I kid you not. (Is this not the funniest case on earth? No it is not! Because those who web-stalk me should know that my favourite case ever is an even funnier one which ruled that a tomato is a fruit. My dream is to be involved in an equally hilarious case someday.) (I have developed this case-reading skill in which I gloss over the case, frown deeply, get a cold drink, and then speed-read through the tremendous amount of synonymous words and phrases while highlighting the main points. Judges are so long-winded; they would win an essay writing competition hands down if it involved describing one thing in ten thousand different ways.) (Why am I using so many brackets?)
But I digress. So I was reading this really amusing case and marveling to Neptune at the fact that grown men can whittle their time away debating such matters, and Neptune stared at me for a second with a brief look of disgust on the face, then turned away and said in a very disgruntled manner, "'Or' is 'or'. That's why two different words are used." Which is exactly one argument raised in court, only they were less talented at being succinct, and could only express it in ten thousand billion words. And I was all, "Yeah, and it's like forty pages long." And Neptune articulated the very sentiment bugging me while I read this case, summed up my impression of the case perfectly in one very disgruntled moment: "That's crazy."
Anyway, in case you were wondering, the judge decided that "or" meant "and". If they meant "and", the stupid legislators should've just written "and" and saved us poor law students all the trouble of reading through such cases and of correcting our eyesight. I've been contemplating getting Lasik corrective eye surgery, but it'll probably be best to get that done only after graduating from law school. Then maybe get it done again every five years or so of lawyering. I'll probably need it.
(No part of this entry should be construed as medical or legal advice, because I am neither a doctor nor a lawyer. Also, I am a very bad law student, and while others are busy reading cases, I am usually more concerned with making fun of them. I also find legal disclaimers very distasteful because they seem to imply that someone out there is just waiting to throw a legal suit at your head. So mistrustful, this society is. I find the lack of faith disturbing! (Insert heavy Darth Vader breathing here (Heh, I'm abusing brackets once again.)))
This is becoming somewhat like a soup of the day menu: Random crap every day. How do you people cope with my complaints? Is it not exhausting? I sometimes tire myself by complaining (to myself) about the complaints in my head, which pretty much defeats the purpose because it sort of turns up the volume up there and then I go a little crazy and start doodling.
It is a sad, mutilated mutation of an incredibly cute photo. Why am I even showing you my tragic excuse for a work of art? I dunno, maybe cause I'd already uploaded it before realising how embarrassing this is. Oh well.
This a five-minute DS-painted derivation of the original, which you shouldn't click on if you haven't already, because really it makes mine look like some three-year-old's doodle. No really, I swear you will fall off whatever you're sitting on right now if you ever compared the two. Oh god, I knew it. YOU CLICKED IT DIDN'T YOU.
I feel sad.
So. It is January of 2008. Have you ever had that sort of mid-sleep epiphany that shocks you out of bed? The moment I tumbled out onto the floor, I stared at a calendar trying to figure out exactly which year I was in. It felt very much like I'd just been unwittingly time machined into the future. I do not like 2008. Where did my 2007 go? I miss you, 2007!
Belated 2008 resolutions (better late than never): 1. Never enroll myself in law school ever again. Nevernevernever. Thank goodness I only have to do this once. 2. Cut expenditure on luxury items by 50% after Valentine's Day. 3. Stop being a control freak. (Sorry Neptune) 4. Find a way to surreptitiously drop out of law school to study graphic design instead.
I probably can't afford to make #4 work, but what the hell. It gives me immense pleasure just writing it down, sort of like when you're sentenced to lone life imprisonment in a dark cement room, and suddenly, through a thin crack in the wall, you spot a speck of sunlight and desperately attempt breathing all of it in.
I suppose I just have to reawaken the masochist in me to really appreciate law school.
Also, did you know that the students at my school are incredibly loud? I know I've mentioned a variation of this technique before, namely the ability to drown out a lecture, but I don't know why it took me so long to realise that this variation is but one of many manifestations of the law student's inability to shut up. I mean, you must have realised that from my endless tirades on this blog already.
It's not all bad, since I could be hanging out along the corridor just doing my thing -- because this is what being a part of society entails, annoying necessities like occasionally showing up around people who speak too loudly -- and suddenly I'd get a gratuitous reminder or tip. It's not that I even try to eavesdrop; in fact, I try not to, but whatever. Thank you, loud and proud peer of mine! For reminding me that I have, yet again, more readings than I thought I had to do tonight.
Have you ever thought that every moment spent with a certain other person was picture perfect? It's like you used to know in the back of your head that that's utter bullshit, but now you're not really sure anymore.
Law school is probably one of the strangest things I've done. Remember when I blogged about the weird girl who only acknowledges my existence when I bother to dress up? I call her Probably Lesbian now. She has started behaving oddly again! This morning was rather... distressing. She kept darting her eyes towards me when she was sitting right next to me, and do you have any idea how hard it was for me to pretend that I had no idea she was treating me like some kind of pornographic museum? It was a horrifying violation of my privacy. Like, do you have bricks to spare? I sort of need to build a wall in front of Probably Lesbian's eyes.
T_T
As if that wasn't enough, I had to sit through a class in which everyone was extremely joyful with the prospect (and eventuality) of bumming around debating the definition of 'advertisement' within the meaning of section 4 of an act. And, don't get me wrong, I am totally okay with this, I know what it means to have an obsessive-compulsive need to pick at the nuances of words, pick until they go from words to bones to dust and also until everyone refuses to converse with me. What I am bothered by is this: The definition written in the act? Is an open question. It goes round and round and round. In circles. Big circles. It begs the question, begs shamelessly like homeless people by the streets as they shake their tin cans, barely filled with miserably small change.
My rule of thumb when it comes to reading statutes is to replace the unfamiliar with the familiar, because I don't give a shit when it comes to boring words, but once I do a mental search-and-replace, my mind automatically awakens to the beauty of the statute. So I'm sitting in class, trapped next to Probably Lesbian as she throws glance-darts all over my clothes, thinking: '"Yummy" includes any chocolate, ice cream, marshmallow, candy, lollipop or other foodie delights, any edibles made to be eaten ... and any other form of yumminess.'
So I am like, no, that does not make sense. Something doesn't quite smell good about this sentence. And I re-read the front bit and the back bit, chop the middle bits off and join the front and back parts together and lo and behold: '"Advertisement" includes ... any other form of advertising.' I know, so helpful right? I can't believe someone put this in the Interpretation section, the part of the act which is actually supposed to help people interpret the act. He'd definitely have done better to go into catering and make us all some hot chocolate; it'd certainly be more helpful than writing the obvious.
I pretty much ran out of that class, grabbed my stuff and raced out the door before my sanity and clothes were ripped to bits by the statute and Probably Lesbian's gaze, respectively.
Life right now is largely a negotiation: Could I sleep in the Singapore -16 time zone (aka Neptune Time Zone aka PST)? Can I just maybe skip two (out of ten thousand zillion) billion-page reading assignments? If I eat this tub of marshmallow ice cream, will I gain too much weight? What about one tub minus one teaspoon? Or if I just bite this marshmallow in half and leave the other half uneaten? PLEASE can someone take me to Neptune??
After a quiet month with Neptune, any loud noise pretty much pisses me off now. CAN YOU SEE? The law school is tightening its grip already, twisting my personality in most infuriating ways. Today was the first day of semester two. We had two lectures, each forty-five minutes long, and believe me when I say that people here have a serious problem realising that they should just shut up. For god's sake, I was on a conference call with the love of my life and wait no that wasn't my point. I mean really, is it that difficult to show some basic respect for the LECTURER? Now how about just the tiniest morsel of consideration for someone who is thisclose to hanging herself with her shoelace because Neptune is so far away and can hardly be heard above stupid, inane conversations about grades and hair and complaints, yelled across the lecture theatre? And law students at that! Seriously!
(I was typing to Neptune, not talking. See? I actually gave thought to their ease of conversing about our lecturer's accent and dress, I AM THAT CONSIDERATE. Can't the others learn from my example? Jeez!)
Law school is in full swing once again and I need to somehow get rid of my social life. I already see the signs of the vengeful thing plotting to make me an unpleasant and thoroughly miserable person. I'm starting to lose sight of why I enrolled for this torment in the first place; surely there must be a better way to become a lawyer, one which doesn't necessitate the sacrifice of as much sanity? Which reminds me, does anyone have spare eyeballs? I may b goig blnd from the readig. What? Typos? Dunno, I CAN'T REALLY SEE ANYMORE.
After having shed numerous buckets of tears, I am finally back in Singapore. I'm beginning to detest this country, not only because of Neptune's absence, but also because of the lack of winter and the goddamn rudeness and apathy of the people here. I seriously have no idea why so many of you American readers made sure to warn me that Americans were "ginormous buttheads"; how can they be when the first time a salesgirl asked me how my day was and listened to my story was in Washington?
This vacation started becoming sort of a therapeutic one after I started responding to people. It was really strange at first, because Singaporeans in general mind their own business, so I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about striking up conversations with random strangers. But once I did... Jeez, I mean, why do Americans even need professional therapy? I have gotten more consolation and advice about long distance relationships from American strangers in the past few days than I have in the past few months that I have spent reading up. The ticketing officer at the airport even shared his own LDR story with me. I want to emigrate.
Back to my sob story: The feeling of having to leave Neptune back in America was the most painful thing in the world. The last day was emotionally draining, full of crying and hoping and despairing and hugging and promising and negotiating. The cab ride to the airport was like a trip towards spiritual death, even though we held hands throughout, but the worst part was having to drag my bags and feet and heavy heart away from Neptune at the airport. I gave up after the first few steps, ran back and cried, said goodbyes all over again, and finally gave in to the reality of having to traverse eight thousand miles of despair back to Singapore, alone.
Some funnies to diffuse the emoness that has recently plagued this blog. In Vegas, Neptune and I solicited the help of my special girlfriend to pose for us:
I hope you never have to know what it feels like to be too tired to sleep, too awake trying to put words to this silence. It's so quiet that I can hear the ticking of an imaginary clock; I can hear every tear fall against the our bedsheets. At least one of us is getting some shuteye tonight. I kiss and smell and stare and touch, stroking hair and holding hands, but every moment that passes seems to increase the distance between us and I want to stop it, stop this awful thing from happening, I'm desperate, please let me stay here. I don't understand how I can feel so far away from someone who is right next to me. I have to be quiet, but wordless weeping is woefully inadequate for my despair. There are knives in our kitchen. If I carve my heart out, will it stop hurting?
...is that I have to leave. To explain my week-long absence, I give you this: Personal Issues. They usually crop up when I feel that my relationship with someone dear is threatened. As an instinctive, self-destructive response, I do everything in my power to drive that person away because in my very messed up head it is a logical answer, sort of like PINK MARSHMALLOW! -- It just makes sense. Luckily Neptune's stubborn, and refuses to leave me no matter what. What a U-Haul lesbian.
Anyways. Do you know how terrifying it is to leave a place you've called home for a wonderful month, to return to long distance for another 10,800,000 seconds (I counted)? That ordeal was insanity; it was wonderful and scary and heartbreaking and hope and despair all at once. To have to go back to that is ridiculous.
So I won't. I am going to apply to the school here and quit school in Singapore and stay here and do whatever I want. I'm going to find a simple part-time job and author books and make hot chocolate for Neptune and me when it's cold out and we're hungry, instead of going "home" to study the vicissitudes of life, and ridiculously complicated things like the difference between a gratuitous gift and a deeded gift, only the latter of which being legally enforceable -- Ignoring the practical side of things for just an indulgent moment, since when can anyone decide that it's okay for the lack of legal documentation to eclipse personal honour? SCUM!
Anyway, I was also thinking, albeit selfishly, that maybe my flight will be grounded? Maybe too many birds flying in the sky for take-off? Pelting marshmallows from the heavens rendering visibility too poor? Pilots too high on rocky road ice cream to do their job? Please....... Anything. Someone kidnap me so I miss my flight please? ...The list of possibilities I have drawn up in my head is endless and endlessly desperate. Neptune and I are praying for a miracle. Just last night, we were surfing University of Washington web pages figuring out application prerequisites and requirements. My flight is in two days.
I don't know how I can possibly leave this place for another that this place has replaced as my home.
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.
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