After I went to bed last night, by which I mean around 5.30 this morning, I started hatching a plan to accumulate enough money for this summer's Probably Not Going to Happen Anymore Hawaii Trip. Maybe because I was wise enough to know that making myself stressed when trying to fall asleep is an excellent idea. So I was adding numbers up in my head, converting from one currency to another, when suddenly I couldn't breathe.
I started feeling lightheaded... I mean more lightheaded than I usually do in law school which convinces me very well that my head in fact does not include a brain. I gasped for air... But I couldn't. I was choking and hyperventilating and it was just pitch black and so silent. So quiet except for my choking. I felt like something heavy was pressed against my chest so I couldn't inhale; I wanted to get out of bed and run somewhere but I had no idea where to go and I was cold and scared and couldn't breathe and my fingers were tingling like the blood was being drained from their tips. Somehow I found myself in tears and managed to phone Neptune.
I thought, god I'm too young to have a heart attack.
Neptune later found me crying; I figured it was just a panic attack and went back to bed.
So this afternoon I decided to investigate the apparent correlation between worrying about money and my panic attacks, and I went ahead and calculated the cost of enrolling in my ideal institution (no, it is definitely NOT a law school, God forbid), and I was soveryclose to getting another panic attack:
So I guess my only option is to sit through law school, work three years, and then pursue that dream. In seven years. I shall be such an old hag by then.
I read somewhere that those who think that money will buy them happiness are the most unhappy people around, but to me there's nothing wrong with my life except that I don't have enough money to do exactly what I want to do. Why is it that I can't suddenly find myself the inheritor of an indecent amount of wealth? Like the Princess Diaries movie where that dorky girl is suddenly told that she'll be inheriting the throne to Geneva? Real life is such a pain.
ACT II SCENE I. A living room. MOTHER is busy arranging dishes to drain at a twenty degree slant. Enter FATHER, waving his hands wildly, talking to ANGELIQUE.
FATHER Darling, do you want champagne or wine?
ANGELIQUE ?
FATHER Mum says to celebrate my birthday. We're going to open a bottle of-- Do you want champagne or wine?
ANGELIQUE Champagne.
FATHER Okay. Mum, your daughter wants champagne -- It's very expensive champagne, girl -- Son, I will give you a pinch of champagne today!
BROTHER I don't want.
FATHER Just a bit, I'll give you a bit in the empty hotel shampoo bottle. You know, those tiny bot--
MOTHER THAT'S TOXIC!
FATHER Toxic by Britney Spears.
ALL ...
MOTHER Son, your father wants to POISON you!
BROTHER I don't want to drink alcohol. [Exit]
FATHER One word, son: Protocol!
MOTHER Champagne is served! Come here don't waste my time I still have to do the laundry.
FATHER (To MOTHER) Where is your son?
ANGELIQUE In his room. I'll go get him.
(The faint sound of threats hang in the air as ANGELIQUE diplomatically suggests that she will never lend BROTHER her handheld gaming console ever again if he doesn't comply. Enter grumpy BROTHER and triumphant ANGELIQUE.)
BROTHER I don't want alcohol.
ANGELIQUE It's just a sip; it won't kill you.
FATHER Son, you better try a little champagne so you know what it is. Or else when you go into National Service the guys will get you intoxicated. IN.TOX.XI.CA.TED! It's called... ragging! So just try a little now, to celebrate my birthday--
ANGELIQUE Yeah stop being a wuss.
ALL (Lifting glasses) Bottoms up!
BROTHER (Puts glass down without drinking) Okay. [Exit]
MOTHER COME BACK HERE AND DRINK!
ACT II SCENE II. A bedroom. BROTHER is typing furiously at his laptop while blasting heavy metal songs in the hopes that it will intervene with his participation in society. Enter MOTHER furiously, FATHER curiously, and ANGELIQUE who thinks that BROTHER is being a nansy pansy.
MOTHER Just sip a little. Go through the motions to humour me. Come on.
BROTHER No.
ANGELIQUE (Offering BROTHER the glass) Stop being a wussy pus-- idiot.
FATHER Come on son--
BROTHER I don't want to die by alcohol.
ANGELIQUE It's all in the spirit of celebration man. Just one sip won't kill you!
BROTHER I would rather die.
ANGELIQUE Then you can drink all our bottles of champagne. I assure you that you will die.
ALL ...
BROTHER Shut up.
ANGELIQUE (Slams glass on the table) Fine. [Exit]
MOTHER YOU ARE MAKING ME ANGRY JUST TAKE ONE SIP IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK
FATHER Son, remember when I say... When the pussycat is asleep, don't wake the lioness... Protocol! Come on, protocol!
MOTHER (To FATHER) I asked him to put his tip of the tongue there only! (To BROTHER) That's all, then I won't bug you anymore.
BROTHER Why? WHY? Just tell me why!
MOTHER I told you already. Just exposing you to the culture of the world. Wining is a culture! Why're you so stubborn? Why're you so retarded? It's good for you it's not like it's bad for you I'm not asking you to become an alcoholic I've never asked you to try cheap stout this is expensive alcohol!
FATHER Quick quick protocol quick son protocol--
MOTHER Or just this drop on my finger--
BROTHER I don't waaaant! Why can't I just smell it? Just smelling it is like tasting it!
MOTHER Just taste before it spills on the laptop a little bit won't kill you just taste it for goodness sake
BROTHER (Lifts glass to his lips for a moment and then pulls it away from his face) URGH.
MOTHER You didn't taste it!!!!
BROTHER I DID--
FATHER Okay describe the taste!
MOTHER Yes describe the taste come on describe it for me.
ALL ...
BROTHER (Wipes his tongue with a piece of tissue) Sour.
FATHER Nooooo~
MOTHER NO! You didn't taste the fragrance of the grapes. You're wiping it off your tongue!
BROTHER I didn't!
MOTHER You better not ask to go pubbing with your friends in the future because I WON'T LET YOU!
BROTHER I won't.
MOTHER (Aside to FATHER) HA! We've got him. He's in trouble. Just wait...
ACT II SCENE III. A bedroom. ANGELIQUE is typing furiously at her laptop attempting to record the evening's events. Enter FATHER.
FATHER (Astonished) Girl, you've finished your champagne??
ANGELIQUE Yeah it was just a tiny bit. Only twelve percent alcohol too. It's nothing.
FATHER You know, what you have drunk just now is three times as expensive as your dinner today. Very expensive champagne. Vintage! You know that I don't encourage you to drink right? But if you do just know I won't get upset okay? [Exeunt]
(2) A person may be a party to a criminal conspiracy notwithstanding the existence of facts of which he is unaware which make the commission of the illegal act, or the act, which is not illegal, by illegal means, impossible.
One day I am going to write a book dissing every single ridiculously phrased sentence in the law.
In other law school news, which is not much because I only had about 2 hours of school this week, the weird girl, Probably Lesbian, is still staring at me creepily. Also, I accidentally scoffed at Best Fwen today. As you know, I am not particularly fond of her, but in all honesty and good faith I SWEAR it was an unconscious thing. What happened was that she walked into class ten or fifteen minutes late this morning, and I was in the drunken state of mind where every emotion is directly translated into action without any thought processes coming into play whatsoever, so I smirked pretty smugly. I feel a little bad about that, especially since her dress was an atrocious felony and her hair seemed to suggest that she'd arrived via hurricane.
From: Mrs. In-Law Sent: Thursday, March 27, 2008 8:03:45 AM To: Neptune
Darling
How often do you clean your [apartment]? Your toilet/bath/basin has to be cleaned everyday but since u are studying, u have to clean them once in 2 or 3 days.
Your kitchen has to be cleaned each time after use. Your garbage got to be cleared once in 2 or 3 days. Your table should be wiped once in 2 days. Your carpet vacuumed once a week. Your fridge/oven should be wiped once in 2weeks. Your bedsheets/pillow cases washed once in one week preferably, at most 2 weeks. Well u be the judge on how clean u are?
Also have u got time to exercise? No, means u are busy and not prioritising. Do u have time to respond to emails sent by family including relatives and sending out emails/cards to just say hello to relatives? Did you send a birthday card to daddy, [sister], [sister's boyfriend]? If u have not kept in touch with loved ones, then your priorities are wrong.
Have u had time to pray, listen to sermons, read the Bible? This is important. Again priority screwed up. The same goes with your [sister]. I will nag her too.
Sorry that I have to raise these up because I am your mom. No one else will tell u. It's my responsibility.
[...]
I just wish u to know and correct your weaknesses which are personal cleanliness, faith with God and social behaviour especially with regards to communication.
I have my weaknesses too but I try not to allow these weaknesses to upset my life and the lives of people around me. [...]
Neptune just stopped ranting to me after an hour because -- and ONLY because -- school beckoned. All I had to say was, dude, your mom's pretty nice. Mine? She would never be that concise.
By a happy twist of fate, for the past three days, the closest I've come to The Law is 1.5 seasons of Boston Legal, each marathon of episodes separated by human necessities such as ice cream and sleep. It was a nice escape from school. I know, it's ironic that I ran from law school to a TV show about lawyers and lawyering, but people, in this one episode? A lawyer walked into a staff meeting without his pants on. And a senior partner, commenting to the press: "My poop doesn't smell. Comes out in pretty colors. Pastels." I can only dream of having such colleagues some day.
So some time during my three-day veg-out session, I decided to go through Neptune's emails! I read somewhere that it's unhealthy to share passwords in a relationship, because of some alleged issue regarding "space"? But in my defense, I was incredibly bored. I bet that sort of relationship advice doesn't take into account bored people. And I found this email written by Mrs. In-Law, telling Neptune (a freethinker) to visit some website and listen to their sermons on Good Friday. She ended the charming letter very persuasively with:
THIS IS IMPORTANT DON'T IGNORE ME! If I have to, I will nag you regarding this.
Neptune ignored her.
Both of us have been feeling the repercussions of ignoring her this week. She got really mad at Neptune for not emailing her enough (Neptune's fault) and being allegedly too busy with work (my fault...). Worse, she found out about Neptune's phone bill, which would have been okay if Neptune made only local calls but unfortunately because of A CERTAIN GIRLFRIEND IN SINGAPORE, it just went bust.
Let me explain. So. We're thrifty, right, and we would give each other a ring on the phone, without actually starting a call, every time we need each other to get online to video/online chat. But the thing is, there is this vile AT&T plan to bankrupt long-distance couples by charging like three dollars for every call that gets through, regardless of whether the other party picks up. VILE! VILEVILEVILEVIL! Exactly like law professors when they're out to make your life miserable. So, if you hate someone who uses AT&T, get hold of his phone and start making random international calls. He will -- bad pun coming up -- pay dearly.
Mrs. In-Law's reaction to the over-expenditure was... pretty bad. Especially because she has no idea that I am... a very special friend of Neptune's.
I quote: "You have been in the U.S. since [August last year] and you have not made any call to any of us and yet you spend USD150 to call your friend!! Who is this friend who is more important than your family?? You've got your prioirities wrong!"
And because both Neptune and I are still rather financially parasitic, this incident is threatening our month-long plan to elope to Hawaii. Neptune and I got pretty desperate and have begun taking paid online surveys. We have earned a grand total of $11.52, $5 each for signing up, $0.50 for most surveys and $0.02 for reading a paid email. IT SUCKS.
If any of you know how to make one thousand USD in the next two weeks or so, please let me know. Also tell me if you need anyone to sort out your html or edit your essays for grammatical precision or whatever. I gladly volunteer my services quid pro quo i.e. for monetary remuneration i.e. for pay.
I know this is going to sound very stupid, but I've already bought the perfect bikini for Hawaii and there is NO way I am not going to be there this summer!!! Unless I do not have sufficient funds. *sigh*
So this is a public service announcement for y'all. Never, never, never, EVER ignore your parents. Unless you are financially independent.
This month I actually forgot our monthiversary, which is that thing that new young couples celebrate twelve times a year until they realise that it is Not Very Practical. Well, it was more like I remembered it on the Singapore day and was waiting for the Washington, U.S. day to arrive so we'd both be in the monthiversary day of our time zone, damn whoever invented the time zone, but then I was working on this monster of an essay and by the time it finished eating my brains, the date sort of slipped my helplessly nonexistent mind.
Which brings an end to me staring at you meaningfully every third day of every month, smiling incredibly sweetly and asking if you remember what day it is, and then blushing satisfactorily when you do. Such vile poaching shall end.
I haven't written to you in a long while -- actually, ever since I returned from our month-long vacation in the United States. Many bad things happened, and then after we were okay again it was time for me to leave. I resent the geographical distance. And then I returned to law school which has caused me to (i) cry approximately 3235 times, (ii) resolve to start reading my cases approximately 7460921 times, and (iii) threaten to break up with you 1 time. Law school is not the most conducive for environment for sanity, and really what was I thinking that day? I think it was something along the irrational, hormonal lines of: If I dump you, it will hurt you less when I kill myself.
I know, right? Stupid f*cking PMS.
The truth is, I have a weakness for you. Remember the day we saw a duck-shaped cloud in the skies and got all excited because ducks are our thing (Couple Logic, which inherently does not make sense)? It started way before that, but it was on that day that I realised that I have become the sort of loser that is unable to end relationships. The sort of girl who goes, IF YOU TREAT ME BAD I WILL KICK YOUR ASS! and then wakes up to tuck your cold feet in because you can't sleep when your feet aren't under the blanket. It is thoroughly embarrassing. Please do not tell anyone.
One January morning in Washington, while I was walking you to school, we found a gummy bear on the ground. It was just there, rebelliously and brazenly there, as if in a conscious attempt to challenge the existence of purpose. Of course, because gummy bears are not conscious (I hope, else they are going to riot against my tyranny very soon), we found it remarkably coincidental that we found a gummy bear on the street around the same time that we purchased a huge bag of mini gummy bears, which are also sort of our couple thing (See above: Couple Logic Does Not Make Sense).
One night that week we argued over something. I can never remember what we argue about, because it is so stupid and petty that after a while, we are arguing only as a matter of integrity. Because it would be so disruptive to Quality Argument Time if we suddenly kissed and made up simply because we forgot what we were so angry about, and everyone knows how important QAT is.
Earlier that night, before the anger and the integrity, I'd told you that the purple and orange bears were my favourite. Later, when I refused to pay you any attention because I was busy defending my integrity, you ended our cold war abruptly by asking me if I wanted any gummy bears, and because I am a person of principles? I said, "No." But if I were to properly illustrate the A-grade effort I put into being an emphatically unlikeable person it would have to sound like: OVER MY DEAD BODY. Up to this day I still admire you for sticking with the one person whose temper is most likely going to trigger the third world war. So I said NO with my back to your face, but then I turned around and saw this:
And your face, it was like an abstract painting of Devastation. I realised that you'd given up on being a person of principles, which released me from our pact to behave like pompous asses, and I immediately went, "OMG! GUMMY BEARS!" and you sheepishly apologised, explaining that we'd run out of purple and orange ones. Unsurprisingly because earlier that night I'd been picking out the purple and orange ones. And then I ate the gummy bears and was happy. You know I love you, right? Even when I act as if I don't? I can't do without you anyway. I won't be able to sleep alone; I'm afraid of the dark... Unless you're with me.
Why do we fight anyway? The other day I inadvertently mentioned one of our arguments to two of our mutual friends, and they were like, you two actually fight? Like, is that even possible? Daddy says sometimes people fight a lot because they love each other too much. I guess that makes sense.
Sometimes I'm fighting not against you but against us, in a twisted and paradoxical way, because I need to know that we feel safe and secure enough to argue. Sometimes I fight against us because I'm scared that my tiny, occasional dissatisfactions will snowball and erupt, taking us by surprise. Sometimes I fight against us because you feel distant and I feel scared, and driving you away is the only way I know how to connect with you. Most of the time, I just need you to say: "You know I love you. Come here and hug me. Please stop being stupid." Because most of the time I am just being stupid.
Two days ago I was in a bad mood, which would not be surprising if my stress levels that week were measured. Before it led to an argument, I told you grumpily that I was in a bad mood but that it was not your fault at all, and you had to sit through an hour of speaking to someone whose monosyllabic vocabulary was getting increasingly anorexic. Behold:
You: Darling, are you stressed? Do you have a lot of work to do? Me: Yeah. You: So... You're going out later for dinner with friends? Me: Yea. You: Eat more okay? Me: You: So you won't be hungry later... Me: You: *pleading smile* Me: You: Um, I need to go stretch my legs because I'm getting a cramp. Me: 'Kay. You: Okay? Me: K. You: Okay...
You know, right then I was expecting you to metaphorically extend a middle finger in my direction and go off to concentrate on more productive things like breathing. At least that helps your life span. Later I grumpily went off for dinner, and when I met our mutual friends, they handed me a flower. I am not the sort of girl who gets flowers because my exes were not as talented in that aspect. So when I received it from a friend I was pretty surprised, and I was like, what's this for? And I was told that it was from you. Immediately after I'd gone offline, you contacted one of the people I was meeting up with and told her to get me a rose. Because I was in a bad mood.
And then when I got home, I found in my email inbox a video you'd made for me that same evening, a slide show of our photos set to lyrics which meant a lot to us. Not because of any special occasion, but because I was in a bad mood.
I think it is fair to say that you are officially the Best Significant Other in the World, Amen.
So this long rambling entry is just to say THANK YOU! for putting up with someone who habitually has a stick up her ass, who takes out her moodswings on you by making you respond to monosyllabic replies and getting angry when you don't, someone who is sensitivity and melodrama put together in a high-voltage package run by hormones, who gets even more upset when you get upset when I get upset. Thank you for looking me in the eye every single day and telling me that you love me even though I am, honestly, such a pain in the neck.
Thank you for not scolding me when I let a spoon slide into a pot of soup such that you had to put your fingers in the soup to get the spoon out. Thank you for allowing me to use your credit card for my shopping sprees even though I have a spending problem. Thank you for agreeing to be the sole breadwinner of our imaginary two-person family every time I whine about wanting to quit law school to be a freelance slacker. Thank you for not being angry with me for forgetting to print out our airport shuttle voucher even though you'd specifically told me to print it out. Thank you for giving me two additional pillows to line the left side of the bed because you're on my right and I'm scared of feeling emptiness to my left in the dark. Thank you for eating, with no less than a smile on your face, the beef potato stew that I cooked, complimenting me even though it tasted like shit.
I miss you.
Thank you for being with me, even though we can only meet each other once every three or four months for at least the next three years. Thank you for believing me when I said that a playful peck on the cheek from my best friend was just that, and nothing more. There's so much to thank you for, but most of all, thank you for tolerating me when I'm being an intolerably hormonal bitch.
ACT I SCENE I. A kitchen. MOTHER is busy sorting food out on the table. Enter ANGELIQUE, half-awake and grumpy.
ANGELIQUE Good morning mommy.
MOTHER It's afternoon. Come have your lunch.
ANGELIQUE 'kay.
MOTHER You know I asked your father NOT to buy from this franchise? But he bought it. AGAIN! The food is soaked so long in the soup it's all soggy already and tastes like -- I'm sorry to say the word but I really have to say it -- tastes like f*ck. I told him, the plastic bag even says the store name, even if he can't see the sign plate he can see the bag, then DON'T buy! Do you want soya sauce for your fishballs?
ANGELIQUE No.
MOTHER Tastes better with soya sauce. I can get you a dish to pour it out. It's okay without? Yeah I think it's alright, right? Told him not to buy already. And then you know what he told me? "I bought from the store opposite. If they're buddybuddy then I don't know." Do you think the franchise will be so STUPID as to operate two stores under the same flag right opposite each other? He thinks I'll be stupid enough to accept this lame excuse? He is so ignorant. But that's not even a valid excuse. Ignorance of the law is no reason for breaking the law, RIGHT? (Gives ANGELIQUE the law student a meaningful look) See, the food is so soggy from being soaked so long in the soup already. I told him how many times not to buy from this franchise, and STILL he insists on buying. Buy for what? I'm not going to eat it. Stop shaking your leg. It's so crude! I've never come across a girl as unsophisticated as you. In my days our parents would spank our legs and scold us because money would fall out when we shook our legs. That's what the Chinese believed. Old wives' tales. But it's still very very rude. Bad habit! If people saw you doing this, they would NEVER hire you. And you're going to be a lawyer! Have some sense of propriety.
ANGELIQUE (Going to her room to blog about this) Sorry. [Exeunt]
You're not going to be a good lawyer. Don't kid yourself. You can't get away with laziness, plagiarism, and lying. I can't believe you were complimented on your f*cked up copied-and-pasted excuse for a speech. You looked so delighted with yourself, it made me so angry. It made me so angry! If we ever meet as adversaries in court, I suggest you beg me for a settlement because I know you know that I can and will whoop your sorry ass. ANY DAY.
Remember when we worked on that project some time back, and I was allocating tasks because you were too lazy? We had a lot of work to do, and it was daunting. Being OCD, I made lists. Detailed lists. With deadlines down to the hour and minute. I said, please keep to these deadlines because we are really running out of time. You said, I AM FREAKING OUT MY GRADES ARE ALL C'S I REALLY NEED THIS TO GO WELL. I felt sorry for you, even when you were actively annoying the shit out of me by whining about your petty and irrelevant insecurities. I said, don't worry, it will be fine, just follow my list. You agreed.
It was nearing the deadline and you weren't finished.
I said, do you want me to do this portion of the work (which is yours) because I have finished my portion already? You said, could you help me do, like, everything which I have not completed? I replied in my head, f*ck no. I helped you with more than half of what each of us were supposed to do. At that point I was really surprised that you were a straight-C student. That really surpassed my expectations.
And then it was the day before our presentation, and I offered to run through the legal arguments with you so we knew exactly where our team stood on the matter. Mainly it was me telling you all the answers so you could regurgitate them; I had no choice because you kept flying off-tangent with the most ridiculous and baseless of arguments. On the day of the presentation itself, you put on this snobbish air and went ahead and articulated MY ideas in MY words. In your portion of the presentation.
Seriously? Borrowing a favourite line from Dudette, my articulate friend: "You are even more disgusting than my six-year-old cousin's broccoli puke puree." Which in my language translates to: You slutbitchskankho. Did you copulate with stupidity? Do you not possess the faculties necessary to at least paraphrase? Is your brain cell lonely?
I would never have brought this up if not for the fact that you did it AGAIN last week. I hope you are at least intelligent enough to realise that you are plagiarising by reusing my ideas and passing them off as your own. But nevermind me, you even dared to steal ideas from judgements written by people whose resumes probably account for the drastic rate of deforestation today. I would die to see you explain your way out of that one before the very people you stole from.
And, oh, this must be the juiciest part of all. You dirty little liar. You were asked for a citation supporting your argument, and you said that a certain judge said a certain something at paragraph 49. I remember the paragraph number because I found it dubious and made a point to investigate it, and guess what, my dearest slutbitchskankho? YOU LIED. So THAT'S why you looked so uncertain when you gave your reply.
I have lost every shred of respect I had for you, every shred which I fought so desperately to maintain -- when you were busy telling me how worried you were about your grades, when right after that you didn't do your part of the work. I detest you. And at the same time, I pity you. Because in all honesty I find it amazing how you can even live with yourself. I would rather kill myself than slip into your decay.
Things are looking up! In a strange sort of way. A certain 'friend' of mine decided not to be someone else's 'friend' anymore so she's being very buddybuddy with me nowadays. You'd think law students would be better at resisting the urge to behave like a six-year-old even though I totally get that impulse, and whenever I spot balloons it makes me happy! A bouncy sort of happy! And then I totally lose it and I start gravitating towards the balloons against my will.
On Monday I skipped school because I felt that I was three classes away from killing myself, and there were three classes that day. It can be said that I have contributed to society, because by choosing to waste time at home with a tub of ice cream and video games, I saved a life. *beams* Today's class actually started at 9AM, but because I'd been absent on Monday, I planned to reach school at 10.30AM instead. So imagine my surprise when I walked into the (mock) court to see a room full of people in the boring white-shirt-black-top lawyer-or-maybe-also-funeral attire, and I was like WTF? I suffer from OCD which compels me to be early. You cannot find a motivation more inspired and driven than mental illness. I am ALWAYS EARLY! It is, like, 10AM!
So I walked into court and was all, hey guys, how come the class started already? Most of them had also just arrived and were similarly clueless. And then someone said to me: "It's your turn." And I'm like, what? In a mess of paperwork and nerves I somehow found myself at the podium absolutely Not Ready to give a speech I'd written, memorised and rehearsed just six hours ago (at 4AM), with four student judges staring at me.
It wasn't a very nice situation, but because my Always Early streak was unjustly broken, I was upset and rather pissed off about having to speak when I felt so unready, and do you know what happens when I am angry? I kick ass! Neptune says I become incredibly scary. I prefer to think of it as a constructive channeling of energies concentrating on how grotesquely I was going to butcher opposing arguments. Like, I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I AM LATE. OH THE HUMILIATION! PREPOSTEROUS! I AM ANGRY! YOU HAVE ERRED ON A POINT OF LAW.
Omgwtfbbq. When I last blogged and wrote an entry saying it was official that life hates me, I had NO IDEA that things were about to be taken to the next level. This must have been the most dramatic weekend of my entire life.
Let's work backwards. Yesterday? Worst day of my life, no doubt about that. Worse than law school even, and we all know that that is hard to top. Neptune and I got into a situation, and we were like, "I need some space." "Please don't do this to me." "I'm scared." "Of what?" "I need to be alone now." "Don't leave me." etc etc. For an idea of the drama involved, go read a Shakespearean tragedy, because if I were to write it here, you would be exhausted from the sobbing right about line 74325. And then Neptune and I kissed and made up. So it's all good now. The end. Very dramatic.
On Saturday my mom was still pissed with me for giving her 'attitude', because:
On Friday she was a contestant on the game show called "Let's Be Annoying!" It started with her asking me where I wanted to go for dinner, and my default answer nowadays -- and for good reason, as you will soon find -- is 'Anything. Whatever.' So I replied, "Anything. Whatever." And she said, "I don't see 'Anything Restaurant', or 'Whatever Restaurant'." So I was like, okay, how about this western place, because I love western food? "Your father hates that." Okay, this one right here? "Too expensive. We have a voucher for this other one..." Mhmm, let's go there. "It's so far away from home." We have a car. Okay fine. How about-- "Do you want to go to THIS place?" Yeah 'kay. "This one has a better deal though..." Yeah fine we can go. "Ahhh I think I want to go thereeee!" ANYTHING. WHATEVER.
See?
This reminds me of the time she argued with my brother about vegetables. Do you know how torture devices were invented? I'll tell you. That day, amongst my mom's assertions were that (i) beans are not vegetables; (ii) cabbages are not green; and (iii) 'kind', 'type' and 'variety' all mean different things. Being enrolled in this institution called law school where we habitually irritate the poop out of normal people by disputing the SEEMINGLY plain meaning of words, I was naturally inclined to be an asshole and engage her regarding (iii). And you see, people, this is how torture devices came into existence: SOMEONE FOUND MY MOM. Needless to say, even though she was completely swayed by my argument that 'kind', 'type' and 'variety' are synonyms, mainly because it MADE SENSE, I was subjected to agonizing pain.
On Thursday, Probably Lesbian left me alone for what must have been the first time this century. She did not stare! Mainly because I was sitting far, far away. It was a huge relief. Then something funny happened and I laughed with everyone else, which as you know is a very common reaction, and then the girl sitting to my left started staring. It was strange. I thought maybe she liked my earrings, but then I realised I wasn't wearing any that day. So I was thinking to myself, "Jeez. Another weird girl. I guess it's something else to blog about if she keeps staring, though I really hope she doesn't, because it FEELS WRONG." She kept staring. I refused to look at her. She continued staring. And staring. And staring. IT WAS CREEPY!
And on Wednesday I blogged about how life hates me. It still does. It hates me a lot.
It was actually quite a good day, not only because I actually understood more than 0.1% of all that the professor said, but also because my classmates, God bless their awesomeness, were complaining aloud about how legal theory classes made them feel stupid. One of them continued, "Actually, it's not just that. School in general makes me feel stupid." In that moment, it seemed like my right to be stupid was so profoundly validated and I felt... so insanely happy!
And Neptune wonders why I am so affected by the nagging suspicion that blares YOU ARE STUPID! on loudspeaker in my head. Daddy says the best way to make a smart person feel stupid is to send him to law school. The prof mentioned today that one of our seniors had a breakdown, and then some years back we had a suicide or two... I think law school is just another form of population control.
But it was a good day, even though the prof once again managed to call on me in the ONE MINUTE -- I swear, it was no longer than one minute in the entire two-hour lesson -- during which I wasn't paying attention. Luckily I was prepared for class. I really want to know how he got to become so talented in that area. I can never tell when I'm daydreaming.
It was still a good day nevertheless; I had only one lesson today, during which I was lost only 99.8% instead of 99.9% of the time (OMG I broke my personal record), and after school I was looking forward to lunch at McDonald's. Because this is not the U.S. where western food abounds; this is Singapore, and the hawker centers disgust me with their abundance of greasy excuses for food, a poor imitation of fish and chips usually the only dish representing Western Cuisine. I just want to emigrate so badly right now.
And McD's is the closest it gets, never mind the occasional grubby auntie scolding her even grubbier kids sticking fries up their noses next to me, or the lecherous old man pretending to read the papers in that same corner seat everyday without fail, while his eyes dart from young girl to young boy and back.
So I alighted the bus near a McD's outlet and dreamt of fries while walking towards the outlet. That's when I realised....... the McD's signs were... They were gone. Gone! No big 'M', no red and yellow, no red-haired clown to give me nightmares. Every store in the premises was closed, and the area was barricaded. Then I spotted a sign: "This building is to be demolished." And I was like, WTF???
But it was still a good day, and I wasn't really upset, never mind that I had to walk half a mile to a McCafe, where I treated myself to ice cream for the first time in nearly two months. Then the wind blew a falling dead decomposing leaf into my ice cream.
But it was still a pretty good day, never mind the wind and the leaf which too enthusiastically offered itself for my consumption, and I walked home while enjoying the rest of my ice cream cone. Then I felt a drop... Then two... And a tiny drizzle started. I said aloud to the sky, "You have GOT to be kidding me!" And then, you know what? It started raining. TORRENTIALLY. So I had to stuff myself with the ice cream before it got too diluted, and by the time I got home, I was soaked through.
Tomorrow is going to be so awesome, I can feel it already. Hooray.
Why is it that people only want my attention when I am busy minding my own business? Every single time I find myself in a hurry, others seem to somehow locate and drag me off-course.
This afternoon I was minding my own business, I can't stress any more how intent on minding my own business I was, I was like SO fixated on getting to the post office that it took me about five whole seconds to realise, oh my, a car just drove by within two inches of hitting me. And then another five before I thought: Good thing my package is safe. I wonder how much postage will cost?
As established, I was wholeheartedly minding my own business when SUDDENLY......... A woman who looked about 35 approached me and said, "Hiiiii! You look good!" in a hiiiii-long-lost-friend!!! sort of way, and, assuming that I was supposed to remember her, because courtesy was unfortunately a part of my upbringing, I paused and pretended to know her. So I said hello, and she asked me, "What is your nameeeeee!" Notice the lack of question marks. It was really odd because most of her sentences, even interrogative ones, ended in exclamation.
Then I realised that she was a stranger, and I started suspecting her of being maybe a lesbian stuck in a decade-long marriage to a heterosexual man who doesn't know. And I was pretty much stumped, because my loyal and dependable 'Sorry, I'm a lesbian!' rejection-cum-punch line (I call it the Bam & Bish) totally falters here. So I was considering telling her I had a boyfriend when SUDDENLY.........
She asked me about my ethnicity. "Chinese." "Really?? You look very unconventional... Like Malay." "Yeah, I get that a lot." "Oh... I know. VIETNAMESE!" "Umm...!?" "Maybe Thai! I don't know what it is about you, maybe it's your eyes, or your smile, it looks very nice right! I like it! Both your parents Chinese huh! Wow! You look so exotic! Very few Singaporeans look like that! I also know this Singaporean girl like you, with very sweet looks, studying in Australia... But actually I like those Asians with almond-shaped eyes! You like you like?" "Yeah... They're pretty..." "Where did you get your shirt from? Wowww I like the design on the back!" "I bought it in the U.S. when I--" "You went to the U.S.??? Wowww this shirt looks so nice! Is your bag from the U.S. too? You have really good taste!" Unfortunately she did not notice my 300-dollar all-American jeans.
On and on and on Chatty went. While I was trying to mind my own business. Trying really hard to mind my own business.
I was just about to tell her, I'm sorry, I really have to continue minding my own business because I have very important business to mind and would you mind allowing me to continue minding it?? When SUDDENLY......... Chatty asked me if I minded helping her out with a "Five-minute! Health survey!" and because helpfulness is unfortunately part of my upbringing, tsktsk, I agreed. She led me to a elevator, and I panicked and asked her WHEREAREWEGOING? and she said, "My office is on the 18th floor~!"
So I grabbed my Macbook tightly and quickly planned my impromptu speech if she turned out to be an armed robber. It goes like this: "Look, I know you don't have to be nice, but you seem like a nice person, so, like, umm, could you rob me after I send out Neptune's parcel? It's a birthday gift, it's really important, that person is the love of my life, pretty please with marshmallows on top I swear I will let you have my Nintendo DS Lite and wallet and everything if you let me keep the package and also my Macbook, not because it's the most expensive thing on me right now but because it's like my secret lover, don't tell Neptune okay?"
We reached the 18th floor.
It was, thank you so much God, an office. It looked respectable too, with many people around, so I loosened my grip on my Macbook, otherwise I might have had to send it in for repair work again. Chatty was saying something about "exciting!", "weight!", "watertight!" and "I'm so excited!". I was just really excited to get this over and done with so I could get back to minding my own business again.
Chatty weighed me and made me hold a few strange gadgets to measure my bone mass, body fat, fat around my vital organs, water retention, etc. Now I know that I have 30 pounds of fat in my body. And she was all, "Hey, you can lose 15 pounds of pure fat!" And I did a quick BMI calculation and realised that that was bullshit, because losing that amount of weight would be placing me squarely in the 'Starvation' BMI category, and also that there is NO WAY I am going to lose any of my trademark big ass. I enjoy making fun of it way too much. She asked me a few questions, about how often I exercise (Does carrying law textbooks count?) and how much water I drank every day and how often I pooped.
I was about to ask if I could leave when SUDDENLY......... Chatty began showing me pictures of people who presumably also took this strange "health survey". Then she revealed that she was actually 52 this year, and while I was busy being shocked, she flashed many pictures of people I didn't know and told me about how much weight they miraculously lost. "I'm very proud of this girl," Chatty was saying, "because she was very serious!" "Serious?" "See! I helped her lose so much! She used to look... like THIS!" I gasped. "Then this girl! Wah! She's soooo pretty now! Looks so good right!" I gasped. "This one this one! Just two months and she became like a model, you know! I like this girl very much because she is also very serious! I like helping serious people!" I tried my best to gasp as realistically as I did the first 27364326483 times she showed me a picture.
I also tried to get rid of my nagging suspicion pertaining to her sexuality.
After fifteen minutes of this relentless photo album show-and-tell, I was getting tired of hearing about people who "look so good now!", people who "lost so much weight!" and people who were allegedly "bottom-heavy!", which was supposed to be my "problem!", which I was supposed to be "serious!" about... I was about to politely excuse myself when SUDDENLY......... She interjected.
Chatty flipped to a page in her photo album with various dieting options. "Is this in your budget?" "Nope." Because budgeting does not exist in my dictionary. "Good! I like people who are honest. How about this?" "What's in it?" Is there a risk of liver damage? "Nutrients!" She didn't answer my implied question. "For 7 to 10 days?" "Guaranteed results!" "What sort of results?" "Losing weight or inches!" I took the absence of specified degree of loss to mean she was bullshitting me. Weight loss salespeople always do that, guarantee loss and then once you hand over the cash you realise they meant a minimum of maybe 1 inch.
"I'm not a salesgirl... I just want to help people who are serious!" She repeated that a few times in different words, but her denial seemed to be most persuasive to the contrary effect. "Are you serious?" She asked me. "Nah, I guess I have a pretty good sense of humour." "Are you serious about looking good and being healthy!" "Um, no, it's not a priority of mine to lose weight." "So you are not serious." "I'm serious." "Good! I like serious people!" "I don't have the money right now because I'm saving up for a trip to Hawaii with Neptune." "You would rather vacation than lose 15 pounds?" "Yeah." "Oh." It scared me for a while because Chatty was unbelievably quiet for two! whole! seconds! She seemed disappointed, even. She was so quiet, I checked to see if she died. When SUDDENLY......... She spoke.
"Do you believe in fate? I believe I was meant to meet you! Because I like to help people like you to look good and be healthy!" At that point I was sorely disillusioned and felt as if she had taken up enough of my time and that I had to get back to minding my own business. But because tact is unfortunately part of my upbringing, even when I clearly was a victim of her evil scheme to market her products to me, I asked for her name card anyway and said I would maybe call her in a few months after my vacation.
Finally, I could continue minding my own business.
When I got home after sending out Neptune's package, I complained to Neptune about how she went a huge round just to say that I had a big ass and should lose weight, 15 pounds no less, and then I got compliments and reassurance and realised that this is exactly why our society is so damned weight-obsessed. Those bloody weight loss companies! Preying on teenagers like me under the guise of promoting healthiness when they have people like Chatty telling people like me to lose 15 f*cking pounds when I'm at my ideal weight for my height.
Good thing I'm not one of those insecure girls who go starving themselves and end up on an intravenous drip in the Intensive Care Unit.
While I first tried to make a .gif, there was this place where I was supposed to insert the number of 'ms' I wanted for each individual frame, and how was I to know how long an individual millisecond felt like? So I was like, okay, 1 appears stingy and 100 seems too generous, so how about 40? And then it started going crazy:
I gotta admit though, it really does bring the message across quite well.
I'm in a bad mood today because SOMEONE emailed me work, which is a bad bad bad thing to do especially for an email account earmarked for leisure, on a lovely Sunday evening no less, and do you have any idea how against the Word of God that is? It's punishable by death. And, y'know, I've done too many things to deserve burning in hell and I'VE HAD ENOUGH! So, in view of my desire to become a more spiritual person, there is NO WAY I am going to go anywhere near that work thing today. Instead I am going to play video games and pray in gratitude before I head to bed early. Amen.
Masthead for March is up ON TIME! I know, it's sad that I get so happy about meeting a deadline only because ordinarily I would be too swamped with work. I drew a doggie which looks like the gift I made for Neptune's birthday this month, and Neptune helped with the tedious Photoshop work and animation. Then I spent the next few hours tidying up edges and trying out five million different pixels and fonts to figure out where to best place each element, to which Neptune, in anticipation of the final product, started singing à la Kelly Clarkson, "SOME PEOPLE WAIT A LIFETIME..." and then went to bed.
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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Angelique
November 20, 19xx
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