I should HAVE been getting my results today.

Nope, yesterday wasn't the day of reckoning. That's why I'm still here. My results should have been in since school already started yesterday but maybe things were hectic over at London. So I thought maybe it would come today.

Well at least I found out that the mailman comes to my place at 1400hrs. J suggested that I wait downstairs for the mailman, but no thanks, I'm not so keen on dying that I wait downstairs for the Devil to deliver the news directly to me. So today I stared at my comp, played some braincell-killing games to take my mind off things and control the muscle tics under my eyes (it's bad luck, I just know it). At 1430hrs, I walked briskly to my room to get the keys and decided to go meet my fate. While waiting for the lift to take me to B1 where my mailbox is, I dropped my keys 3 times. It must have been the body spasms. When I closed my eyes to pray I only see four words. No it's not PLEASE LET ME LIVE. It's FAILED FAILED FAILED FAILED. Well ok, so that's actually one word repeated 4 times.

So as I shivered to insert the key into the keyhole (it took 4 tries, mind you), I whispered a silent prayer. I took out 4 letters. NONE of them for me. Is this some kind of sick joke?! First my bank scared the shit out of me by posting some mooncake vouchers to me yesterday, making me think that it was my exam results, and now NO mail for me? And now my school is threatening that if I don't pay some of my tuition fees BY today I'm no longer a student there, when I only started school yesterday?!

It's a conspiracy. I just know it. Let's see how long they play this game. I'll check my mail everyday. Sleep and eat less everyday. Laugh and smile less everyday. Until I get my results. And that's when I die. So hopefully by eating less and sleeping less, I die skinnier. Then at least all this is worth it.

I'm beginning to talk rubbish.

I should be getting my results today.

The day of WRECKoning. Absolutely no mood to post anything at all. Finger jitters, mental block, involuntary tear movements, body spasms... all coming now. Wish me a good and fast death.

The only thing that would make me wanna commit suicide.

I had a bad dream. I wouldn't call it a nightmare, cuz it wasn't scary, not in the monsters and ghouls sense. But when I finally opened my eyes, tears streamed down my face on its own accord as if it had been held back by a dam, otherwise known as my eyelids. Then there I lay, body convulsed with sobs and sniffing for about half an hour, before I let myself sit up and open the door to the real world. The one I've taken for granted.

On paper, the descriptions of my dream may seem trivial and senseless. But it is in this incoherence that beauty stems. If dreams made sense, how can it differentiate itself from reality? How could it make you see things in another perspective, and finally wake up, from reality?

I had dreamt that my entire family(grandparents, cousins...) had just returned from a trip overseas. And I was home all this while, nursing some mysterious disease that had me so weak I was walking around like a zombie. When they got back, suddenly everything I did got on their nerves. I was eating too many eggs, or I was getting in everyone's way or something. And weirdly, though the 'family members' in my dream looked some sort like what they do in real life, none of them looked into my eyes. It's like their faces were there, but they were avoiding my eyes. Oh well. My entire family was turning against me, accusing me of things I don't believe I had done. That I had instigated my bro and my cousin to charge thousands of dollars to my dad's credit card while they were overseas. That I had left my baby cousin to go hungry when I was babysitting him. Saying it out now makes it seem really trivial but it seemed really heartbreaking in my dream. I was practically bawling and begging my grandma to help me understand the situation. I didn't have a clue about what was going on.

The climax of the dream was particularly significant. My grandma handed me a piece of paper with the word 'Grandmother' printed on it. She made me tear in in half, breaking the word into 'Grand' and 'Mother' and then made me sign on the word 'Grand'. I was no longer her granddaughter. (Oh dear, the tears are coming again.) It was quite literal, the severing of ties. I guess my mind couldn't find any more appropriate manner to convey the message to me. I remembered pure heartbreak. I can still feel it now. I've never cried like that in reality, God forbid. It's so 'end of the world', I thought I might just slit my wrists right there in my dream.

And then things started clearing up. It became apparent that my bro and cousin were using me as a scapegoat for their attempt at getting my dad to pay for their expenses. And a particular malicious aunt had accused me falsely of ignoring my baby cousin when I had actually been sick and wasn't even able to get out of bed. At that very poignant moment when realisation descended upon the room, I woke up.

A very huge part of me wanted to go back to sleep and continue on that dream. I wanted to see the apologetic looks and regret eating away on their faces. I wanted to question them on how they could just listen to what others say and then sentence me without first giving me a chance to defend myself. I wanted to hear them say they're sorry. And I wanted to walk away.

But I decided against it. It's a dream after all. It's a little scary, touching and beautiful the way it is. Besides I already have big bulging puffy eyes from that episode, don't think I'd want a sequel to that.


P/S Grandma I love you. Please don't ever do that to me. I'll just die.

'I Believe' some people wait a lifetime for 'A Moment Like this'

For a few months recently, the hippest greeting among friends I meet on the street was "Eh, got join Singapore Idol not?" It's becoming an obsession now that it's on air. I even get my bro to record it for me every thursday. I've never asked anyone to tape anything for me, ever. There're 2 reasons why I wanna torture myself every week by watching it. One, to shake my head and feel embarassed for those who managed to 'smoke' their way into the competition, and to convince myself that I wasn't good enough to join.

Let's see. First of all, I can count, with my fingers, toes and imaginary limbs how many contestants got in mainly because of their good looks. I have to admit that I find David De Cruz really good looking, but come on la, the singing was (makes dead eyes and sticks out tongue). But then again if I was a female equivalent of his looks I wouldn't mind standing on stage and having 3 men and 1 woman tell me I'm good looking in front of national tv. But alas, I have what you call, forgetable looks - not even sweet + pretty, which to Dick equals to Dull. So poor thing that girl. Cannot sing, never mind. Say sweet and pretty very good. But then Dick had to add the word Dull. My bet is that if Ken had to turn one of them 10 into a popular taiwanese singer, Imelda's the only one with the looks.

Next, I'd like to think that my voice is good enough to gain admiration from some. I mean of course, some people, like Olinda, have fantastic vocals. My voice has mood swings. On some days, I can sound so perfect. On others, i sound so bad I want to punch myself. That's why I act nonchalant about not wanting to join SI. In actual fact, I didn't have the guts, and I know my vocals are not consistent enough. Why do people enjoy singing in the bathroom so much? It is a well known fact that the 'vacuum-ness' of the bathroom allows a person's voice to sound very clear and powerful. So now you know. Next time just hold your own concert in the bathroom next time. I do it all the time and it's a great confidence booster. And an ego delude-r.

Lastly, I don't have enough friends to vote for me. LOL. I know that sounds sad at this point, but in another context, not having too many friends can be a good thing.

I really admire those who went for the auditions. Or maybe they didn't know what they were getting themselves into. As for Mr'Lemon Tree' and Mr'Careless Whisper, ditch your friends. They haven't been really honest with you.

Rainbow

Sitting in the bath     the shower head
replaces my weeping     like rain
I can't even tell     if my tears were falling
Just like this story     Have you ever loved me?


The curtains are thin     they can't contain
the darkness of the room     it wants to leave
Dawn awakens me     casts a light on last night's dream
Only until now     do I believe


Your love's just like a rainbow     the sky after the rain
Splendid yet haunting     blue green yellow red
Your love's just like a rainbow
I reach out my hands     but only embraced     air
Your love's just like a rainbow     the sky after the rain
Beautiful yet haunting     your turning silhouette
Your love's just like a rainbow
I reach out my arms     but only embraced     air


Kiss me then leave me     You're just like
rain on a sunny day     hard to comprehend
The harder I try to understand     the more I confuse myself
I just have to admit     this story was     a Mistake


Layers of a labyrinth
I'm trapped     I can't turn back
The torture of the games you play
I'm trapped     Under your control


Kiss me then leave me     You're just like
rain on a sunny day     hard to comprehend
The harder I try to make you stay     the more I lose myself
I just have to search for     your traces     after the rain



Translations. Copyright 2004 Michelle Tay. All Rights Reserved.

I hate periods. Period.

Once a month, I wished I was born a man. Or I'd be tempted to pay someone to jam his hands up my canal and rid me of my womb.

I hate it when my vagina walls disintegrates and bleeds every month. Okok I'll be more civilized. I hate it when I'm riding the crimson waves/having a friend over for a visit/ renewing my monthly cycle/whatever. I think the only time I'd be jumping with joy when I start spotting is when I'm worried about getting pregnant. Really.

Who likes having pimples pop out on their faces a week before the period comes? Espcially when pimples take about 2 weeks to go away and by the time your face clears up, it's time for the next batch to appear again?

Who likes walking around like a timebomb when you're having PMS and every little thing everyone else does is just so childish and irritating? And get insensitive comments like "oh she's having PMS" thrown back at you when you're trying to get your point through? When you just KNOW you don't suffer from PMS?

Who likes waking up in the morning with a cheery "Fuck!" when you realised it came while you were sleeping and you weren't wearing underwear, much less a pad? Who likes wearing a sponge between their legs or shoving a marshmallow up their canals when all they wanna do is wear tight skirts and g-strings?

Who likes retaining water around their tummies and look like there're rubber tyres around their waists when they're wearing hipsters? Who likes being reminded about that sponge between their legs when they sit down or when they're at the loo? What ever happens to those who are squeamish about blood? Do they faint everytime it's time for a change?

Who likes having to be always worried about whether they have stained their sheets/underwear/pants/skirt, especially when you're not home or when you're alone? It's not paranoia, it's embarrassment!

I wish I were a man. Or does anyone want to jam their fingers up my canal and retrieve my womb? Anyone?

Hail Al.

Don't tell me you've never heard of Weird Al. How could you not? I mean he's like, the coolest guy since Bill Gates. Okok before my friends (of which I can count with one hand) start leaving me one by one, I better stop kidding. Weird Al's not very imaginative in his composing, but his lyrics... Man! You've got to check it out.

You don't love me anymore - Weird Al Yankovic

We've been together for so very long
But now things are changing, oh I wonder what's wrong?
Seems you don't want me around
The passion is gone and the flame's died down
I guess I lost a little bit of self-esteem
That time that you made it with the whole hockey team
You used to think I was nice
Now you tell all your friends that I'm the Antichrist

Oh, why did you disconnect the brakes in my car?
That kind of thing is hard to ignore
Got a funny feeling you don't love me anymore

I knew that we were having problems when
You put those piranhas in my bathtub again
You're still the light of my life
Oh darling, I'm beggin', won't you put down that knife?
You know, I even think it's kinda cute the way
You poison my coffee just a little each day
I still remember the way that you laughed
When you pushed me down that elevator shaft

Oh, if you don't mind me asking, what's this poisonous cobra
Doing in my underwear drawer?
Sometimes I get to thinking you don't love me any more

You slammed my face down on the barbecue grill
Now my scars are all healing, but my heart never will
You set my house on fire
You pulled out my chest hairs with an old pair of pliers
Oh, you think that I'm ugly and you say that I'm cheap
You shaved off my eyebrows while I was asleep
You drilled a hole in my head
Then you dumped me in a drainage ditch and left me for dead
Oh, you know this really isn't like you at all
You never acted this way before
Honey, something tells me you don't love me any more, oh no no
Got a funny feeling you don't love me anymore

I know it seems crappy but you've just got to hear it with the melody. It's so sad it's funny. If only I could get the link to the audio in here...

Balinese Coffee Scrub + D-Stress Massage + Steambath

God moves in wonderous ways.

Yesterday morning my mum reminded me about a spa voucher that I had won a few months back. I had totally forgotten about it, especially about where I had left it. Vaguely recalling that the voucher was only valid til end August, I mentally told myself to find it soon. But of course I tell myself that all the time, but am just too lazy to do anything about it. Moreover, my room was just too... well, you know, everything's in its place, I don't like moving things around. And it's cosier this way. Read : Drawers stuffed with unknown items last seen a century ago. Books and notes stacked precariously on shelves which are threatening to give way. Breeding a population of dustmites that is pushing China off the top spot, and who are now deciding to name me the founder of their new country, Dustutopia.

To cut the long story short, a series of events led me to feel really low in the afternoon. And when I'm low, I shop. Since it was a Sunday, I won't get my fat ass into the crazy crowd just to get my freshly painted toenails stepped upon. So when I'm low and desperate but can't get my hands on new things, I throw away old ones. I started packing my room. Sometimes I enjoy clearing out my room cuz I get find things that I've forgotten about. It's like a sweet discovery of your life. This time, my mission was to find my long lost spa voucher. Hell, I needed a spa, like, last month. So I searched my drawers, upset my letter corner where I usually keep my bills and stuff, emptied this big red garbage bag of whoknowswhats at the corner of my room (those who have had the honour to be in my room might have noticed it). It had been there since CNY. I know I know, but it's gone now alright?? The stuff's all gone, upgraded and downsized to an Isetan paperbag ok? And I still hadn't found the voucher. As I dragged the garbage bag out of my room, my mum took one look at it and rolled her eyes. I told her I couldn't find the voucher and she started nagging about my untid... I mean, cosy room.

When I stepped back into my room to admire the newfound space in my room and sulk over my forgetfulness, something made me pull out a plastic folder where I keep all my important correspondence from schools and banks. Once I clicked it open, there it was, my elusive $200 spa voucher, the envelope gleaming. As I hugged it in delight, a thought passed through my mind. Even though it was kept neatly and safely away in a file, I think I wouldn't have thought to look there if I hadn't cleared out that ... (okay, MESS alright?) first.

It's just God's way of motivating me and telling me that he's watching over me.

He's gay. He's straight. He's Metro-Man.

What is a metrosexual? (Jake Brennan)

The newly popular media and marketing buzzword seems to mean different things to different people, but in general, a metrosexual:

• is a modern, usually single man in touch with himself and his feminine side;
• grooms and buffs his head and body, which he drapes in fashionable clothing both at work or before hitting an evening hotspot;
• has discretionary income to stay up to date with the latest hairstyles, the newest threads, and the right shaped shoes;
• confuses some guys when it comes to his sexuality;
• makes these same guys jealous of his success with the ladies -- for many metros, to interact with women is to flirt;
• impresses the women who enjoy his company with the details that make the man;

Among them:

• his appreciation for literature, cinema, or other arts
• his flair for cooking
• his savoir faire in choosing the perfect wine and music
• his eye for interior design
• is a city boy or, if living a commute away from downtown, is still urbane, if not rightly urban;
• enjoys reading men's magazines...

In general parlance, to be called metrosexual is not to be called gay, but rather sensitive, chic and cultured. In case you're counting, this ain't the first label referring to guys who fall short of the beer-drinking, fart-lighting prototype. To clarify, a few others you may have heard include:

• SNAG (Sensitive New Age Guy): A guy that women like to talk to like one of their own, and find attractive because they can. Refers more to sensitivity, without the narcissism and preening associated with metrosexuality.
• Renaissance Man: An older term referring to the early modern era, when ancient scientific and artistic knowledge was revisited in a flurry of creation. Refers to a well-rounded, sophisticated, worldly individual with interests in many areas and expertise in several. Think of artist-engineer Leonardo da Vinci.

Metrosexual is quite a capacious term. Others you may not have heard seem to zero in on one or a few aspects of the male persona. Here are a few other terms you might want to add to your growing lexicon:

• Primp (not pimp): A very well groomed guy who always has women around, but never seems to go for any one in particular. Behind his back, people speculate about his sexuality. More of a "straight gay guy" than a "gay straight guy", to use SATC terminology.
• Martha Studly (not Martha Stewart): The guy who has a set of variously sized throw pillows that not only match each other, complement the living room upholstery and decor concept (that's right, concept!), but accent the next room's assemblage as well. Hey, if it impresses the ladies, then "that's a good thing."
• Skexual: A male or female whose sexuality -- and sometimes even sex -- is so impossible to determine that s/he just seems sketchy from the get-go. Think Kumar or James Lye or Takeshi Kaneshiro.

Have fun spotting them!

The sky looks beautiful now

The sky looks beautiful now.

Dark clouds in the sky tumbling by, like a hundred horses on a race to outdo one another. Each on a mission to conquer the brightness, to eliminate any glimmer of light, to render my room as dark as a tomb. I watch triumphantly as the last glimpse of the sun's rays gets eaten up by the hungry horses.

The rain had stopped 5 minutes ago but the thunder threatens to entertain me still. I had ran out from the midst of my shower when I heard the thunder's cry to me. Wrestling to close the windows, I smell the erotic fragrance of rain, enticing me.

The roads and the greenery in the horizon, still wet from the rain's embrace, still wanting more. The serenity of the aftermath, so deceiving. Will it rain again? I rushed back to finish off my bath, not wanting to miss the outcome of the foreplay between the wind and the swaying trees. Howling with desire, the winds breathe through the gaps between my balcony doors. It's not escaping - it's urging me to join in their coupling. From afar, the buildings start obscuring from view. Slowly, I watch mesmerised, as the curtain of rain move sensuously towards me, devouring everything in sight. A tree, a car, a road sign. A second before the rain hit me, all becomes quiet. The winds stopped its caressing, my heart stopped its beating.

And then it came. The climax. Roaring in agony, it beats down upon me. The glass doors protect me from the heaven's outrage, but I feel its rhythm in me, coursing through my bones, feathering on my skin, touching me. It came down hard, then soft - almost disappearing, then hard again, like a multiple orgasm. I'm now a picture of confusion as my lips curl into a satisfied smile but my hands are locked into a grip. The rain never fails to pleasure me.

And then it was over. Dissipated. Worn out. The winds moaned with reluctance before changing their direction - out through my doors, together with the rain to torment someone else. I knew it loved me, for I feel it rake its invisble fingers through my hair. It held on to a lock of my hair, reluctant to let go without a whisper of goodbye. To others it'll seem as if that lock of hair were floating in midair on its own accord.

But I know better.



Some Rights Reserved [Creative Commons License]

Daily Schedule

Pretty organised person huh?

Rage against the Married men

I feel like I could kill someone right now. What makes it worse it that no one cares to listen.

Men piss me off. Especially married ones. Well, I haven't actually had the chance to fuck one and spend his wife's money, but I've already encountered 2 such scums of the earth. My mum should really thank all the deitites she prays to for having the fortune of being the recipient of my dad's unconditional love. Regardless of all the mental, physical, verbal and gastronomical abuse she puts my dad through, he still finds space in his heart for tolerance.

My mum had 2 younger sisters. Both died young. Both had chosen disgusting men for partners. My first aunt was engaged when she passed away. She left her house (of which she paid entirely with her own money) to the man she loved. Less than a month after she went, that man brought another woman into their matrimonial home. Well that's another story that could go on and on. The reason for my rage today has to do with something else.

My second aunt already had 2 young children when she passed away. Apparently, her husband was so stricken by her death he couldn't take proper care of the kids. So my grandparents had to take over. It's a good thing that we all stay in the same postal code, so it was easy to look out for each other. Less than a year later, that man brought home a woman. She was about 10 years younger than him, dislikes children, adore branded items, lived in Malaysia. But for him, she'll make do. Why, you wonder? Because he gave her a supplementary card (my aunt left a sizeable amount of money to that man), promised not to force her to have children, promised to ferry her to and fro Malaysia every weekend. Up til now, she has refused to meet my grandparents, nor that man's parents. Both sides are utterly disgusted with her. But she seems unaffected. Maybe because once she's had her fun she'll leave that man anyway. How do we know all these? Of course my resouceful grandma had a spy. It used to be their maid. Strangely she was sent back to her country for no reason about half a year ago by that man. One could only wonder why.

I tutor the older of the 2 cousins, though she's only in P2. Her results are terrible. My mum says it's because she doesn't have a mother to help her with her work. Which I agree, because her father says he doesn't want to stress his kids out and his new girlfriend doesn't interact with them anyway. So I did the sisterly thing and agreed to tutor them for next to nothing. But recently, that woman had started to show an interest in the kids' education. She bought loads of multiplication tables charts (I dunno why, since each chart says the same thing anyways) and loads of assessment books for her. It's alright actually, I mean, my cousin has been doing the books that I bought ever since I started with her. Except that that woman insists that my cousin does the homework that SHE gives her. So everytime I go over, the work I gave my cousin sits undone. That's still alright. Until today.

I went over in the morning and I see my cousin doing her school work at her table. I had given her some work to do last week, which was of course, lying there undone. Before I could say anything, she said

"I can't do your home work cuz I have a lot of work to do. [That woman] asked me to finish the work that she gave me and Papa asked me to do all these chinese school papers. Everyday must do. He said next time no need to teach me all those English tenses and Hanyu Pinyin already because waste time only. You just concentrate on Maths can already."

Waste time?! All those things I've been painstakingly teaching her til my veins pop out of my neck are a waste of time?! All those mornings I spent groggy and tired, having to drag my complaining body out of bed, sometimes even on weekends, were a waste of time?! In the first place, it was my grandfather's request for me to find time to teach her, and even so I was very reluctant, for then I would have less time for myself. My mum had to practically bribe me to do it. I've never heard that man thank me for my efforts. Sometimes I even had to wait for more than half an hour outside his door for them to come from from their weekend trips to the market because he had overestimated the time. When I questioned my cousin if she had forgotten that she had tuition that morning, she said "I remembered! But Papa said never mind let you wait awhile won't die". The cheek!

I was so pissed today and had taken it out on my cousin, and that I regret now. After all it's not her fault that her father has sperm for his brains and a dick for his skull. I had thrown all the books that I bought for her onto the floor and then took them with me when I left. My parting words to her were "Since your father said that you're so clever you don't need these books I'll bring them home and burn them." Nah I won't. I'll keep it til that man dies and burn it to him.

I've never had such disrespect for anyone in my family before and I'm so disgusted that I had called him Uncle. For a long time I haven't greeted him nor acknowledged his existence. He could be lying there haemorrhaging to death for all I care. I hope he gets some incurable disease that causes his cock to secrete pus whenever he ejaculates and hurt like 1st degree burns whenever even a finger strokes his cock.

That's for crossing my path.

I don't fucking know.

When I was 14, I had a major crush on D. D was my senior in school and was quite a popular character. We were on friendly-acquantive terms, meaning : We'd talk on the phone like old pals but when we were in school, D would totally ignore me. The more D belittled me, the deeper I fell. By some stroke of luck (and some strategy on my part) D and I ended up together 2 years after. We went out, did all the coupley things, then 7 days later, I ended it. I had lost the feeling.

Before I turned 17, I met M. M was a goalie in his sec school soccer team and also a drummer in a band. What a catch, I thought. A week after he asked me to be his girlfriend, I was having dinner with his family. 2 weeks after, M had given me a ring and told me that he wanted me to have his children (when we first met he told me he didn't like tots). 3 weeks after, M had held my hands, looked into my eyes and proclaimed that he never wanted me to leave him. By the end of 4 weeks, I broke up with him. Remember : I was all of 17.

2 years after, I met R. I was already in a relationshp then but that didn't seem to deter R. R was talented so he wrote me songs and sung them to me. He was good with words so he would often flatter me. He had many friends so all of them knew about me. He attended some of the same lectures with me so he would sneak glances at me. It's been 5 years and his love seems to have turned into hatred. I was touched, really. Touched with pity. My bf was less romantic but my bf wasn't psycho.

And it's not just me.

My friend SF was totally in love with her then bf E. But E was a bastard who two-timed her. SF was willing to overlook that but he left her anyway. On the day he left, SF wandered the streets alone for 2 days before she could be persuaded to go home. After a while she met DT. Though he wasn't exactly her type, he showered her with care while they were dating, and suffered silently her demands and tantrums. Now their marriage is on the rocks becuase she's having an affair. To this day, SF tells me she still loves E.

My other friend YY had been with her bf MS for 5 and a half yrs. It was a comfortable relationship : dull and routine. It wasn't that MS was a bad bf, he was just... too domesticated and contented. YY was looking for passion. The breakup was brewing underneath for quite some time before it reared its ugly head when NJ appeared. NJ was (apparently) well learned and articulate. YY was hooked. But NJ was also an online flirt who seemed (to me) keen on cybersex, is as insecure as a mole-rat and as confused as a chinchilla. And his appearance... nothing to call home about. YY confessed that they had nil conversation chemistry. To top things up, he's not local! NJ has even casually mentioned that if anything were to happen between them he won't relocate. But dear YY has already made arrangements to meet His Egoness over the weekend.

What do women want?

I don't fucking know.

The kids nowadays...

You know people will say anything just to come up with an excuse not to turn up for work. Well, if it's a Monday I don't blame anyone, or maybe the morning after Ladies' Night is forgiveable. I mean if the boss would rather you went to work with stale hair, breath like a rat died in it, eyes bloodshot and head spinning from a massive hangover and absolutely reeking of a lack of productivity - so be it. I have enough work experience to know what it's like to have to activate the muscles and bones that allow you to sit up from your bed at the sound of the alarm. Unless of course you're the sort who slithers out of bed like a backless snake. But then everyone feels like jelly in the morning.

Now it's those kids I don't comprehend. ( I call anyone even an hour younger than me, kids) You see J has run into some problems her workplace. Being the only full timer, and the most senior, J takes a lot of crap from the part timers, who are mostly poly students. The excuses they come up with... one can only marvel at their (un)creativity. These below came from an ex part timer Y. She always calls at the last minute to either say she'll be late or that she couldn't come into work. Then J would have to work from 0930 to 2130 alone.

1. My class will end late today, can you cover for me?
2. My class ended late, so I'll come in late.
3. My mother is sick. I need to look after her. (on a saturday)
4. My grandmother is sick. I need to look after her. (on a sunday)
5. [The ultimate] I was getting ready for work and I fell in the bathroom and have bruises all over. So I can't work later. (on a saturday morning at 0800)

I had to scream at naive, softhearted J to make her see the absurdity of the excuses. C'mon, I cringed when I heard those lines. Aren't you shaking your head and smiling too? I had asked J to tell Y not to come back anymore but luckily Y wizened up and told J herself that she couldn't work anymore due to her "increase in school workload".

And now another part timer T has "returned from the dead", so to speak, after disappearing, no call no show, for a week. J tried calling him about 20 times, and he either didn't pick up or switched off the phone. J finally left T a message this morning on his handphone to tell him to return his set of keys or they'll report it to the police. Miraculously, T called back to say that he was in an accident last week, and fell into coma for a while. He explained that his handphone was with his mum all this while and she did call some of his friends to inform them, but had inadvertently not call his workplace. Then he said that he had only fractured his leg and that his cast would be removed this week, so he could come back to work this weekend.

J was all happy about it but you know, being the suspicious person that I am, managed to spoil her mood. I said that doesn't explain why T's mother wouldn't answer the many calls that J made, and why sometimes the phone was switched off after J called many times consecutively. T said that he didn't know why his mum didn't answer the calls but that the phone was very old and had bad reception, so that's why it seemed as if the handphone was off. J decided to call the hospital that T claimed he was admitted in to clarify her doubts. Guess what?

The admissions office said that "the person of this I/C number has not been admitted here at all recently". Hmm. So I made J tell T that when he goes to have his cast removed, to get the doc to write some sort of letter of excuse so that "she could file it". Really funny business, isn't it?

Watch this space for second half of the saga.

Crazy women, start your engines.

I realised yesterday that I become a different person when I'm behind the wheel. As opposed to my usual cautious and demure self, I become reckless, profanities I never knew existed fly out of my mouth like any other cab driver complaining about everything, and I smash my beautiful Lotus 340 Roadster to pieces without a care in the world. Yes, I suffer from roadrage. The victim : my tv.

I've recently become addicted to the Xbox. The game's Project Gotham, some racing thing that I can't be bothered to explain about (mainly because I'm utterly clueless about the Kudos Championship thing they have goin' on). I've always thought it was cool to be able to be the top scorers at the Daytona arcade but I've never tried it cuz I don't wanna embarass myself. I don't even know which foot accelerates and which foot brakes. I'm just the gangsta's moll, standing at the corner, cheering J on as the 2D cars squeal down the course.

It's another story in the comforts of my home. I rule the roads here. On the tv, that is. If you look at my scores, I only come in 1st, 2nd or 3rd. Never the 5th or the 8th. Yeah I'm that good. Well, maybe I should mention that I'm only at the novice stage (the lowest out of 5 difficulty levels) and if I'm not happy with the race I can erm, restart the game. *sheepish. J must have gotten a shock when she saw me in my swearing element yesterday. I was shouting at my faithful old tv, hair all cringly and voice hoarse, while the cars behind me spoil my otherwise beautiful drift while I was apexing the corners... Words I cannot even publish exploded out of my mouth (Fuck! Did that just come from me?!) while I'm wailing about like a mad woman. If the old lady from across looked into my living room and saw me like that (i'm usually acting all domestic in the kitchen) what must she have thought? Imagine a muted version of a deranged looking, IMH escape suspect, with spittle spewing like bubbles out of the mouth, jumping around in her PJs. Scary. I'm beginning to understand why men can be so uncouth and vulgar.

So you see why I'm a huge supporter of public transport. I don't think I should learn to drive. I would cause alot of accidents with my roadrage and terrible driving. I shall just continue being the shameless, free-loading sucker that a certain someone thinks I am, and sit at the backseat of the car, helping my driving friends glare at spastic drivers and point middle fingers at them. After all, 3 well-positioned fingers in any situation, are always better than 1.

Never try to snatch the last word from me.

I just received an email that was really cute.

WOMEN'S REVENGE
"Cash, cheque or credit?" I asked, after folding items the woman wished to purchase. As she fumbled for her wallet, I noticed a remote control for a television set in her purse. "So, do you always carry your TV remote?" I asked. "No," she replied, " but my husband refused to come shopping with me, so I figured this was the most legal evil thing I could do to him."

UNDERSTANDING WOMEN
I know I'm not going to understand women. I'll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax, pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the root, and still be afraid of a spider.

CIGARETTES AND TAMPONS
A man walks into a pharmacy and wanders up and down the aisles. The sales girl notices him and asks him if she can help him.He answers that he is looking for a box of tampons for his wife. She directs him down the correct aisle. A few minutes later, he deposits a huge bag of cotton balls and a ball of string on the counter. She says, confused,"Sir, I thought you were looking for some tampons for your wife?" He answers, " You see, it's like this, yesterday, I sent my wife to the> store to get me a carton of cigarettes, and she came back with a tin of tobacco and some rolling papers; cause it's sooooooo much cheaper. So, I figure if I have to roll my own, so does she."

WIFE VS HUSBAND
A couple drove down a country road for several miles, not saying a word. An earlier discussion had led to an argument and neither of them wanted to concede their position. As they passed a barnyard of mules, goats, and pigs, the husband asked sarcastically, "Relatives of yours?" "Yep," the wife replied, "in-laws."

WORDS
A husband read an article to his wife about how many words women use a day... 30,000 to a man's 15,000. The wife replied, "The reason has to be because we have to repeat everything to men... The husband then turned to his wife and asked, "What?"

CREATION
A man said to his wife one day, "I don't know how you can be so stupid and so beautiful all at the same time." The wife responded, "Allow me to explain.God made me beautiful so you would be attracted to me; God made me stupid, so I would be attracted to you!

WHO DOES WHAT
A man and his wife were having an argument about who should brew the coffee each morning. The wife said, "You should do it, because you get up first, and then we don't have to wait as long to get our coffee." The husband said, " You are in charge of cooking around here and you should do it, because that is your job, and I can just wait for my coffee." Wife replies, "No, you should do it, and besides, it is in the Bible that the man should do the coffee." Husband replies, "I can't believe that, show me." So she fetched the Bible, and opened the New Testament and showed him at the top of several pages, that it indeed says.......... "HEBREWS"

Really. Women will always have the last word. It's not that we always wanna win. It's just the way men function. Or don't.

Eek! The Cat

Nothing much to say today, so I thought a pic of a cute cat will brighten up everyone's day! Don't you think it's just idiotically cute? It's taken from a card J gave me. She thinks it'll remind me of her. LOL

Man is fundamentally incomplete.

Those of you who have read The Da Vinci Code would be familiar with Hieros Gamos. The term Hieros Gamos is derived from the Greek words meaning "sacred marriage". Having its roots in ancient fertility cults, the Hieros Gamos ritual evolved into a highly developed spiritual discipline that enables a man to attain "gnosis" or direct knowledge of the divine, through ritualised sexual union with a woman trained as a priestess. The theory is based on the philosophy that man is fundamentally incomplete and can reach divinity only by "marrying" the feminine principles in a spiritual and physical manner, which triggers an altered state of consciousness at the moment of climax. - Simon Cox, Cracking The Da Vinci Code

Now I'm sure many of you are biting your tongues to keep yourself from saying some very mean things about this theory. Let me be really shallow and predict some extreme reactions.

The Losers (ie. men) - The Excuse
What they'll say : Without you, I'm incomplete. Let's get a flat.
What they mean : I'm sick of the missionary. I want anal and oral. Let's make it legal.

The Feminists - The Delusion
What they'll say : We don't need men to make us complete. We're self-sufficient.
What they mean : Down with bras, down with men, excuse me while I go home and get down with Girl's Best Friend (depending on context it could be diamonds/dildos/vibrators/showerheads).

The High Priestess of Sardonicism (ie. Me) - Trying to be funny

• "...man is fundamentally incomplete" : Haha. Haha. Hahahahahahaha. Don't we all know that already? I mean, they either have dicks or brains, hardly both.
• "...can reach divinity only by 'marrying' the female principles in a spiritual and physical manner" : Through experience (maybe I just have bad luck), I've found that spritual connection and physical attraction are almost always mutually exclusive. That's why men never reach divinity. Tough.
• "...triggers an altered state of consciousness at the moment of climax" : For most men that 'altered state' would be unconsiousness.

I might sound a tad bit like a man-bashing, penis-stomping, scissors-welding, Bobbit-supporting Manhater. Though I think most men are jerks, I'm no Feminist. I believe all men should KNOW how to fix stuff and offer to carry heavy objects and pay for the dinner+movie. I have 2 perfectly formed arms to open my own door and carry my own bags, thank you, but men should at least OFFER to do them. I hate it when I find myself giving way to guys when I'm getting out of the train. Also, I don't appreciate it when men cut in front of me when I'm getting on the escalator. Really guys, you're better off standing behind (below) us on the escalator, looking up our skirts, you chauvinistic chee-kohs.

Isis the universal goddess

Goddess worship could be traced back to at least 35, 000 BC, and as such, it can be claimed that goddess worship is the oldest of the world religions, having a history and heritage that stretches back into the mists of time itself. The Goddess was associated with the moon from ancient times. This association is bound in from the bodily cycles of the female and the lunar cycles of the moon, and also with the fact that the moon has 3 phases - waxing, full, and waning - corresponding to the 3 phases of the Goddess : maiden, mother, and crone. Each of these goddess phases have a distinct purpose and value. The maiden represented youth, sexuality, and vigor; the mother represented the embodiment of female power, fertility, and the nuturing impulse; the crone represented experience, compassion, and above all, wisdom.

How to(or not to) worship a Goddess you see at a bus-stop :

1. Make sure you get her attention. But don't do anything stupid like start doing pushups at her feet and counting loudly. She'll just think you're trying to look up her skirt, you pervert.
2. Try to get close to her. But don't wait creepily by the bus door and squeeze alongside with her up the bus, and then scratch her with your EZLink card. That's just not cool.
3. Make sure you smell like a Sex God when you sit next to her. Not squash her breathless to the side of the window and attempt to stick to her with your post-pushup arms when you're smelling like a Sweat God.
4. Seduce her with your sense of style. A white T-shirt, dark blue jeans and white sneakers can be stylish if you are Usher. Not when your white tee is almost grey, your jeans are too short, you're wearing white socks, and your kiwi-ed sneakers are the types I wore when I was in school.
5. Try subtle body contact to get her attention. But don't inch closer to her when she's obviously wishing she's at the other side of the window, instead of being stuck next to you. You're not that bulky, you poser, you don't need 3/4 of the seat.
6. Smile and walk away suave if she rejects your advances. Not make disgusting noises when she screams at you to stay away from her. Thank god you ran off the bus fast enough or I swear the bus-driver would have caught you in time.

Today, the veneration and understanding of goddess energy and spirituality are once more to the fore. In the millennia of modern human beings' existence, the figure of the goddess has been omnipresent. I suspect that as long as mankind will walk this planet, this will be the case. The goddess can truly claim to be the original and oldest deity. - Simon Cox, Cracking The Da Vinci Code

Not bad for a 4am game.

A Mind Orgasm : Managing to utilise all tiles (excluding 1 missing blank tile) in a Scrabble game for 3. I was so excited I took a pic of it. Thanks R and C for the wonderful menage-a-trois. We should do this again soon. =P

Last night @ 2am...

I fell in love with a song
A song I wish someone would sing to me
Its melody : common but heart-warming
Its lyrics : simple but heart-melting

I fell in love with a song
A song I wish was written for me
Its melody : soft yet heart-pounding
Its lyrics : sweet yet heart-wrenching

I fell in love with a song
A song that sounds so familiar to me
Its melody : pure and heart-cleansing
Its lyrics : clear and heart-aching

I fell in love with a song
A song that was never written for me
Its melody : my tears are falling
Its lyrics : my heart is breaking

Copyright 2004 Michelle Tay. All Rights Reserved.

Me the (fastfood) Coupon Girl.

[written @ 1800hrs Thursday 5th Aug. Burger King, Plaza Singapura]

So here I am sitting alone, having left the house early to avoid conversation with my dad. Now I'm freaking 45 minutes early for my class, and the last thing I want is to be sitting in the classroom surrounded by people I don't like and dwiddle my thumbs. Got myself a Banana Split thingy (Just $2.95 for a dessert and a drink - says coupon) that's all cream and no nutrients. I'd rather be having a chicken whopper but I can't! Having dinner with J later.

I can't remember the last time I ate a McD's burger. In case you don't already know, Basement One in PS is fastfood heaven. Mos Burger, Long John Silver, Burger King, KFC, McD's.... every student's ideal canteen. I find it really uncanny that for 4 days in a row, I've seen school kids clutching transparent plastic bags with the yellow M on it, stealing furtive looks as they try to sneak a fry into their waiting mouths. Then you see them chewing really quickly, as if that oily sponge of a potato would lift its hidden legs and run off if they didn't swallow it down first. Oh, they're loving it alright. Pa da ba ba ba.

To me, Bk is called Bk for a reason. I've never tasted any fastfood burger better than theirs. My eyes light up everytime I spot a blue-capped, uniformed guy being rudely groped by ladies on their way to the MRT station. I don't grope him, for God's sake (I might just accidentally burst a few of his pimples) but I try to stride past as sexily as I can, and act nonchalant, hoping that the poor guy would be so glad to see a pretty face he'd thrust 5 coupon leaflets in my hands. Doesn't work at all. I always end up being pushed off balance by another groper. Therefore, always grope if you want the leaflets.

I know it's weird but I think KFC do serve excellent chicken nuggets. I've given up on their chicken parts - they're getting smaller and smaller, which induces you to buy bigger sets, which then results in you eating more, which in turn makes you decide to boycott KFC for 6 months to lose all that fat. Wrong strategy, Colonel, try another. But I digress... what was my point? Oh yes. There're about 15 people in the queue before me now, each clutching a coupon leaflet. Crikey, the fastfood devils' got us planning our meals their way. Oh well, who's complaining? I have like, 15 minutes left til class. Wonder if I should go next door to LJS and get me some big, fat, crispy fries...

"Oh yes, I'm the Great Pretender."

Scenario:

My mum's in the shipping business and my dad is in the airline business. My family resides in an executive condominium. I have a room to myself and sleep on a king-sized bed. As far as I can remember, my dad has changed cars 4 times. In primary school, a school bus would fetch me to and from school. It was only in secondary school that I learnt how to take public transport. In the early secondary days, my dad would fetch me to school every morning. It was only after I persuaded him to give me some independence that he allowed me to take public bus with my friends. Once a year, we would travel during the school holidays. I've been travelling since I was 3, which I think is very silly because I don't even recall those experiences. So far, I've been to the US, Australia, Hong Kong and I count Japan as my favourite country. I've been there more than 10 times and I still can't get enough of it.

Question: Do I sound like a rich bitch?

I don't know how open minded you are but damn! Seeing it from another's point of view it's no wonder people think I hail from some wealthy family. All I did was omit some facts. You see, my mum has been working in the same company for 27 years. She was only made Section Head a few years ago. My dad's also been with his company for a long time. He's been to almost every department in the company and he's finally settled down in Sales, where he's been bullied by his Dickhead of a boss. We're staying in an exec condo in a residential area in the east, surrounded by HDB flats. Very few people realise it's a condo because we sort of blend into the flats. But that's alright. I've got a nice, unobstructed view of Suntec.

I used to share my tiny room with my bro, but since the computer arrived, he has migrated to the other room, leaving me with 2 super single beds. The only logical thing to do was to pull the 2 beds together into a Hollywood twin. Hence the King Sized Bed. My dad switch cars out of convenience. We went from a small Honda, to a 2nd hand Honda, to a 2nd hand Lancia to the Toyota that we have now, and of which my dad is still paying his ass off. My dad used to fetch me to school because my bro's school was just next to mine, so again it was more feasible for my dad to fetch us there. We travel every year because my dad gets concession tickets with the airline he's working for, so duh, we travel more out of kiasu-ism than because we have spare cash to throw.

Moral of the story : Lying by omission is good. It can make you sound really upperclass if you want to.

I don't own a single piece of LV, Prada or Gucci, not even a low-grade imitation. I shop at Mango and Zara, only when the big '70% End-Of-Season Sale' sign is up. 50% of the clothes I own have no brands, another 20% from auctions, and the rest I don't even remember where I picked them up from. Probably at some sale too. Some people say I look and behave rich. That's because they don't know me well. Just ask my closest friends. They know how cheena I am. I look the way I look because I carry myself well. There's no one I can attribute this to, except to my school, which thought me poise and confidence in speech. And maybe because I do have a sense of style, I choose clothes which have classic cuts and hide the flaws well (I hope?).

The first impression I give to people is that I'm really stuck up and that I'm fierce. That's because I was born with a poker face, and I find it inane to have a smile on my face when there's nothing to smile about. People usually think I'm a rebelliously wild person, who smoke and drink and club alot. I'm never rebellious, I just have my own opinions. I'm surrounded by people who can drink and do smoke alot, but only my friends know I'll never touch a ciggie with a yardstick. I won't even touch a cig pack when my friends ask me to pass theirs to them. If you've read my previous post you'll know that I don't like drinking either. I club alot mainly because I love music and dancing. I can dance 3 hrs straight without drinking a sip of water if the music's good. (That's why clubs hate me.)

See how deceiving looks can be? And woah, one sure can talk when they're talking about themselves, huh?

Suddenly not very SATC.

SG is boring. Expensive, crowded and boring. My friends and I have run out of places to go and things to do. There's gonna be a long weekend soon, and though we started thinking about it 2 weeks ago, we still can't decide where to go. Moreover, everywhere's gonna be really crowded, and the last thing we want is to be jostling with the herded sheep and fighting for oxygen.

We had initially wanted to go to the zoo. But R's gf A's gonna be hauling ass to Bangkok on Friday, we can't leave her out of a sunny day at the zoo, can we? The thought of leaving SG did come, but even if we wanted to, KL's all booked out. The next idea was to book a hotel room, maybe watch some dvds and boogie the night away. I've even come up with the idea (actually, suggestion from my dad) of a sleepover at my place - so juvenile! Thankfully I have loud music and enough bottles of vodka to make it all adult. Ish. C then suggested a picnic at Sentosa, but then she has plans to go partying the night before that. Imagine having to wake up for a picnic when you have just barely slept the night away. So that's out. How pathetic.

Now if we had a bank vault bursting with gold coins, we'd be wining and dining without a care in the world. If there were problems, it would be a different story altogether : Which country to go? Which restaurant to be seen at? Which hotel suite to book? But of course, we're more likely to have oxidised silver coins jingling in a piggybank. So maybe it'll be just some cheap wine and coffeeshop dinner. How frustrating. it'll be a long weekend, surely we have to do something different. I hope we'll not end up doing what we have been doing almost every weekend now, clubbing, or watching anti-climatic movies, or playing pool, or hanging out at 24hr McD's. Please guys, anything but these.

'Til Death do us part, my Bosom Friends.

As predicted, the previous post didn't go down very well. This one should be pretty well received though. After receiving so many emails about it recently, I just cannot ignore it anymore. It's been a hot topic between C and me too, well actually it's more like a complaining session. Kimberly Locke didn't know what she was singing about, THESE should be classified as the 8th world wonder. What else could make both men and women steal glances, gawk and stare in wonderment? A majority of us were introduced to them as babies, but the fascination only starts at the onset of puberty.

I'm talking about breasts. J told me about a colleague who'll stop whatever he's doing whenever a pair jiggles past. "Big ones, huh." I ask. "No, as long as got neh, he will just stop talking and look." J says. It's not just the males, you know. When I see a woman sitting opposite me in the MRT with her tits hangin' out, I'd stare too. I don't mean to judge, I wear cleavage-baring clothes too. That is, I try to bare my cleavage, if you call the 2 lumps sticking out of my chest boobs. Hence the complaining sessions. "Sigh, cannot wear that, boobs too small." "So nice, but buy for what, also cannot wear, too flat." "Woah, check out her longkang."

I love looking at boobs. Whenever I receive those voyeur-y pics in the email, the 1st thing I look out for are the girl's tits. If it's all small and saggy, I'd just delete the email. Not worth forwarding at all. Now if the girl's boobs are really pert and of the right size, I'd nod in appreciation, droop the sides of my lips in envy, then forward the email. I think the most beautiful ones are between B and C cup, round, pert, and punctuated by a small snubby nipple. To me, anything more than that is vulgarly excessive and should be restrained behind those torture contraptions known as bras. I'm pretty troubled by my pair. It's weird because the womenfolk in my family possess huge ones. Even my dad's almost catching up. What did my mum forget to feed me? To make it all worse, I lost some weight during my recent bout of stomach flu. I'm not sure if it's a bane or a boon, cuz my mammaries decided to join in the fun and slimmed down too.

Sometimes I wonder what's with those E and F cups. It's alright if they're proportionate to the body, but it's really amazing when a 24" waist has to support anything more than D cup. There was once I saw this slim girl from afar at the MRT station. She was walking rather strangely, like she sprained her waist or something. When she came up close and stood in front of me, I realised why. Her boobs were huge!! It was quite grotesque actually. If you threw a coin down her cleavage I'm quite sure you can hear the coin's "Yahooooo!" echo down it. I decided to wait for the train a little farther back from her, in case she turned around and knock me off the platform onto the tracks.

I console myself by saying that God was making up for something. Like for example, big on talent but failing in the looks department, or big on brains but terrible personality, that kinda thing. I'm still pretty happy with that. I'm not exactly lacking in looks, have a good sized brain and a cute personality. So God's fair. I'm not a fan of surgery, so silicon's out. Meantime, I'll continue with the daily massages, continue admiring others' boobs, continue forwarding those emails.

House of the Raging Hormones

[Post has been removed due to complaints from jealous boyfriends]