keeping up with the posts of self-centeredness that is what this blog is all about, i'm going to post a list of my favorites.

digression: maintaining a blog has highlighted to me how much i speak and write like a 90-yr-old cheongsum wearing amah. i mean, who writes like that? writing about how yr gonna write a list? and now, writing on writing about writing a list.

it's very annoying. i don't like it. hence i must stop. ok, stopping now.


FAVORITE THINGS:(at the very minute i'm putting it down only. it's very possible that in the next minute i'll be wanting to piss on it or eat it. but not consecutively. it's not good for the stomach.)


FOOD: mee hoon kuay. it's the fried onions that does it la. raw onions by themselves already kick so much ass, deep-frying them in oil is like batman driving his batmobile. y'know, like how he's hot shit just with his cape and pointy ears and oversized codpiece, but with his batmobile, he can actually park someplace and have hot gay sex with robin.

TIME OF THE DAY: the part when, yr just fucking about with boring shit while listening to songthing, and suddenly, there's a spot in the song that just grabs yr attention, just holds it, and yr world is narrowed down to nothing except the noise between yr ears, and it becomes, just for those few minutes, all that you are. pretty fucking sweet. last song played when that happened was New Scars by Bangs, for those interested.

CD: Dashboard Confessional - A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar. this pretty much epitomises the phrase 'guilty pleasure'. that chris guy is so, so whiny in certain parts, but i think he's quite evocative as a songwriter, which is good (like duh) but since he's emo, this means his lyrics are all bout girls (ok lah, depends on yr current mood).

Song: Bratmobile - Panik. "her name is panik! she makes me panik! her name is paniiiik!" Heh.

ok, so done with this lists shit. can't be arsed to think anymore.

in an effort to keep this blog regularly updated, i have decided that the old adage of not saying anything if you have nothing to say, does not apply to me. (it also doesn't apply to most people, but that's only cos they're stupid. Yes, i'm a snotty bitch.)

look, i'm still typing! Bout wat? fuck all, but what's important is that co-workers passing by my cube see me looking stressed and serious and hear the click-click sounds coming from the keyboard.

*current position* cross-legged on the high-backed chair, back ramrod-straight, bobbing along to andrew w.k who's telling me "she is beautiful".

things that've made me happy recently then:
(mostly material things like books and cds la; what, you think i'm gonna tell you bout my feelings? please, i'm already like 1 finger away from being KRAzi, y'know?

ok, even I'm boring myself.

later.

take a deep breath and count back from ten, and maybe it'll be alright

HOW MANY WAYS CAN YOU SPELL SUCK-ASS?

fuck, fuck, FUCK

warning, this post is nothing but a big bag of whine and self pity. do not read unless you intend to console me with free food. and anyone who tries to *hugz* me in the tag board will be castrated. you have been warned.

maybe it's naz's mood rubbing off me, but I HATE MY FUCKING WORK. I HATE THE OFFICE, I HATE THE PEOPLE IN THE OFFICE (they're perfectly nice, but my hate is irrational and encompasses all) I HATE THE FUCKIN' STOOPID RONALD MAC'DONALD FIGURE RIGHT OUTSIDE MY WINDOW WITH HIS FUCKING STOOPID FAKEASS GRIN AND HIS DISPROPORTIONAL TWENTY INCH SHOES. why does he need big shoes anyway? HE CAN'T EVEN WALK!!!! all he's good for is disproving the theory about shoe-size being relative to dick size!!!!!

i hate the fact that i don't have an access card and have to ring the fucking doorbell every single fucking time i come back from someplace. i hate that i had to return from a fruitless trip down to HQ soaking wet and looking like a balding cheebye just as my fucking colleagues were gathered around the entrance.

i hate.. ok, think of ways to start sentences with 'i hate' is really exhausting; bitching will recommence in regular form.

y'know what? i can't bring myself to list out the things that depress and infuriate me about this stupid SIP shit, because most of it stem from my own insecurities, which are way too personal to put out here, and trying to write it down will mean i'll actually have to look at it clearly, which can only lead to melodramatic thoughts of wrist-slashing and bucketloads of self-pity. oblivion is much preferred, also way underrated.

bet y'all didn't want this when you asked for updates huh.

Y'know how some days you wake up and everything's fabulous? trees swaying, birds chirping and all that warm fuzzies shit?

Today has been nothing like that. fuck, the past goddam fishshit asscrap week has been NOTHING LIKE THAT.

apparently, my uterus has decided to throw a party, fuck, a PARADE in that large empty space which has a name but i cannot be fucked to look up. the cheebye asshole thingies that biologists call eggs (why the fuck are they called that btw? when i think egg, i wanna think scrambled, fried or poached, NOT ASSES OF FIRE THAT HOLD MY ENTIRE BODY HOSTAGE WHILE THEY SET UP A MOSHPIT IN MY WOMB!!!!!)

in short? I hate PMS. And the next testicle-equipped assfister who complains about having to serve NS for TWO fucking years and how girls are so lucky and won't have to endure all the pain blah blah suffering blah so unfair will RECEIVE A SLEDGEHAMMER TO HIS BALLS!!!!!

not really, but i couldn't think of another way to end the paragraph without being anticlimatic, so, there you go.

naz, apparently there is some SSC thing where we get together with pple from the NSAs once a month at the clubhouse bar, and drinks are on the house!! if we are asked, you wanna go?

wow, this is the first thing i like about the ssc since i started working there.

besides HotGirl la, but she didn't look that hot today, i think cos she tied up her hair. and anyway, i managed to say hi to her, so yay! while holding a fag in my hand, so boo!

lalala hohoho hehehe heiyo heiyo dun lie dat la i dun wan eee..so horrible!