sugar

I'm on a chocolate binge! This crap happens every time I swear to lose some weight. This time I want to lose weight to prowl the Bali beaches in a three-piece. Wham. Right after I steeled up the willpower to do so, my body screamed for chocolate. And since my willpower was steeled, I steel-ily drove straight to 7-11 and got me chocolate ice-cream and 2 bars of sin for good measure.

I think the root of all chocolatey evil in me starts from this bag of sugar from the client! I don't even LIKE chocolate! Ask KC! What's happening to me? WHAT?

I think the only three-piece I'll be wearing in Bali is gonna be my tee-jeans-sunhat ensemble.

melissa

Had a meeting with a client I've spoken and emailed to hundreds of times but never met. She is so pretty! Not hot-sexy-come-and-get-me pretty but petite-porcelain-skin-perfect-teeth pretty. As an A&P manager she knows jackshit about marketing or advertising or promotion, and the questions she asked had me grinding my teeth in a disguised smile and digging my fingernails into my palms to keep myself from strangling her pristine neck... but she's so pretty! I don't care if she's spent the past 5 years on top of a Swiss mountain soaking in the mud and drinking waterfall water... she's so pretty!

Ya. Those who insist that inner beauty rules are probably unpretty themselves. Try flying first class with Wookies as stewardesses and tell me the ticket is worth the cent. Good-looking people always have, and always will, have an advantage over others. Sad (for so-average-that-shop-signboard-fall-down-also-can-hit-three folks such as meself), but such is the fact of life. And life's a cruel bitch sometimes.

coincidence?

I don't know if there is such thing as a coincidence. Or is everything preplanned by the mysterious higher powers? Today I was forced to ponder upon this deep thought. Already running late for band practice, I was surprised (pleasantly... but with a sour aftertaste) when the traffic light turned green the moment my car approached it. Nevermind, such occurence wasn't that rare. Then I came to another traffic light, and voila, as if by magic, it turned green also. Oooooh, nice coincidence, I thought. Then it happened again.

I looked at the clock: 8.50pm. I will try these 3 traffic lights again tomorrow. But at that split second, I didn't know to consider myself lucky that such wonderful coincidence happened to me at such an opportune time, or was it an act of God, sensing that I was late for practice and having mercy on me (after such a ratty week)?

Should I take everything that happened, or will happen, as a premeditated chain of events preplanned for me, in response to whatever decisions I make along my life? I cut my thumb the other day. What did that stem from? And and, my Superman accident on the road... why then? Why me? I think I'll drive myself bonkers reflecting further on such deep stuff. Should I even be doing this? If not then how?

Waah, tonight I damn lucky-hor...
This is so much easier on the brains.

starlight cinema

Went to Starlight Cinema with KC. Ended up doing something hot and sticky that had our backs almost breaking and my panties very wet.

You try sitting for 3 hours straight without anything to recline and tell me your back wants to break or not. And the grass is so wet moisture seeped right through the mat into my jeans into my panties. And the Buffalo Wings we ordered from the on-site TGI Friday outlet sucked harder than a vacuum cleaner.

Revenge of the Sith sucks. This is my reaction to Anakin huffing and puffing above the pristine Natalie Portman (although what she did in this show cannot be called acting - wait, it can - she was a frigid wax figure) and impregnating her with his lethal sperm. My best moment of the show was Anakin being burnt alive by molten lava. I could almost smell the crispiness of his legs. Yummm. But I don't understand why didn't he die earlier skateboarding over the lava. According to National Geographic, his skin should be steamed right off the meat and flapping in the wind from the heat. Obi Wan too. O Be One Two. Wahahahahaha *slap thigh* I'm so funny.

grrrrrrr

Sometimes I just bring shit upon myself. Why the hell did I bum a ride from Boss to work today, of all days? What kind of fucking interview lasts until 11.30pm? What the fuck am I still doing in the office, eyes too tired, shoulders aching too much, to be doing anything productive at all, besides rambling and complaining and exceeding my ciggie quota for the day? Why do I have to be relocated to another company fuckyears away from home?

Why the fuck does fucking crap happen to me?
Fuck you all to hell.
You muhfuhs leave me alone.
Fuck.
I hate everybody this very moment.

Yoke

Last night I met a girl named Yoke,
She talked so fast my brain almost had a stroke.
How we hooked up is a total joke,
If you want to hear everything go buy me a coke.

Since I'm writing here's the synopsis:
We were born of the coupling of Digi and Maxis.
I laughed at her sms-es so much I almost pissed.
Our wit and humour definitely belong in the same axis.

Yoke came to my office for an interview.
I emailed her our location map because she's new.
She thanked me and I sms-ed her back, out of the blue.
(I seldom sms people first, mind you)
Alas, she proved to be more than I can chew.

How can I chew when I'm laughing so hard?
I can barely keep the bursts of guffaws apart.
Yoke is as tall as the coconut tree in my backyard.
And unlike me, she's not a tub of lard.

Everybody go visit Yoke's blog,
It's got something to do with a dancing frog.
Her amusing entries got me following them like a dog,
Yoke oh Yoke you rock my socks!

(Daaaaaamn I'm lame...)

first time?

Fuck oh fuck oh fuck. For the first time ever in my blogging lifetime, I'm meeting another blogger (not counting church members or family members of church members or friends of family members of church members... etc). I'm meeting a stranger blogger! I'm not much of a supporter for bloggers meet-up and other curricular activities organised by the better, more gung-ho clique, but... I can't avoid this! And all this happened in such short notice that I'm still clad in an over-priced British India frock (I'm still in the office after all) that makes me look like a bitch pregnant with 8 pups. And I have a paper-clip-makeshift-into-hairclip tangled up somewhere in the tassels on my head. And she's gonna be here any minute. And I'm excited and in suspense and a bit embarassed and... Gaaaaaaah.

My first time. Anytime soon. Anytime.

near accident

As I was speeding off for the jam session 4 hours ago, I met with an accident. Actually I was met with the debris of an accident, but if I said that it'd kill the intensity now, wouldn't it.

There was no warning. No earth-shattering crash. No dramatic metallic crunch or screech of tyres. I just saw a motorcylist doing a Superman from the right lane towards the left. And he rolled. And rolled. And there were a lot of loose scraps of metal and plastic and (bones) and tins (what the heck was the motorcylist doing with so many tins? siphoned illegal gasoline? biscuits for the family?)... and my first thought was "oooh who's the idiot littering on a busy road". Yeah. Idiotically funny, but that really was my first thought.

Then everything happened in slow-mo. The car to my right was brought to a halt. The car behind crashed into it. I crashed into debris. The motorcylist was still rolling and screaming on my left. Thank goodness there wasn't any vehicle in the left lane. I heard a sickening crunch as something went under the front. I was relieved (slightly) that it wasn't a meaty crunch, but a metallic one. The rolling guy was half-crawling (scrambling, more like it), half-sitting on the shoulder of the road, still screaming. Sounded more like rage than pain.

I realised my car was stopped dead-centre diagonally across a busy road. A van screeched to a stop beside me and the driver glared. Then, upon satisfying himself that I wasn't the one responsible in mowing down his "clan member", he came out of the van to check on the motorcylist. Traffic resumed as normal. My forehead started to throb violently. Then I remembered mashing my face into the steering wheel when I had to perform a sudden stop with the car at 100km/h. I could still smell burning rubber. The throbbing was evil. And people were already blaring at me to get moving. Fucking inconsiderate shitheads. I took a last glance at the motorcylist (who was very much alive and animated), at the debris on the road and some splatters of blood, at the cars on my right (hey, didn't the first car just mowed the motorcylist down? or did he fell down himself? or did he hit the divider? I guess that would remain a mystery forever more) hauling ass... then I left. My hands were shaking. Or maybe that was my shook-up brains misleading me.

I only got down to inspect the car upon reaching a more secluded area. Everything looked alright, except for the registration plate with half of it missing. I touched it gingerly, and the rest fell to the floor in a clutter. Dang. Oh well. At least I didn't have someone's head landing on my windshield. Now that would be traumatic. For the head. Hmmm. Should I start worrying about my own head?