Apparently, sitting in the toilet with a pen and paper in hand is actually very beneficial. How many brilliant creative ideas were magically woven from the confines of the toilet? What is it though about expelling fecal matter that aids in creativity? Is that how you spell it in the first place? Fecal that is. Or was it faeces. Or is that spelling wrong as well?
Anyway. My nose is beginning to peel and I saw this terribly pretty blue dress (although a little too short to my liking but hey, an incentive to get those legs worked and toned out) in Topshop. Somehow the prices for such apparel never fail to raise my eyebrows. I mean seriously. Had I the skill and the knowledge I could whip up the same thing for less. I mean considering that the price of the cloth made is maybe just a little under 20 bucks, I could earn a heck lot of money!
Speaking of which, maybe I should. But this entails asking the mother to teach me and the mother is not really what you consider the best of all tutors. She is a brilliant seamstress though (of course, considering that she spent close to 5 grand on a sewing machine) and majority of our Hari Raya clothes were all sewn by her. Until the family dilemma that is and then we just hired people to do it for us because everyone was too busy and caught in their own little drama.
I know I'm one hell of an impulsive person. Impulsive purchases and actions, which sometimes lands me in trouble. One justification (although I'm sure it screams IN DENIAL and EXCUSES) would be that hey, we only live life once and I'm only 21 (or whatever age I may have been at that point in time) once so let's just whack it!
Doesn't mean I don't regret a lot of things that I've done or wished that I could have done it and handled it in a different way but well. What's past is past and I can only cringe in either utter embarassment or disgust with myself. It is me afterall living with the consequences, not that it should matter nor affect anyone else.
This just in. I'm sharing a room with the other 2 girls from the company. Okla. I promise I won't be much of a hindrance and will wake up well before either do. Good image and all that shit. I hope I'll be able to get my lens by then. Will be bringing Illiriel along so you guys won't miss me much while I'm away! I'll be online yo! At least I hope they have internet connection there. Else it's gonna suck bad. Editor also mentioned something about investigative journalism. End of June, we're gonna be trying to save lives. Will update once I get more details regarding it. Do I really want people to fear me because of what I do? Guess sometimes you can't help it if it's a double-edged sword. Someone's gotta do, I'm just the foolish idiot who ignorantly signed up for it.
Right. Back to work, I'm beginning to like the second draft of the article even more. Let's just hope the editor likes it as well.
This isn't a game report. It's worth more than that.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
lights will guide me home, i hope
There are times where it creeps up on you unaware. Or rather, you are aware just that you've been denying it for far too long. Those times you just feel like giving it up and giving in to the moment. But a simple word, a simple reminder is all it takes for that little bubble to burst, sending you crashing down to earth like a meteorite.
So I had fun today because retail therapy is always bliss. Clothes strewn about, the mess echoing the chaos that's so life-like. Reading up on people's lives and putting the pieces together. Slowly, but surely at least.
I feel content once again. Money does make the world go round. That and retail therapy. :D
So I had fun today because retail therapy is always bliss. Clothes strewn about, the mess echoing the chaos that's so life-like. Reading up on people's lives and putting the pieces together. Slowly, but surely at least.
I feel content once again. Money does make the world go round. That and retail therapy. :D
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
i'm a supermodel, yeah right
There are 2 things I want for my birthday. I need to spam this on my sister's blog as a hugeass hint. HAHAHAHAHA!
Nokia 7390 and a pair of Oakley Grapevines.
Simple right? :D
Nokia 7390 and a pair of Oakley Grapevines.
Simple right? :D
under these abundant skies
Hypocrisy goes hand in hand with contradictions. It's a human failing and try as we might, sometimes we just truly can't help it. But I'm sure there's got to be a way with which we can fight it. Or is it not meant to be fought in the first place?
Hello I am a journalist and so are you. We're working in the same line and we're talking to the same people. Is it not polite, at the very least, to smile and say hello and not talk down at me (just because you're a couple of inches taller) and look at me as if I'm nothing more than this uninteresting roach that's been dead for hours. So we're competitors but hey it doesn't mean that we can't be civil to each other. Honestly, I think right now I don't care much for national reporters. They can flaunt their pretty SPH namecards in my face for all they want and I won't be giving a shit. In a couple of months from now I won't be in that vein of work anymore. On to lusher fields I say!
A friend was telling me about how women are jealous and sometimes they try to find a significant other who is a little 'below' them just to make themselves feel better. See, in my past, some of my significant others were far far above than I was. Ok, maybe just one of them was. The bass player was the most intelligent smart aleck I've ever met. To date, I still think he's harbouring an atomic bomb or something similar in his house. Why we didn't work out? Well... let's just say conflicting interests and I get bored pretty easily. Of people and of a lot of things.
Right now I'm just obsessed with finding a rich, powerful corporate bastard who looks just like that geek with the tinted glasses on Beauty and the Geek. Last night catching him on TVMobile and I swear that my heart literally stopped. Chiselled looks, that slight sheepishness and uncertainty and the body. HELLO MOTHER! See, the thing right now is that we cannot be fooled into committment because of love. And why not you ask? Because love doesn't truly exist and if it did, it comes in the form of chocolate, Krispy Kreme and cute-ass cupcakes.
I consider marriage and committment like a business partnership. You get together because you both complement each other, able to provide what the other lacks and balance out the ying and yang. So for example he's a heartless bastard then in contrast I'll be the nice accomodating soul who reminds him from time to time that being human is actually a good thing. And well if the sex is good, all the more better. Sex is important, guys can't deny it and neither can you girls. Good sex is even better. So help me find a rich, powerful, alphamale corporate bastard who's damn fucking good in bed. Oh yes, he has to look decent at the very least because I'll be damned if I have to spend together-forever with someone who looks like Homer Simpson or Quagmire.
If I told my mother this she'd have fits.
After a nice packet of iced coffee (whereby the people who served me are truly a bunch of money-hungry dickheads charging me an extra ten cents JUST because it was packeted and not in the usual cup, bloody motherfuckers) and a smoke, I'm ready to tackle the damned Oakley article. I will devote the whole of today to it. By hook or by crook I WILL FINISH IT! That includes the athlete profiling as well. Rod Monteiro really is cute, it's just a damn pity he's married. Oh, his wife is hot and hence I stand no chance.
Oh and to close this. Did one of those online quizzes (which are really nothing more than a bunch of trash but hey I was bored and had too much time) and it said that I was not a hot chick! Not at all. Sad sia. I'm more tomboyish but apparently I ooze out a lot of sex appeal. Right.
My playing field is dead I tell you. And oh, the editor just walked in. Today I shall shop at Vivo because the GSS has begun and daddy gave me money to spend. :D
And one final edit, the guy who took the shots for the Rip Curl BVB should not be hired at all. For all your fancy lens and gadgets, I take better shots than you do.
Hello I am a journalist and so are you. We're working in the same line and we're talking to the same people. Is it not polite, at the very least, to smile and say hello and not talk down at me (just because you're a couple of inches taller) and look at me as if I'm nothing more than this uninteresting roach that's been dead for hours. So we're competitors but hey it doesn't mean that we can't be civil to each other. Honestly, I think right now I don't care much for national reporters. They can flaunt their pretty SPH namecards in my face for all they want and I won't be giving a shit. In a couple of months from now I won't be in that vein of work anymore. On to lusher fields I say!
A friend was telling me about how women are jealous and sometimes they try to find a significant other who is a little 'below' them just to make themselves feel better. See, in my past, some of my significant others were far far above than I was. Ok, maybe just one of them was. The bass player was the most intelligent smart aleck I've ever met. To date, I still think he's harbouring an atomic bomb or something similar in his house. Why we didn't work out? Well... let's just say conflicting interests and I get bored pretty easily. Of people and of a lot of things.
Right now I'm just obsessed with finding a rich, powerful corporate bastard who looks just like that geek with the tinted glasses on Beauty and the Geek. Last night catching him on TVMobile and I swear that my heart literally stopped. Chiselled looks, that slight sheepishness and uncertainty and the body. HELLO MOTHER! See, the thing right now is that we cannot be fooled into committment because of love. And why not you ask? Because love doesn't truly exist and if it did, it comes in the form of chocolate, Krispy Kreme and cute-ass cupcakes.
I consider marriage and committment like a business partnership. You get together because you both complement each other, able to provide what the other lacks and balance out the ying and yang. So for example he's a heartless bastard then in contrast I'll be the nice accomodating soul who reminds him from time to time that being human is actually a good thing. And well if the sex is good, all the more better. Sex is important, guys can't deny it and neither can you girls. Good sex is even better. So help me find a rich, powerful, alphamale corporate bastard who's damn fucking good in bed. Oh yes, he has to look decent at the very least because I'll be damned if I have to spend together-forever with someone who looks like Homer Simpson or Quagmire.
If I told my mother this she'd have fits.
After a nice packet of iced coffee (whereby the people who served me are truly a bunch of money-hungry dickheads charging me an extra ten cents JUST because it was packeted and not in the usual cup, bloody motherfuckers) and a smoke, I'm ready to tackle the damned Oakley article. I will devote the whole of today to it. By hook or by crook I WILL FINISH IT! That includes the athlete profiling as well. Rod Monteiro really is cute, it's just a damn pity he's married. Oh, his wife is hot and hence I stand no chance.
Oh and to close this. Did one of those online quizzes (which are really nothing more than a bunch of trash but hey I was bored and had too much time) and it said that I was not a hot chick! Not at all. Sad sia. I'm more tomboyish but apparently I ooze out a lot of sex appeal. Right.
My playing field is dead I tell you. And oh, the editor just walked in. Today I shall shop at Vivo because the GSS has begun and daddy gave me money to spend. :D
And one final edit, the guy who took the shots for the Rip Curl BVB should not be hired at all. For all your fancy lens and gadgets, I take better shots than you do.
sometimes
Sometimes she wishes
that someone would talk about her
in that manner.
That sweet tender lovingness,
with reverence or perhaps love.
Then again, who am I kidding.
that someone would talk about her
in that manner.
That sweet tender lovingness,
with reverence or perhaps love.
Then again, who am I kidding.
Monday, May 28, 2007
this is all a part of me
You know there are times where I can be so amazed by the amount of superficial trash we think and talk about. And then there are times when I'm just going WTF at all these deep insightful nonsense that we believe is going to save the world or at least redeem us in the eyes of the higher power (which might or might not exist depending on your fancy) so that we'd get that last chance ticket into heaven instead of being damned eternally to hell.
It's really interesting. I mean at warp speed my brain is locked in this volleyball (oooh the irony) of thoughts and decisions and revelations and promulgations (I do not believe that such a word exists and if it does I believe that I may have used it in the wrong context but since no one here bothers or cares then I really don't give a shit) and it actually makes me feel revved up to want to DO something instead of just sit here and stare at my monitor and lament and moan.
Oh that I need alcohol. Strong and good, no bitter aftertaste because I am a girl after all and I pretty much like sweet things. Yummeh. But I was looking through a number of blogs and just wodnering about the state of mind of all these people and the things that they do and the things that they say in correllation to what they do. It strikes me really. I mean yeah you can write really well but look at the Sarong Party Girl (who honestly has no looks and her body is far from desirable then again I have very very VERY high standards when it comes to girls and I'm just shitting myself either way) who is clearly unable to express herself verbally in person and instead makes use of the written word to try and make everything fancy by using big words that have no true reason to be there.
Agree? Even if you don't, I don't give a shit. HAHAHAHA!
But yes. I look at some kid's blog and I'm wondering. Holy shit is that what life is about to you? I mean is that ALL you think about? Don't you know that there are other things OUT THERE that are far more deserving of your time, energy, effort and attention? You have the monetary capabilities and yet you waste it all away on your frivilous little party trinkets from Gucci, Prada or LV. Ok fine mayhaps I sound bitter I'd want a LV luggage but hey, Roxy does fine for me too. In any case, WHAT HAS THE WORLD GONE TO?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE ONE?!
We've all turned into inch-deep shallow little fucks that it's pretty hilarious at times sitting in a conversation and realising that the only benefit it has is perhaps... none. But hey, I'm to blame too for engaging myself in such 'sinful' mediocrity. I be humble, I'm stupid like hell, timid like a mouse and have not an inkling of originality and creativity coursing through my veins.
I am going to stop writing in flowery languages because FUCK if there's even a point in it. Most times, now that I tell you in not-so-confidential confidence, I write in such language because I don't know what else to say and hence I expound the same words but through synonyms.
Pretty ain't it?
Now I will hunt down my coffee because I'm sick sick SICK of REDBULL and it's fucking up my system a heck lot more than normal. The main ethos for this rant or entry or whatever you may deem to call it is that I LIKE MY JOB BUT I WANT A BETTER (paying, well a salary hike to 4 digits is what everyone wants no?) JOB SO HELP ME IF I TEAR AT MY EYES AND LAMENT CEASELESSLY ABOUT IT!
Have I mentioned that I need alcohol? Yes. Wine? Beer? Fuck if I care.
Also, one final thing to note. If you want os badly to jam THEN FUCKING TAKE THE INITIATIVE TO ORGANISE IT YOU DUMBASS! I'm sorry that you work two days and then have two days off and sometimes you have to make time for another band everything else. But lookie here, there are some of us who actually have a proper job and who are chained to their desks because they have to finish everything before a particular date else they'll never hear the end of it from their superiors (aka, people who own their souls and dangle that carrot of a paycheck in front of their noses). YOU, clearly do not need to bring back work. YOU, clearly do not have to burn your weekends unnecessarily BECAUSE of work and I am SICK and TIRED of you dropping hints about some girl who this and that and this and that.
Not interested still means not interested. No way in hell unless you suddenly look like Brad Pitt or better yet, Edward Norton, would I ever be interested in you. GET THAT IN YOUR FUCKING HEAD and let's just have a professional band relationship.
Yes no? Awesome.
It's really interesting. I mean at warp speed my brain is locked in this volleyball (oooh the irony) of thoughts and decisions and revelations and promulgations (I do not believe that such a word exists and if it does I believe that I may have used it in the wrong context but since no one here bothers or cares then I really don't give a shit) and it actually makes me feel revved up to want to DO something instead of just sit here and stare at my monitor and lament and moan.
Oh that I need alcohol. Strong and good, no bitter aftertaste because I am a girl after all and I pretty much like sweet things. Yummeh. But I was looking through a number of blogs and just wodnering about the state of mind of all these people and the things that they do and the things that they say in correllation to what they do. It strikes me really. I mean yeah you can write really well but look at the Sarong Party Girl (who honestly has no looks and her body is far from desirable then again I have very very VERY high standards when it comes to girls and I'm just shitting myself either way) who is clearly unable to express herself verbally in person and instead makes use of the written word to try and make everything fancy by using big words that have no true reason to be there.
Agree? Even if you don't, I don't give a shit. HAHAHAHA!
But yes. I look at some kid's blog and I'm wondering. Holy shit is that what life is about to you? I mean is that ALL you think about? Don't you know that there are other things OUT THERE that are far more deserving of your time, energy, effort and attention? You have the monetary capabilities and yet you waste it all away on your frivilous little party trinkets from Gucci, Prada or LV. Ok fine mayhaps I sound bitter I'd want a LV luggage but hey, Roxy does fine for me too. In any case, WHAT HAS THE WORLD GONE TO?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE ONE?!
We've all turned into inch-deep shallow little fucks that it's pretty hilarious at times sitting in a conversation and realising that the only benefit it has is perhaps... none. But hey, I'm to blame too for engaging myself in such 'sinful' mediocrity. I be humble, I'm stupid like hell, timid like a mouse and have not an inkling of originality and creativity coursing through my veins.
I am going to stop writing in flowery languages because FUCK if there's even a point in it. Most times, now that I tell you in not-so-confidential confidence, I write in such language because I don't know what else to say and hence I expound the same words but through synonyms.
Pretty ain't it?
Now I will hunt down my coffee because I'm sick sick SICK of REDBULL and it's fucking up my system a heck lot more than normal. The main ethos for this rant or entry or whatever you may deem to call it is that I LIKE MY JOB BUT I WANT A BETTER (paying, well a salary hike to 4 digits is what everyone wants no?) JOB SO HELP ME IF I TEAR AT MY EYES AND LAMENT CEASELESSLY ABOUT IT!
Have I mentioned that I need alcohol? Yes. Wine? Beer? Fuck if I care.
Also, one final thing to note. If you want os badly to jam THEN FUCKING TAKE THE INITIATIVE TO ORGANISE IT YOU DUMBASS! I'm sorry that you work two days and then have two days off and sometimes you have to make time for another band everything else. But lookie here, there are some of us who actually have a proper job and who are chained to their desks because they have to finish everything before a particular date else they'll never hear the end of it from their superiors (aka, people who own their souls and dangle that carrot of a paycheck in front of their noses). YOU, clearly do not need to bring back work. YOU, clearly do not have to burn your weekends unnecessarily BECAUSE of work and I am SICK and TIRED of you dropping hints about some girl who this and that and this and that.
Not interested still means not interested. No way in hell unless you suddenly look like Brad Pitt or better yet, Edward Norton, would I ever be interested in you. GET THAT IN YOUR FUCKING HEAD and let's just have a professional band relationship.
Yes no? Awesome.
nothing in this world
A bunch of things we have all learnt from each other over the course of the past four days on Sentosa.
1. That the whole company more or less knows that I smoke.
2. That I know my editor smokes, occasionally.
3. Cameras make for good topic of conversations.
4. You can never and shouldn't even ever, judge a person by the cover of their book.
5. Not all athletes are friendly, the foreign kind at least.
6. Not all local athletes are friendly either (too damn atas if you ask me).
7. The Philippine babes who weren't even born there are damn fucking hawt.
8. Jimmy, the photographer, is cool.
9. This event has reaffirmed my dream and desire to join a PR company that manages sport events.
Yup. I wouldn't say that I'm burnt or baked or anything. Toasted, lightly, with a dusting of freckles and blemishes thanks to our sun. Note sarcasm. Everyone else save for the Art Director and me is at Sentosa packing up the stuff. I'm supposed to be doing work but I think I need coffee because I'm still pretty much tired.
Won't say exhausted. The team over at the beach is way way way more exhausted than I am. I truly salute them, for the amount of work and effort put in from start to finish.
Now I shall start reading Marketing books. I am the Product. I need to Market myself. I need to Sell myself to my Client.
Perhaps, in some sick twisted part, I just need to prove that I can be better than all of this. And that all of this is just what a mediocre and terribly shy girl is capable of.
To be gregarious, outspoken and not give a shit about what people think. To be assertive, demanding, confident. I need to start getting better at the things I do. I need to be fucking awesome.
Ahh yes. I think I need to drink soon.
1. That the whole company more or less knows that I smoke.
2. That I know my editor smokes, occasionally.
3. Cameras make for good topic of conversations.
4. You can never and shouldn't even ever, judge a person by the cover of their book.
5. Not all athletes are friendly, the foreign kind at least.
6. Not all local athletes are friendly either (too damn atas if you ask me).
7. The Philippine babes who weren't even born there are damn fucking hawt.
8. Jimmy, the photographer, is cool.
9. This event has reaffirmed my dream and desire to join a PR company that manages sport events.
Yup. I wouldn't say that I'm burnt or baked or anything. Toasted, lightly, with a dusting of freckles and blemishes thanks to our sun. Note sarcasm. Everyone else save for the Art Director and me is at Sentosa packing up the stuff. I'm supposed to be doing work but I think I need coffee because I'm still pretty much tired.
Won't say exhausted. The team over at the beach is way way way more exhausted than I am. I truly salute them, for the amount of work and effort put in from start to finish.
Now I shall start reading Marketing books. I am the Product. I need to Market myself. I need to Sell myself to my Client.
Perhaps, in some sick twisted part, I just need to prove that I can be better than all of this. And that all of this is just what a mediocre and terribly shy girl is capable of.
To be gregarious, outspoken and not give a shit about what people think. To be assertive, demanding, confident. I need to start getting better at the things I do. I need to be fucking awesome.
Ahh yes. I think I need to drink soon.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
till this time ends
It's finally over. I can finally rest, somewhat. Not that it's nothing new, since I keep mentioning it all the damn time BUT, I have been thinking again. A fork in the road. And it's more than just two paths. I think about the term 'moving on' and 'getting past it' and everything else and ask myself numerous questions. But then I realise that the more I brood about it and think about it, the more depressing it all seems.
Speaking of depression, entering some sort of melancholically morose phase. Which kinda sucks because I could be happy and laughing hysterically one moment and find myself feeling pretty much like shit the next. Ahhh the power and unpredictability of mood swings. Annoying really.
Now I am going to concuss and wake up and get to work on time tomorrow. Three articles this time round and each of them has to be awesome. By my standards. Else I'll have to start pulling fluffy white rabbits out of my ass.
And that, is an analogy and meant metaphorically.
Speaking of depression, entering some sort of melancholically morose phase. Which kinda sucks because I could be happy and laughing hysterically one moment and find myself feeling pretty much like shit the next. Ahhh the power and unpredictability of mood swings. Annoying really.
Now I am going to concuss and wake up and get to work on time tomorrow. Three articles this time round and each of them has to be awesome. By my standards. Else I'll have to start pulling fluffy white rabbits out of my ass.
And that, is an analogy and meant metaphorically.
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