Okay Something More.

contrary to my post previously demeaning skinny ass skanks, i think i'm gonna starve myself until i lose 5 kilos and weigh only 45. really. watch me. i've been 50 kilos since FOREVER and still can't find a decent pair of jeans with a fit that flatters me!!! HELLO??!! i'm on the verge of throwing a fit and cutting up my thighs!!!

AAARRGGHHHHHH!!!!

be a bitch and just tell him, pash...

Glob Glob

it's sunday. again. like it is every week, every seven days. duh. i've been reduced to diggin for Vanilla Ice lyrics and memorising them for Masters' Night. LOL LOL!! Dan and the boys are planning some parody shit to perform that night and since i'm a motormouth and the only one capable of rapping, i've been given the honour. *smirk*
but seriously, i'm sorta kinda psyched to do this with the boys. i'm just gonna be zonked out of my head before i take the mic. *grin

so sunday's boring. tell me something i don't already know.

gonna go watch The OC now. let me know if you think he's close to being my boyfriend. i'm SO dying already. pfft~

Dark Deep

i've figured out the secret of those super stick thin tall as lamp posts all skin and bones no flesh type-a models. not even a 15 degree curve of hip or ass. boobs are non-issue, we all heard of hormone pills and silicone. the findings...are not so shocking. just never talked about: THEY ARE MEN!

that's right. men, with (or used to have) little wiggly things between their legs we ladies call a dick. anatomy-wise, a penis. whatever.

the point is, we girls now don't have to starve ourselves sick just to be a size 6. because those who normally do are naturally petite, it's their DNA. or, they don't have all that ass and flesh because it's not their DNA, i.e. they are the lucky species of males who don't grow pot bellies and facial hair.
although i almost burst out in tears if i have to ask for a bigger size than 8. but 8 is always better than 6. because it means you got humps that can't possibly fit in a meagre size 6. ya getting the drift so far?

then this also questions the gender of other models in the market. i'm talking local fashion industry here. the female man is becoming more and more sophisticated in the sense that it's almost difficult to really be sure of its birth gender. yes i refer to them as 'it'. because they are neither him or her, nor he or she. therefore, 'it' best describes them.

so what if i'm anti-transgender. God only made 2 genders.

Do I Need a Title?

aa it's been nearly more than a week since my last post yes? too many things in my head (as always), too little words (as always), i feel like i don't have enough fingers to type out words on a keyboard which letters are scattered in such a way that it was bestowed the name "QWERTY". lol.

you don't understand do you? go away. i don't want to talk to you. (not now anyway dah-ling...)

*** today's just a bunch of randoms ***

i want dots, hams and baby. come home, please. NOW?!!!

propose to me with a white 3-door A 200 Turbo Mercedes, i don't dig Harry Winston or Tiffany rocks.

i miss pigging out on ramly burger and super ring, and PS2 sessions with baby.

suddenly i wanna do a video of my school and my girlfriends, with parodies about our teachers. "passsshaaaaaa.....where's your homework? last week oso never pass up horrr....!!" lol. add math classes i used to skip.

i think gwen suddenly grew boobs after having a kid. verdict: throw silicone out! let's make babies.

the CLV single i'm featured on is out and getting airplay. "Menarilah" featuring Pashionate and Caprice.

my brother got kicked out of uni. so stupid, but i'm so proud of him. *sob

currently diggin Beyonce's "Upgrade U".

if i can super fast forward to next year, i would only fast forward school so i can get out of Johor faster faster!!

get me a super rich super stupid but super good looking guy just so i can leech of him. haha!

i also want the new Samsung phone. not a fan of Samsung at all, that's saying something.

I think Diddy should stick to rapping and let Nicole do the Zinging.

I also think Paris should do a fashion shoot while in prison. that will be UBER HAUTE COUTURE!

i'm allergic to cigarette smoke. because it makes me feel like going to the jamban. lol.

i love Love LOVE... nothing.

i can go on.

and on.

and on.

you do realise.

i'm not saying anything at all?

good.

so why are you still reading this?

Sunday Jazz

it's sunday and i'm home, bored as hell. where goes my regular sources of entertainment? hm. i've got none. it figures, since besties are all abroad. one's in london shopping and shopping, one's in czech dissecting bodies and spending taxpayers money (more of it, apparently they got a pay rise), my favourite cousin's battling A-Levels in Cheltenham... *sigh. sundays just shouldn't be spent at home, waking up late and pigging out in front of the tv with a huge bottle of Frost root beer and mom's kuih gunting. parent's are out, i was supposed to follow them to a wedding or something. but i really can't be bothered enough to go to a stranger's wedding. should i even care who's getting married with whom when where and what food they're serving?? (shakes head) exactly. besides, the invitation was for my father. so let him go with his wife, why drag me along. but yeah, i'm not at the wedding so there's really no need for me to keep whining. except, this is for the other innumerable times i have been dragged to unknown people's weddings and find myself wondering why i'm at this table eating this plate of nasi minyak and if my being here made the wedding any more memorable.

my insides are screaming because i'm suppressing my want to throw a tantrum. just because i feel like it. plus the fact that no one listens to me, or even if they do, they don't understand me, so makes the conflicting inner parts of me rage with even more gusto. actually, it's probably because i don't talk to anyone about anything and so causes myself to be sick and tired of listening to myself. there. that makes more sense now doesn't it.

what i'd rather be doing on a sunday is going for a movie, caramel frappucino at starbucks afterwards, a walk around the mall (window) shopping, digging into a 5-scoop Baskin Robbins sundae, talk about philosophical things like why people think i'm a snob (lol), browse the shelves of MPH flipping through cookbooks and heiress autobiographies, pizza for dinner at Italiannies, and curl up with a book and mug of hot chocolate. and i'd love to do this with...someone. =)

oh, here comes the parents. they're home and brought lunch for me (i hope). turra!

Dear Life. Or Death.

The news clip from News Straits Times, dated 1st May 2007, which incidentally is Reshween's birthday and day of death. To read more, click here.

Reshween Sonia Kaur, 1988 - 2007

"though we only met in school, but because we were in school."

Uhuh. Yeah. Whatevs.

i should really be blogging more, now that i'm on holidays and since i've also caught myself talking to myself (ehem) more than the average time an average person would talk to themselves on average. so, yes. conclusion made, i should be writing a lot more now. i have the time. (right) and i have all that i want to say to myself that i can say to other people. (uhuh) and plus, i've been so preoccupied with thoughts, this, and that, and...*mind trails off* (yeah) so i really do think that i should be blogging more. right? (whatevs) so anyway... (where was i?)

"you need to read to impress, especially if it's something someone is reading..."
location: MPH Midvalley
date and time: 27th April 2007, between 12.30 - 1pm.

a highschool junior of mine died early this morning after celebrating her birthday with friends and her boyfriend. 3 of them died actually. the boyfriend is in ICU. they were all drunk. the accident happened somewhere along the highway opposite the Carlsberg brewery, just before Subang Jaya. ironic? you think. was God being cynical? i thought so. but He can't be that mean. can He? we've been told and warned countless times of the dangers of driving drunk. nothing seems to make an impact. it's as if our ears are impertubable. but having a close example occur when no one was expecting it, feels like a splash of icy cold water smack in the face. it still seems surreal to me. her death. i couldn't recall her face when i was told about it, but i knew her name was familiar. then i saw a picture of her, and yes. i do know her. i remember her. we were in the school pageant together. now i can't forget her face. a lesson learnt. next time when you're drunk, get a cab back home.