toss away your old chinos, behbey!

i am currently in the process of dwindling my jewellery stash, from vintage geegaws, to handmade beaded tangibles, plus unworn swarovski fineries previously sold at my mum's pushcart. all for remarkably low, thriftstore prices.

that's not all, munchkins. i've a behemothic collection of bags, clothes and shoes up for grabs. make a deal. and it's yours. it's a clearing-out-closet sale not to be missed.

pretty pretty things! keep checking back 'cos i'll be posting excessively in due time. so spread the word and start saving!

brilliant. now i equally suck at painting and writing.

so for now, the pictures will speak for me. only for now, ok? cos a psychobabble won't ever lose her adroitness in talking shit.

no we're not lost, and yes we're retarded.

belle smelled ultra nice.

tulsi's birthday bash - w/o d bashing i'd hoped for.

me, hungry. him, dinner.

monday blues, but i still love sue!

:)

err, ello kak...a lil bit more to d right pls.

animals r us®.

there's more, but i'm spent. term break is coming to a close, in less than 24hrs. yayness! goodbye pandan cake, and hel-lowwwwww cabbage!

everyone, meet faizan.

That's the amount I'd spent on shoes and clothes on my last pay check, excluding the remainder which evaporated from my purse and teleported itself into the bank vaults of food production companies.

Screw the whole idea of adopting an inner child. I think it's time to get in touch with my Inner Wallet. With only a coupla dollars to last me till my next pay day, I am so totally fucked.

Lesson learnt. And the punishment? I'll only leave the house (aside from going to school/ work) when abducted. Or at knifepoint.

So now, despite Hilmi's relentless persuasion of trying to get me to chill outdoors, I'm being the stubborn Bull that I am and 'imprisoning' myself at home to complete my assignments.

But I shud've known better. Being stuck at home during PMS with absolutely no food to satisfy my constant cravings is, by far, the darnedest thing to do. Even more insane than spending 321bux within 2 weeks. And it just so happens that I have a massive craving for Cheese Fries rite now. At 11:42pm. *drool*

Something's tearing inside me. The extremely irascible and slavering wolverine is back, trying to claw its way out of my abdomen via my oesophagus. I'm a glutton for punishment, I really am. I need to join a psychological weight-watchers to weigh up my excess emotions -- yesterday two tantrums, the day before, three sulks; today close to one nervous breakdown.

All for no bloody reason. One minute I was convulsing with laughter at my mum's witticism, the next moment I just radiated to a numb silence at the thought of how lame the joke actually was. Good Gawd.

And PMS can sometimes make you feel so ugly that you worry if people so much as glance at you they'll need a cornea transplant, pronto. It's as if UFO rays from some outer galaxy have been beamed into your brain making you agonize over, of all things, chipped toenails.

The cramps. I've never had them. But sometimes I wish I do -- anything to replace this temporary insanity that occurs every single month, without fail. Given a choice, I'd rather be nursing bloody aches all around than having to put up with the unruly child who looks alot like me, but behaves like a ill-natured, fault-finding imbecile.

Ouh, hell no. She doesn't look like me. Tell me that haggard, sleep-deprived, tangle-haired visage peering back at me is someone else.

She'll disappear, I promise. Next week, the low-maintenance, high-value, worldly me'll be back.

Yarrite.

I'd spent the bulk of my off-day indulging in an eye straining exercise of watching the tube and reading Haruki Murakami's bestselling The Elephant Vanishes. And it's only till 8ish when I realised I hadta attend a get-together at indochine tonite to celebrate Nada's 22nd burfdae. Too late. I'm berating myself endless now, cos as if conveniently forgetting the celebration wasn't bad enough, realisation just dawned on this lil miss knucklehead that her close friend's birthday falls rite after Nada's.

And it's already half past midnite. Thank goodness he was really nice about it. I wasn't the first to wish him but he'd replied Alaaa stil u are the best 2 me, coz i like ur enthusiasm n sincerity. Now that's a plus. Heh heh. Since he'd incorporated Makcik Keropok into my bagful of nicknames that has stuck with me thru'out d whole skulyr, I told him I'll send a big-ass kropok with 22 candles onnit to his doorstep. But nooo-ho-ho, the dude wants a car. Tsk tsk. And I thot I was the spoilt one.

Ouh, and did I mention I've lost all the weight that I'd gained earlier this year? Well whaddya noe. Just 3wks of having irregular meals and now I'm back to square one. Which only means one thing. My new yr's resolution will be the same as the last. I will do anything i can, even indulge in 5 meals per day, to get back my desired weight.

OK, but for now... I'm sodding off to be the scrawny and fugly old me. (-.-)zzz

My last day at BCBG had been an unforgettable affair. I felt empty, stripped down to bare elements on my way home that nite, and reality took so bloody long to sink in. The weirdest thing was, I'd been waiting and anticipating for that day to come -- a day when I can finally bid farewell to the crazy bunch at work -- but now, I couldn't fucking embrace the fact that I was heading out d glass doors of the boutique. For good.

A Chomel necklace from all 3 of them.

My new colleagues @ CR are err...OK, I guess. Didn't click with most of them rite away, but they're nice. But sometimes I find myself silently cursing my universally mispronounced, misspelled name cos they just can't seem to get it right. Even my skulmates tend to get it wrong. Sha Sha. Tashya. Queentasye. Whatever. Wait till I get them to spell out my full name. It's like the ubiquitous reminder that I exist outside the normal realm of human speech -- a basic linguistic principle, borrowed straight from Chomsky: if people don't recognize the name of something, then that something doesn't exist. Bahhh!

160bux gone on hair and retail therapy. But hey, I haven't been self-indulging for a godawful long time so lemme splurge a lil' can? And even when Sam suggested I go to d clinic since I'm not feeling well, I'd inadvertently said no, I'd rather go to the salon next to it. *chuckle* I simply can't get 'nuff of spending.

Parv, a kazillion apologies. I bought our fav skirt~ Last piece hangin' on d rack.

Like whutthehell is up with me and plaited skirts?

Aaaah! Been eyeing on this baby for mths. And lucky me, they'd slashed the price to only 10frickingbucks! Dunchu juss lerv clearance sales?

The weirdest of questions came to my mind after the little gabfest with Marvin and Jeana on our way to town yesterday. We moved on from talking about ghosts and inexplicable, mysterious encounters to the topic about death. I mulled it over, surprised by how long I'd been able to stay in a conversation without wafting too far beyond the standard deviation of normal anxiety. I'd thought about death all the time during my depressed days more than two yrs back that it didn't become diversionary; it only made me tired and vague.

I'd diddled with questions about life and death and came up with my own theories. I couldn't understand why people are so afraid of dying, when living is so much more formidable and unnerving. Dying of old age, I thought, is the single worst thing anyone could wish on me. There was no great reward in survival; everything I survived was another reason to die. I was afraid that my tragic flaw, is that I fucking survive unbelievable shit. That the world would be too mean to kill me, it doesn't want me to die. It wants me to suffer. Suffer all the burdens of the world. How sad is that?

That which doesn't kill me makes me stronger -Nietzsche
My response to his perspective had been...that which didn't kill me slowly eroded my architecture, prolonging my tenancy while rendering it less habitable.

Well, of course my perspective have changed you dipstick! At some point in your life, your mental outlook is bound to differ, you'll perceive things contrarily to how you once did. A quotation I'd stumbled upon on the net by Wooden Allen struck me funny: I'm not afraid to die. I just don't want to be there when it happens.

On to a different note altogether. I just realized there's a lot of hypocrisy and phoniness going on at my workplace. There's only four of us, and the age gaps between (Idah + me = teens) and (Ivy + Shareen = mid 30s) are noticeably substantial, yet we have major politics revolving around work. It's unbelievable. You'd never guess a 19-yr-old and a 36-yr-old are capable of having squabbles like an average pair of pri sch kids. That really tells us alot about women, doesn't it? I'm guilty myself, 'cos if it hadn't been for my puerility and pettiness (and her friggin thoughtlessness & inconsideration) I wouldn't have gotten myself engaged in a meaningless bickering with kak.

Yep. That's it. I've let out the whole pile of crap amassed in my system for the whole week. Time to get a shuteye before plunging into the skewl- and work-free weekend. Woo-hoo!

Cheers.