forced to choose on a one-way street.
written: 3:37 p.m. on Sunday, Jan. 21, 2007

It has to stop, or it has to end.

Sorry Logan. I'm with Veronica on this one.

And yet...and yet.

**

Pictures from last night:

The next time I go drinking, I will not step into a bar/pub with a huge-ass LCD installed. They were playing ESPN at Harry's and there was some bloody football match and the place was crowded and noisy, and there was actually a small crowd of people outside watching the match. Like, what the hell? If you really wanna catch the match, just go home lah. The whole shindig completely annoyed me. I hate football. It's retarded.

First time drinking with Mel and it was fuuun. So the drinking thing was totally my idea which makes me a bad influence on her (as what my parents said). Yeah, well, you know, this and that. Harry's might've been a nice place if they weren't showing fucking football and look it even alliterates, but on the bright side, we sat at the bar and there was this middle-aged French guy to our left. We were trying to take nice photos of ourselves and he suggested that we put the coaster on a cup and balance the camera on the coaster, which was a totally good idea. Amazing that we didn't think of that, eh? I know, I think so too.

Harry's wasn't conducive or cosy and it was generally noisy and irritating, so we upped and left and walked over to Chijmes. Sat in a Spanish pub called La Viva because it didn't have an LCD, ordered a couple of Hoegardens, and drank those over the course of, say, an hour. Didn't get as tipsy as expected. I guess drinking your booze slowly really does help the ooziness. The pub was nice. It was quiet and cosy and there were a couple of live musicians playing nice folk songs. We made plans to go back there again one of these days.

The downside is, drinking is fucking expensive. That, and my stomach felt shot to hell when I got home. I felt bloated, I felt fat, I felt broke. Why do we do this to ourselves? I left the house with fifty and went home with eleven. Seriously. Enough is enough. The next time I drink, someone's gonna pay for me, and that person will not be a girl.

This goes without saying, but just in case: Had an awesome time with Mel. Hanging out with her is unlike hanging out with anyone else I know, and trust me, it's seriously been a while. But it was like there was no 'a while', like we did it every day. We did something quite hilarious last night at Suntec that will always make me laugh, no matter what mood I'm in. There was this bridal photography roadshow outside Carrefour. We strolled past it, and Mel went, "I have this great idea to seriously mess with their heads."

I said, Do tell. She was all, "Let's go up to them and ask if they could do bridal shots for us."

Us as in us, as in Melissa and Yelen, as in Melissa and Yelen, Couple. Oh, my god, bloody funny idea. Maybe it was because I've been feeling reckless for the past few days, maybe I was bored, maybe I just wanted to get a kick out of something quite random, or maybe it just seemed like a fun and hilarious idea; but whatever it was, I was like, Yeah, let's do it.

So we went up to them, flipped through their photo album (bloody ugly shots, by the way. In one of the pictures the guy wasn't even looking at the girl. How romantic), and this old ah beng person approached us. Mel went, "I was wondering if you did bridal shots for, like, us."

The old ah beng person looked taken aback. HAHA. He blinked a couple of times, mentally cleared his vision, and went, "For...the two of you?"

Mel said, "Yeah, for us."

And guess what the old ah beng person said? "When's the ROM?"

At that point I just wanted to totally burst out laughing and let the cat out of the bag. But I stifled my laughter and looked on supportively as Mel patiently explained, "Well, we can't exactly get married in Singapore, can we? We just want to take some bridal shots together."

The joke ain't over yet. The old ah beng person gave me another good reason to laugh my ass off by saying, "It's for fun, right?"

Like, WHAT THE FUCK! Hahahahahahaha. Most hilarious shit ever, I swear. To that, we answered, "Um, no, we're serious."

HA, HA, HA, HA, HA. But I guess the downside was, the old ah beng person took us seriously and he waved his colleague over, this younger-looking fat ah beng person with emo glasses. Mentally I was all, Shit, I don't wanna be stuck here talking about prices and whatever! Mel was all, "We just want to take maybe a namecard and keep our options open. Do you have a namecard?"

The colleague came over and I saw him staring at me with this weird look on his face. The old ah beng person actually wanted to talk to us about what we wanted to do, look through their collection to see if it suited what we had in mind, things like that. Well, I guess it's a sign that they're not homophobic, which is always a good thing in my book. In any case, Mel managed to get us out of there by taking the brochure from the old ah beng person and said, "We'll give you a call, thanks."

We walked off, struggled to contain our laughter, and when we were a safe distance from the roadshow, we completely burst out laughing. Because it was fun-NY. Mel, we should totally do this more often, you know, mess with people's heads. Talk about free entertainment and amusement. Major, major awesomeness. There's also a vague plan to hit town next Friday in our Jurong Junior uniforms and then go drinking in our Jurong Junior uniforms at night. HAHAHA. Double dose of hilarity, I say. I'll put aside my no-more-drinking-for-now thingy just for that.

Anyway, Mel's boyfriend gave us a ride home and my dad smelled the booze on me. Strangely enough, this time round he didn't completely flip out the way he did the last time he caught me drinking out of the house, away from family members. Well, whatever, you know? Because, really, what does it matter anymore? In fact, he didn't flip out at all. I told him that we shared some drinks (which was true) and that it was my idea. And that was that.

Had some vague sort of intention to swim but the sky's getting darker and I'm not really into freezing my tits off in the dirty pool so I think I'll pass.

Went shopping with Mom this morning. Felt stoned throughout. Shopping gives me no joy no more. Bought a pair of jeans from Esprit (size 34, shit), and two sets of lingerie. The latter activity revealed to me a very, very, very depressing turn of events: Not only did my clothing sizes drop, my bra size also fucking dropped. I'm like a fucking B70 now. LIKE SERIOUSLY, THE LAST TIME I WORE B70 BRAS WAS IN LOWER SEC.

I can't believe my boobs really, really, really shrank. God, can I die? Please? Life ain't worth living anymore.

Well, in any case, I bought my first set of Calvin Klein lingerie and I must say the bra was probably the most comfortable bra I've ever worn, ever. Yeah. Expensive though, it was. But hey, I wasn't the one paying. Even though the guilt kinda bit me in the ass.

Why am I talking about the size of my boobs and my intimates (as in underwear) on a public domain?

Wait, on second thought, when have I ever cared what I talk about in this public-as-hell online journal?

**

So at Esprit I attempted to redeem a $50 voucher and the salespeople completely annoyed me by failing to notice that my EPC was a replaced card. They were all, "This letter isn't for your card." WHAT? I kinda raised my voice at them. I was all, "Huh?" I must've looked damn pissed. I think I sounded damn pissed. I was, in fact, super pissed off.

I don't remember ever getting so blatantly pissed off with sales people before. I was this close to yelling at them. I would blame it on PMS, except my period has passed, so I guess it's just me then.

Anyway, my mom commented that this sales dude there kept following me around. Whenever I piled on clothes onto my arms to try on, he'd come up to me and remove the hanger, whatever. When I was looking at a bag and carrying it on my available shoulder, he came up to me and asked if I needed any help. Um, yeah, I needed a mirror, thank you. So, yeah, well, I responded to my mom by saying, "He's just doing his job what."

Maybe, maybe not. I'm pretty sure he recognised me anyway. I go to the Wisma Esprit a lot and once I altered a pair of jeans and he helped me with it and everything, and when I left he gave me this strange look. Like, you know, he looked at me a little longer than normal.

No matter how many guys look at me a little longer than normal, check me out, ask me out, want to get into my pants, want to be all Romeo and Juliet and shit with me; no matter how tall they are, how good-looking, how hot, how rich, how un-Singaporean, no matter even the fact that they have a car, there's still only one person in the world I want. So there.

**

Confession: I'm obsessed with my weight.

But this isn't Alcoholics Anonymous. This isn't Serial Weight Watchers Anonymous. I'm not here to get help, and so I don't have a problem, and so that admittance was not my first step to cure. You see, I think we need a dose of self-awareness every now and then. Eating at NYDC with Mel last night finally made me aware of how concerned (to euphemise it a little) I am about my weight.

And so I say this now: I'm obsessed with my weight. But I don't care that I'm obsessed with my weight. It's better than being obsessed with some random guy or with killing yourself or whatever. No matter how paranoid about my weight I get, the most drastic measure I'd take is to hit the pool every day for as long as I can until some external event crashes into my routine and frustrates everything. The external event could be: 1) the erratic, PMSy weather; 2) very, very bad mood; or 3) pure, unadulterated laziness. (Note: There's this weird thing I do with words. There are times during which some random word pops into my head out of nowhere, a word whose meaning I, quite frankly, don't know, and some instinct thingy tells me that it fits the context of the sentence. 99% of the time, that instinct thingy is right. It just happened with 'unadulterated'.)

Sure, I get freaked out by how bony I've become. But in all honesty, the bare truth be told, I'd rather be bony the way I am now than to go back to the way I used to be. No looking back, you know? What's over is over. The past is past. Period.

The only thing that severely irritates me is that half the shit in my closet doesn't fit me anymore. Truer words have not been said: I have nothing to wear. So yeah, I'm gonna continue going to school alternating between short denim skirts and jeans. Because I have nothing else to wear. And that's the end of it.

**

There are times when I think I could actually spontaneously self-destruct.

The funny thing is, most of the time I'm genuinely too lazy to.

Self-preserving laziness seems to be the order of the year right now.

Oh, and I'm still not studying. As in, I haven't touched anything except the first 7 pages of the Seminar One Public Law readings and a couple of articles in the handout since school started. You mean it's the third week of school already? Look at my unconcerned, indifferent face.

I feel completely underwhelmed by life.

**

Sigh. I really want to stop feeling so moody all the time but pessimism and negativity have been good pals of mine since, like, forever, so expect more angsty entries until, I don't know, Veronica Mars returns or something.

How the hell is it that I can spend two hours writing an entry as bland, pallid and ordinary as this one? Get a life, Self. Or get a talent. Another talent. No, wait, get a talent, yes you got it right the first time. 'Another' implies that you already have one, which doesn't seem to be the case, if you want my honest opinion.

I NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS STUPID-ASS COUNTRY AND ITS STUPID-ASS BOREDOM.

What I'd really love to do? Spend Chinese New Year in Taipei. I hope something comes through, but I highly doubt it. Whenever I hope, things turn to shit, so yeah, you know, grin and bear it and all that jazz.

Gonna watch Brick tonight. Claire from Lost is in it. I think she's really pretty. I think Evangeline Lilly...isn't really that pretty. And I don't think she can act. And I think Matthew Fox ain't hot. And yeah, Josh Holloway is totally hot and sooo shaggable. Hell yeah.

What a rubbish entry.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010