Trip down memory lane, and then Some.
written: 12:15 p.m. on Saturday, Apr. 26, 2008

1. How disgustingly fat I was back then. The roundness of the face in this entry made me avert my eyes in utter horror. I guess mileages vary, but I really don't care if a guy would prefer to hold something fleshy as opposed to something bony; as long as I cannot live with myself if I'm fleshy, I'm opting to be bony, and even then - hello, tummy? And flabby underarms and thighs? Shit, I need to start swimming rigorously again and lay off the chocolate, not to mention the diabolical butter in the diabolically yummy and irresistible sultana cookies (COOKIE!!!) my mom bought from Marks and Spencer.

2. That I said this: I'm supposed to be twenty and I'm still holding out for an emotionally-tumultous (sic) relationship where tragedy strikes and it's up to me to save him. I'm regressing, I'm stuck in teenagehood, I can't move forward. I don't want to move forward, to leave all this behind, not when I haven't properly enjoyed it, milked it for all its worth. The pain and torture and all that jazz. (here)

Tragedy struck and it was more emotionally-tumultuous than the phrase suggests, and it's true what they say about be careful of what you wish for. Stupid 20-year-old Yelen, but then again, if you've never experienced it, you wouldn't know just how shitty it works out to be in real life, and you wouldn't ever stop pining for something that's potentially destructive and just...not viable. No point lah okay? Stick with something normal and safe please, thank you.

(Just because it has to be said: I was thinking, Ohmygod, David please come to Singapore pleeeease. I need to be rescued from my men-hating phase, or at least I hope it's a phase. If not David, then...um, no. If not David, then no one. OH MY GOD, I'm going to be single for the rest of my life.)

3. The extent to which I really dreaded my birthday, and the overwrought birthday angst that saw me writing things like dying on my birthday would be the best gift ever. Um...okay. Suffice it to say, because brevity is really the best counterweight to such melodramatic bathos (just have to mention that writing those two words gave me a nice cheap thrill), I don't care what happens on my birthday this year, if nothing happens, if I spend the whole day at home, if I go out at night, if I end up having sex with a random hot stranger (of course he has to be hot) standing up in a random dirty toilet. I don't care. End of story.

4. How bad my writing was. I kept expecting to read something that would wow me, but with every word that I read I was increasingly disgusted by how mediocre the writing was. I can't really put it into words, exactly; I guess the writing lacked life, lacked vitality, and was just flat and dull as dishwater. It was more an impression than anything specific and I think I've managed to rise above that now. Hopefully. Wait, I'm supposed to be confident in my own writing ability, right? Okay, what I meant was: I'm confident that my writing has improved since then. Yep, there you go.

5. HOW DISGUSTINGLY SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED I WAS. Oh my god, it's so totally embarrassing. Okay, I suppose to some extent I still am and I've been taking it out on poor David Cook, but what is different about my sexual frustration now as opposed to then is that I have totally developed a sense of humour about it! Back then I was all gloom and doom and stupid nonsensical angst, just because I wasn't getting any. Er, okay, that's...nice. I'm still not getting any, but I've never been happier to be single because it's so much more fun fangirling over David when you're single. If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't be obsessed with David to such an incredibly dramatic extent, because I have this crippling disease where I cannot have intense feelings for more than one person at a time. The only time I was crushing on famous people while attached was when I was with my first boyfriend in secondary school - which really explains everything, i.e. I so totally did not have intense feelings for him and I really wanted to be kissing Iker Casillas instead. Oh, I was horrible. I'm still horrible. But maybe less horrible? Yeah, I wish.

6. How I am still, quite woefully, the same Miss Avoidance I was two years ago.

I think I intended to do some soul-searching with this but I just read a 'how to tell a guy is a complete loser' list I wrote and I completely died laughing, so once again my train of thought has been derailed. And I don't want to talk about my tendency to avoid confrontations and how I'd rather keep everything to myself than to open up and make things all awkward because I'm not the kind of person to ever forget things; I only pretend to forget. Basically, I remember everything, every single time a person has made me upset, and I realise it's creepy and neurotic, but this is just who I am, and that is why I don't like talking about uncomfortable things, because once that line is crossed, I cannot cross back, and the awkwardness will stay with me pretty much forever, unless I somehow lose my memory. And in that case I wouldn't be the same person anymore so it's no use staying friends with me. I know I wouldn't stay friends with me if I weren't me. Does that make sense? I'm kind of rambling.

Anyway, so I totally laughed my ass off, and it's too good not to reproduce in full! (Crap, I wanted to set up the CSS for blockquotes but I forgot and now I'm too lazy to do so. Edit at 10.37 p.m.: OH MY GOD, I SET IT UP!)

How to tell if a guy's a complete loser:

1. He makes it a point to tell you self-deprecating things about himself, nevermind that you've typed all of two short phrases to him and that him telling you things like "no one ever answers my messages" and "I never get messages" are totally not making a good impression, probably hoping that he'd come across as honest and humble instead of completely lame.

2. He types crap to you thirty seconds after typing his last message. It gives you the feeling that he's trying not to let you escape, and that he thinks constantly typing stupid things to you would somehow elicit (note: I spelled it 'illicit' at first and thought something was wrong) a response. Well, it doesn't. In fact, it only pisses you off.

3. He starts a random IM conversation with you by saying 'how do you do'. You reply politely because you're, like, freaking bored, and he goes, "I'm good too", and honestly expects you to follow up. Seriously - whatev.

4. He sends you a message after not receiving any replies from you for a few days, the gist of which basically goes, "Hmm, haven't heard from you in a while. You're probably busy. Or maybe I'm boring. Well, hope to hear from you soon." Needless to say I cleaned up the bad English. His blatantly making up excuses for your total indifference hilariously smacks of a pathetic attempt to make himself feel better about being ignored, and you read it and go, Whatever.

5. He still instant messages you even though you totally ignored the first few 100 times he tried to talk to you.

6. He can't spell.

7. He can't punctuate.

8. His English is fuck-bad.

9. He actually asks you if you mind that he's sending you a message even if he doesn't have good English and doesn't know what proper Chinese is. Seriously, what does he expect you to do if you do indeed mind? Pull an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and erase that memory? Whatever.

10. He sends you a message anyway even if he professes to have shitty English and Chinese, nevermind that in the 'who do you want to meet' section of your profile, you flippantly typed some crap about good English, Chinese, the usual. It's like, dude, can you not read?

11. He spells 'a lot' as 'alot'. A major crime.

12. He says, "Can we be friends?" The only thing to do when you read such banal "messages" is to make a beeline for the trusty 'delete' button.

13. Worse still, he goes, "can we b frenz?" Help my sanity, please.

14. He's an engineering student.

15. He's an engineering student at NTU.

16. He doesn't know what a 'prole' is and yet still messages you even though you specifically said that people who don't know what a 'prole' is should fuck off forever and ever.

17. He thinks Literature is equivalent to Romeo and Juliet, and/or he reads The Da Vinci Code and thinks that can sufficiently impress you. Not even close, buddy. Don't bother trying again.

18. He uses three question marks/exclamation marks instead of the usual and correct one.

19. He honestly thinks that you'd consider going out with someone with crappy English, typically Singaporean looks, and a polytechnic diploma. Hahahaha. You don't even know when to stop laughing. (I realise that the poly diploma thing is a bit mean, but honestly. Unless the guy did FSV at Ngee Ann or even Mass Comm at Ngee Ann, he won't even register on my radar. Just...come the hell on. I can't even be bothered to be politically-correct here.)

20. Last, but not least, he doesn't have the fucking balls to tell you that he's tired of your long-ass messages and that he doesn't want to talk to you anymore, and so he resorts to writing something as lame as, "You don't need to feel obliged to write to me. In fact, you can forget I ever wrote to you." What the fuck kind of fucked up shit is that, right? I think so too.

21. Last and definitely least, he doesn't reply when you're all, "Unbelievable. That's the lamest shit I've ever read." Of course you don't say it in such crude, offensive terms, but the gist is pretty much there.

22. Oh wait, I thought of another one: Cyber sex gets him off. He sees a headline on a girl's profile that reads, "'You got a trophy for a rim job?' - Veronica Mars" and sends her a stupid message that goes, "Would you like to earn that trophy?" And the girl doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, and she decides on laughing and hits the loser back with, "I totally love cars!" And the idiot is stupid enough to be all, "What about cars turn you on?" No. Freaking. Way. Are people seriously that desperate? And here I am, thinking that horny people can just satisfy their urges by logging on to one of the 3482758235 free porn sites out there. How naive I have been.

14 and 15 made me LAUGH MY FUCKING ASS OFF, because I recently went out with an Engineering student from NTU as a friends/not-friends/friends/don't know/but friends kind of thing. Actually, still don't know what that was about, but don't really care because, yeah, I can't...I'm not...you know, just...I WANT DAVID COOK. That will be my generic one-size-fits-all excuse for not wanting to go out with someone. It's definitely less ego-bruising than "he's not my type" and it's also less insulting than me going into details about how he's not my type, which will inevitably involve some degree of grammar/spelling/punctuation/pronunciation/SMS language nitpicking, grammar Nazi style, and condescending remarks about his taste in music and movies and books, and note how I'm not even saying 'literature'. Not wanting someone because he's not David Cook reveals a problem with me, e.g. I'm psycho, I'm delusional, I'm crazy, and I could spend the rest of the day coming up with different words for 'insane' and let's not waste that kind of time, but it assures the other person that the problem doesn't lie with him. I mean, it's really not his fault that he's not David Cook and there's nothing he can do to change that fact, so win/win.

This is kind of why I'm going to die alone but I've long since figured out that settling for less is as good as not having anything, so you know, I'd rather die alone than to spend the rest of my life with someone that I'd just end up getting damn sick of, so yeah.

Cynical, me? No. Way.

Items 20 and 21 were in reference to this weird person who sent me intriguing messages, then subsequently dropped off the face of the planet. I never took well to people ignoring me so I was all pissed and whatever, which strikes me as funny now because I've completely forgotten about that until now. And I obviously needed to seriously lighten up back then which, hopefully, I've done...if lighten up and withdrawing further into my shell compute at all.

Anyway, the above list is mean as hell and it betrays my thinly-veiled arrogance but I found it damn funny. I think I'm still like that, but you know, some things never change.

Because an entry isn't complete without the Obligatory Cook Content, I'd just like to say that David + Yelen = Most Perfect Couple. Ever. He's a musician, I'm a writer. He likes words, I like music. Hello? Talk about the perfect ingredients to create the most perfect couple that rivals Brad Pitt and what's her name? Jennifer Aniston for Best Couple Ever award.

Then again, using Brad and Jen as the benchmark is quite sad, considering they broke up, so...Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. But they're not really the archetype 'perfect couple' so...Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson?! Oh fuck, I hate both Ashlee and Fall Out Boy.

Never mind. My point is, David and I are, like, totally made for each other. We complement each other, and I love him enough to ignore the fact that he said Rock Star is one of his favourite movies, which means that I'm able to accept his flaws and love him for who he is. Isn't that awesome? I mean, when have I been able to overlook a guy's atrocious taste in movies, right?

Okay, to be fair, I've never watched Rock Star and I'm not surprised he likes a movie about...rock stars. But the reason I've never watched the movie is because...it's bad. Like, 5.1/10 on imdb.com bad. So, yeah, it's quite tragic that Rock Star is one of his favourite movies, BUT the great thing about a relationship is (or at least, in my mind it is; doesn't always translate to real life) that the two people in it can introduce each other to new things, including music books movies, and I'll make sure that David's taste in movies becomes halfway passable by forcing him to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - on repeat - with me.

You know, I seriously have no idea what I'm talking about anymore. I woke up at 9.30 a.m. and I thought that was late, and I'm actually really sleepy 'cause I was up until 1.45 a.m. watching my David videos in chronological order, AFTER having my heart melt all over the place when looking at yummy David pictures and transcribing Axium's "Incarcerate" which is, like, angstily heartbreaking, and listening to a few more Axium songs that I procured and marvelling over how versatile and flexible and malleable David's amazing voice is. So maybe I'm high on fatigue, but I'm definitely high on something, and therefore, I present to you ocular proof that David Cook and I are the most perfect couple EVER to ever perfect the grimes of all the imperfect couples of this world:

In my defence, I was playing with some Baby Maker nonsense that I found on a David Cook fan's Livejournal, and the Baby Maker site required that I put Cookie's picture next to my own. When I saw our faces side by side I was all, SQUEE!! MUST MAKE PERMANENT! and I did, because have Photoshop can do anything, and the fact that it took me this long to do it should also attest to the fact that I needed an external stimulus to do it.

Of course, what was I doing playing with that Baby Maker thing, right? I swear, I have too much time on my hands, and now I wish I hadn't said anything.

On second look, oh my god, I look like an alien's love child in that picture and Cookie, as usual, looks absolutely perfect. But oh, how apt that he's in black and I'm in white. Talk about complementing each other, oh my god. <33333

This is exactly why I've never been happier in my life to be so totally super and swingin' single.

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