i got game

Ah god.

I've gotten so bored that I went and bought a couple of PC games. Nothing new, nothing fancy: The Sims 2 (and the full expansion pack), Silent Hill: Homecoming and guess what, a Nancy Drew game. I bought it on the pretext of letting my 11-year-old sister play it. Get her more interested in reading Nancy Drews or something. (The kid needs to read more.) But observe the word 'pretext'.

What does that tell you?

That I'm the one who actually wants to play the blasted Nancy Drew game. That's why I bought it.

Nancy Drew: The Haunting of Castle Malloy

Heroine: Nancy Drew
Supporting cast: George and Bess (their last names can never be remembered by anyone)
Villain: Some Ghost Thing
Location: Castle Malloy

One jolly good day, detective wannabe Nancy Drew and her two girl friends, the athletic (and oft mistaken for a man due to her name) George and somewhat-dimwitted Bess goes tripping in Ireland and end up at some castle called Castle Malloy.

As the story usually goes, old abandoned castles always make for a good place to run a syndicate for counterfeit money or a place to stow away stolen antiques so upon taking shelter from the rain, Nancy and co. 'accidentally' stumbles onto a mystery.

Which involves Some Ghost Thing that don't want them around but as usual, after a few spooky encounters that involve getting locked up in the dungeon, groped by a cold hand in the dark and etc. Nancy, with her super intelligence solves the riddle and behold, Some Ghost Thing is as scary as an old hag with bad makeup under good lighting!

Or so the story should be.

Exciting.

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attack of the idiots

GOD.

I just needed to vent.

Let me be racist for five minutes.

I fucking hate fucking stupid Chinese guys who don't understand the meaning of the word 'MIND'.

Stupid Chinese guy: Hey, mind to chat ah?
Me: Yes, I do mind.
Stupid Chinese guy: So where you coming from?

Fucking hell. Don't use the word if you bloody don't know what it means. Now I feel tired from all the tongue lashing I hurled at the retarded bugger. Fucking hell indeed. I don't need this kind of harrasment.

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the ex-files

I've been contacting my ex recently and we were talking about making plans to meet up for drinks. The last time I saw him was last April and we weren't on talking terms at all until maybe around the time when my mom got admitted into the hospital for dengue. When was this? Maybe a month ago?

So well, being the ass that he is, he has been making 'jokes' suggesting we get drunk and check into a room. Shit like that.

I don't put up with shit like that.

I told him flat out that there is no way in hell I'm going to hop into bed with him, no strings attached or not. He was lousy in bed. He never gave oral. And pretty bad after service too. Who'd want to do it with a guy who'd after doing the deed rolls over to his side and won't pay any attention to the girl?

His excuse for not giving head? He had a nasty run-in with some chick with a smelly cunt. Fuck that man. He won't even give me any after he'd seen me taking a shower. As if his dick smells so fragrant.

Ass.

He got a bit insecure when I told him that I went out with an Indian guy after him. I cracked that joke about how you can't go back when you've gone black and that seemed to have hit at all his insecurities. OK. Technically speaking, a black should be some African sort of guy. But let's just take it that the de facto 'black' in Malaysia are (on the most side) Indians. (And also said to have the biggest schlongs among the three major races in the country.)

He stammered at me: Is it true?
Me: What is?
Him: That when you go black you can't go back?
Me: I dunno. I still haven't found anyone worth fancying that's not black. But the guy was big, I'll say.
Him: How big?
Me: Oh. Way bigger than you. Long.
Him: Oh. So you're saying I'm small lah? Hehehehe...
Me: Hmm.. I guess yours is OK. Definitely smaller than his.
Me: And he had great stamina." (I just had to add this.)
Him: Oh.
Me: Anyway, you don't give me oral.

For the Chink, who's more than a little racist towards Indians, particularly the furry-chested alpha males, hearing that he was not the best screw in my lineup of boyfriends (count 'em - four) was a painful hit below the belt.

He used to make a fuss whenever he saw a Chinese girl out with an Indian guy. He'd raise hell and make statements like oh, Indian guys are stealing their girls so there's less of them pretty slanty-eyes for guys like him and how the girls are betraying their kind and shit.

Maybe if he cared to be more thoughtful towards a girl's needs...

Or not.

Size DOES matter after all.

I don't think I can go back. I've gone black.

DAMMIT.

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gaga

P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face!

I am so in love with Lady GaGa. I just love her songs and I especially adore her hair and her getup. So.. so COOL. Like highly stylised cosplay.

Ought I get a wig? Ought I? And wear thick black eyeliner with winged tips, all cat-like, all mysterious? And a bodysuit? Where do I find a bodysuit? And five-inch heels! Oooh!!! I'll just die.

Alrighty. I am going to learn to dance. I have to. And I am going to hit the karaoke joint soon and indulge in strawberry drinks with too cute names.

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it gets to me

Lalalala... I FEEL USELESS.

What am I doing wrong? What is going wrong?

I need to change. It must change.

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revenge of the mascara

As I was driving home today, I recalled a moment in time - a time before I knew the importance of eyebrow grooming.

God.

I had really awful looking eyebrows then. They were oddly shaped. Sparse hair with high arches. Now I check myself in for eyebrow threading sessions whenever I'm in the Bangsar vicinity. Else, I'll just do a bit of plucking and trimming. Not too great, but I manage.

By the way, did I mention how much I love Dior's Iconic Lash mascara? And this Maybelline thing with a name too long I forgot what it's called.

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lamentable manisfestations

I spent Valentine's Day at an inter-media bowling tourney - and naturally, the team lost. My best score was 67 - and I ranked at 132 out of 137 players in terms of score. OK, at least I wasn't last. And I managed to score a strike once.

I play better badminton. Or so I'd like to think anyway.

There wasn't much to do by way of being a single on a day when some love-themed meal and a super sappy romance movie are compulsory. So I went and bought myself two pairs of thongs - which now I regret buying.

The first, a midnight blue see-through thong with silver glitter I realised upon reaching home that I'd grabbed the wrong size. It's a size bigger and it was hanging on the little thong hanger with a big '8' on it. Way to go. I'm so not going to return it. I'm going to donate it to my friend who happens to wear size tens.

The other was this quirky pink and silver thing with ruffles. It reminds me of when I was eight. When little girls' swimsuits had the little ruffle-bit pretending to be like a little bit of a skirt. Damn. I never knew thongs can make me look and feel juvenile.

I don't know if I ever want to wear it... like what if I had to get undressed and I was seen in that pink thing - that looked so cute at Topshop five hours ago? I'd be a laughing stock. Nobody'll think of my credibility as a journalist anymore! Oh goddammit.

And I regret my hair trim. It wasn't supposed to be that short. Now for some nagging reason, I think I look older - which isn't much consolation when I just recently turned a year older. Dammit. I'd have much rather stuck with my brittle ends if I'd known it'd turn out like this.

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