at home on a monday afternoon

there is something about stuffy yellow afternoons that makes me want to scratch out my skin and die.

coming to this pathetic little slice of cyberspace i can call my own after like, a week, and seeing 0 hits is not very cheery-uppy too. ok, granted, i havent told ANY of my few friends about this blog. hmm. then when i finally DO tell them, there will most probably be a slew of rambling posts (in the manner of this one) in which i talk, effectively, to myself. then i'll feel weird that they are reading something that isn't meant for them, but something that i did on the spur of the moment on a stuffy yellow afternoon, meant entirely for myself.

egad. blogs confuse me.

i just rejected all my ucas offers. shiok. take that, nus. TAKE THAT. (the band is good.)

i can foresee this blog being neglected, disrespected and forgotten in the next 4 years, in which i am supposed to put it to great use by informing the world about my daily exploits (or lack thereof).

i can also foresee all entries devoid of any of my real feelings or emotions or REFLECTIONS ON EXPERIENCES (pls insert my voice of scorn here, for those who know me) (for those who don't, my voice is scornful.) or actual ruminations on my life and living. these will all be characteristically glossed over by a veneer of snarky indifference and flippant (low) humour, much in the manner of Elizabethan bawds.

but shiok la, huh. more interesting than 'dear diary, today i engaged in an intellectually stimulating bout of circumlocution with my professor of deestablishmentarialism. let me tell you about it.' and there is where this poor girl's (or guy's, i dunno.)(i would shoot a guy who says dear diary, though) self-indulgence leads the reader's cursor to the top right hand corner of the screen to click on the x of salvation.

which is probably where my reader's cursor is heading before he reads this sentence. hah.

welcome back.

word vomit time!

my father said 'sam, how old are you alr? why still watch stupid Squarebox Cheesecake?'

at shirin's party, while talking about certain uninvited, blissfully unaware people,
me: omg. her words were my doom stamp!
shirin: i think stamp of doom sounds better.
me: yah hor.

ok. entry too bloody long alr.
i goes.