he turned me into SUCH a total girl, darnit all.

Try to eat healthy and you spend a lot of time in the fruits and vegs aisle plotting this chart too.
Also, a lot more time in the loo. Dietary fibre is yay.

I'm a boring person. I got up at 4pm a couple of days ago. AWESOME SHITZY. And reading and reading, and hanging out with buds like JT, Fay, and... more-than-bud person, erm, object of a budding something else.

I hate Stephen King for ending the Dark Tower series like that, so... typical King and unepic. Maybe I'd see differently when I reread them. It happens, I was dismissive of "as my guitar gently weeps" at first, but I woke up my ideas. la dey.

Oh and the internet. Which is my crack. questionablecontent, gossip girl, one tree hill, gilmore girls, xkcd, salad fingers, Dark Cuts 2, zuma. And watching fascinatingly wiggly worms in stomachs on youtube! Pour on the korean sappy dramas and girly animes to unman me, pleeease.

Actually, repartee and humour are more like my crack. Good doses of them all round recently too.

Don't you love how the night makes people creep closer, exchange intimate confidences, more alive and vibrant, a tad more daring? There's no real need to dose them with alcohol, nicotine or whatnot, because perhaps they instinctively feel like the moon is less judgmental than the glaring sun, or their defenses are down after a long day and the mask they wear all day got too sweaty and rank, and they have to take it off if only so they won't suffocate.

I hated uni applications. Appraisal forms, poofy boom. You know, if sports coaches just stepped up their act to do a little more than just yelling for metres and good body form, we won't need no shitty Life Coaches.

Hi, this post has no plot! So blogging year of 2001, right?

(image source: xkcd)

I'm stopping you from falling.

I think I saw love.

I was walking along the river that cuts past Clark Quay, and there was a guy threading long blades of grass into the plaits of a girl's hair. She was sitting perched on the ledge's edge over the river and looking back at his face, long and hard. The odd angle he had to work with, coupled with the thick, black chains of the barrier around the river he had to work around (being as he was behind it) made his work a konky green burst of firework flowers, and laughingly he chidded her for it.

He looked about late 30s to early 40s, your typical, slightly paunchy Man of Singapore. She was a fresh young thing just hitting her stride, and foreign.

As I passed, fumbling and fussing with my bag straps because I was staring, but attempting discretion, she called out to me. Ran over, lithe legs I instantly envied flashing in and out. She handed me rings she'd woven from blades of grass, and gabbled in her foreign tongue.

I understood, of course, nodded my assert, grinning like a fool. She shook her head and yes yes, of course, must be sombre, sorry. I walked over with her, to her curious man, and he looked at me, dubious and expecting. No, my man, no disapproval, here, but see, I'm minister, sharpen up and look pious please. She goes to him, pulls him to his feet and before me. I set my bag down, and looked down at the rings in my hand. In the moist heat, they'd already gone limp at the blade ends, but a jaunty little white flower was set in the middle of both, and they were fresh, dazzling. And there, in the oddly shifting twilight (yes, how romantic, no?) light, I scrounged up what little I remembered of wedding ceremonies from books and movies, and improvised a promise ritual for them in the British style, because really the Chinese have no notion of romance in their countless traditions and ceremonies for weddings. They do family and filial piety best, but this couple had brought none to this lazy river.

I quipped a half smile as I gave them permission to set rings on the other's fingers, but I'm already gone. They are gazing at each other, and it looked, from my spectator view, pretty intense. Their fingers interlocked, and a promise for the ages yelled out louder from that squeeze than those rings.

Then they were gone, strolling off down the same path I was taking before, and her fluttering, flitting head piece turned gorgeous with the bobbing of her head.





Is this truth or invention?

Like blood, but full of cold wonderment.

Some of my favouritest people and others that still matter.

Psssssst! I made V Day goodies, but there's limited supply, so in the interest of impartial randomness whoever sees me first gets the _____. As my paint-stained fingers and ribbon bracelets attest, crafty business has been afoot! I feel great, I haven't had the time to get my crafty on during the last sem. I'd post pictures soon, 'cause I'm like a proud mama hen, but why ruin the AURA OF MYSTERY and PEOPLE SCRAMBLING FOR PRESENTS?

heh. Punzzzzz.

Good mood, hey? That's because this particular procrastination process proved productive.

...Yeah, I guess I can kinda alliterate. I still need to study though!

4352 and a half hours just commuting

Did you know that there is a website where you can rate your ex for the world to see, so that if, say you were dating someone shifty-looking, you can scoop out what previous girlfriends/boyfriends/special friends with benefits have said about them?

Go go go, check if your name's in there! I did, and it wasn't. :)

I was thinking, after the Chinese New Year bai lianers gang from mass comm left my place, that if someone created gongsifachai-hongbaonalai.com (translates roughly to "Chinese New Year greetings, hope you score loads of money this year. Give me a red packet."), a website to share with the hivemind of teh interweb which houses are worth the visit and the 1 and a 1/2 hour commute to get to, my place would have scored damn poorly la.

"Shy, hidden siblings, unhospitable family who set a time limit on the visit, appallingly delicious scents of dinner cooking waffling through the air and no invitations to join them at dinner. Small ang pao. Hostress didn't bother to clean up her room for CNY. tsk! Will not visit again. "

Ehhh, actually its damn fun rating houses! I want to tell you my ratings for Kenneth's and Nat's and Lucas' places, but... HEH, BETTER NOT, since revealing one means that in fairness I must reveal all! Definitely, all of them rated better than what I had to offer, mere, humble UNO-STACKO! I want to set up that website now, I chop the idea!

Change

My photographer friends told me that I'd know that I'm ready to commit to a real life SLR camera when my Panasonic (a Lumix Fx1o, if I remember rightly) shots start to look limp to me.
I don't think that was the actual term they used, but you know me, I remember colours and tones of a conversation while the direct quotes whizzes by unheeded. Unsatisfactory? Flat? Piqued?

Some journalist; is it any wonder I recorded every one of my interviews meticulously?

I think it's time. Soon, when I've scrape up the money. Aussie dreams are almost dead anyway, what else is there to save up for?

Happy Chinese New Year, fellows.

"What's wrong, Rae?"

I can feel the atmosphere here lightening up as the deadlines pass us.
Slowly, the evil beasts are turning back into normal MCM students.
Hark! Therebe giggles in that cavern, might be safe to let the First Years visit that enclosure afterall!
And and and... I no longer feel like I'd burst into tears if you poke me too hard.

congrats, Me, for making it through the last semester with only 2/3s of a major outburst.
Why thank you kindly, You.
Don't be so modest, Me.
Huh, who you? Nahh, you aren't really.
No no, I meant me as in you, Me. Wait. You think I'm arrogant?
Well, I don't know want you think of you, but I'm okay with it.
So you do!
I don't know if you do, I told you. Stop talking to yourself.
Shut up, you.
Hey! Stop talking to yourself, or I'm leaving!
Fine, goodbye, Me!
Quit it, DAMNIT!

Haahahahaahhahah. I should have done Acting instead this sem!

I'm not happy.
My module selections will be biting me in the ass when the result slips get out.

There's no more "better luck next time"s for unsalvageable documentary production. I said then, fuck it, hand it in as a sodding mess. I didn't mean it, and it's just too galling.

Is this what I'm going to have to show for my Documentary Production module? Does it show what I'm capable of producing? I could have done better, if I didn't have to haul deadweight.

It was exhaustion speaking then, and I couldn't hear the hysterical pitch of it reverberating in my foggy mind. I was screeching Christmas carols full volume, off-pitch while editing til I was booted out for the second time when the Avid Lab closed at 9.45pm, after i whined my way into another 15 minutes worth of frantic editing. The first time? I was murmuring about blooddebts and cursing everyone in my documentary.

Was I the designated editor? Or producer? Or cam op? Why are we fucking using Avid anyway, Final Cut Pro was the bomb. Why were certain people wasting time on other projects due days in advance when the deadline on this one has been extended a miraculous, unheard-of 2 times? Why were other uncertain persons leaving early to go to faux-serious 'events' and laughing it up and hanging up on me when I called them about editing? Why was she SCREWING UP THE EDITING HOURS BEFORE ITS DUE AND BEING SO MORONIC ABOUT IT??!?! I'm getting so damnit mad again!!!

Okay, breather. Shit. I should delete that last paragraph, but I won't.

Your curiosity is not piqued, you will not ask me or others about it, wooo ayyyy vooo doooo wooooo, I ish hypnoooootising yoooooouuuuuu.

Advert advert, let's not talk about Advert. Let's ignore that I ever took Print Journalism. The tirades won't fit in here. It's bone deep, this exhaustion. A person cannot be stretched this tight without permanent damage. In fact, I'm not really present right now. My real self is floating 2 feet above my left ear, dreaming of purple plaid elephants, snapping breath-taking pictures my Panasonic isn't capable of, skinny-dippers with floppy dicks and boobs, and that guy on the bus this morning, obviously a rocker, leaping off a marshall about to hit a power chord. Since she's not quite here, these fingers must be moving under their own residue steam. Conversely, these words right here? They don't matter. Dummy text will do!

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

***

Actually. I'm thinking the saner MCMers should be persuaded into signing a blood pact. For us to survive, when we're tumbled into the real world, helter skelter in the summer weather. We've all had enough of this poisonous MCM drama, the evil beasts that everyone in The World Outside Mass Communication can nod their heads and say "oh, i know, there's a girl like that in my school too" as much as they please, but would never truly understand the scope. Maybe we can agree that this was the initiation ceremony, and that from now on when we work with each other out there, we bring no bullshit to the table.



A Sisterhood of Flairbabies. Boys welcome. The rules are simple.

thou shalt aid FlairSisters' sanity with liberal applications of Sympathy and Genuine Work. No BSing, no ab-libbing through pitches and interviews and proposals, we've seen and done it all. Substance, or the door.

thou shalt not play devil's advocate while thy FlairSisters are pitching bitch fits.

Equally forbidden is playing hero when thy FlairSisters are pitching bitches into fits. Amusing sights must be left to evolve into open conflict. I say this for the boys, of course, cat fights are hawt.

Thou shalt not knife other FlairSisters in the back. Poor manners are undesirable, tsk! Frontal knifing is fair game, I guess.

And... alamak, cannot think of another. Spoil drama mama mood siah.




Damnit, I'm starting to end my posts like cat does now!