The boy has abandoned me for the sunny shores of thailand.. more like a compulsory exercise no doubt peppered by all-you-can-puke sessions and the regret of signing on with the navy rising and gathering bitterly like nefarious vomit at the back of his throat. ha. serves him right for making me feel like my phone is too silent without his inane messages and silly phone calls. Since his navigating skills are less than fantastic (cannot find the car in the car park la, bad with directions la, horrible at remembering routes, amongst a few more thousand horror stories), i'm waiting in anticipation for my elephant souvenirs from Myanmar, where he'll no doubt end up at, since he's one half of the partnership responsible for charting the course there. hur hur :) but seriously, hopefully he'll come back in one piece- what can a dutiful gf do but advice Himself stoically to avoid sleeping with a tranny unknowingly, while accepting the fact that we are all safe in our swimming pools because of their vigilant patrol? If you don't find submarines lurking around in the said pools, looking up at girls swimming, disturbing. (remember the ads they used to run on tv, with some cheesy slogan?)
Me: So do i have to go see you off at the harbour, waving a tear-soaked hankerchief?
Himself: ? But we're sailing off from base leh.
Went back to the CCK flat yesterday to clean out the last remnants of my memories there before the official handover to the new owners. And realised that i'll probably never take the lift to the 14th floor again, walk the narrow corridor, and begging death over bleeding ears every sunday when there's yet another noisy wedding being held downstairs. It's not so much the noise that i minded. more like the smell of all the yummy food being cooked.. food food everywhere but none for me. Speaking about food..
I actually managed to get my pinkie speared by the pointy thingie on the dried prawn's head. normally you'd think getting speared by something on a head would be pleasurable, but this hurts like a motherfucker can. by a dried prawn! how sad can my life get?
Me: Hanny Stewart steps into the kitchen, to create yet another marvellous culinary wonder.
Dried prawn: Die bitch! *poke*
There's this psycho agent-auntie who walks in and out of our house like it's her livingroom. she just happily walks in, asking to talk to my grandfather, who is incidentally busy with his female guest from china. or my mother, who is out busy doing pseudo tai tai stuff in her fancy shmancy car. oh i dreamt that i was driving her car that day.. and since even in my dreams i cannot seem to go easy on myself, i was actually steering that piece of german-engineered monstrosity through a section of extremely busy traffic, without a license/having taken any driving lessons- a.k.a. me right now. although it sounds less scary now that i think of it, i think i should just go marry some rich fuck and get a driver. sho scary.
staying at home too much is making me cranky. i no longer talk. i just stalk around the house, growling and biting people, and get poked by dried prawns in return. so much for the glamourous, fabulous 20s i dreamt about when i was younger. Poooi.
