MONOSACCHARIDE: The simple sugar.


Aftermath one.
May 3, 2008, 7:35 am
Filed under: hapeepill, life lessons, out and about, pigs, play, young & restless

So tell me, what is the damn point of me going down this very unnecessarily terrifying new route, that might or might not be of worth to me in the long run, if my new encounters are simply manifestations of what I’ve stuck through before, minus a dick?

I came this far because I thought a change was in order. I took a huge step for myself in a very risky direction just as so I can put a definite stop to tiring old ways. But you, you might just be proof that the devil indeed comes in every shape, size, and apparently, gender too.

And me, I’m just living proof that no matter which angle you bend the damn arrow, players will still be just players, and girls who are attracted to players (and only players) will still be just that.

You may have just ruined my last remaining bit of faith in humankind. This is dreadful, I swear. Do you see the gravity of this?!

I can’t stop this thing short, that’ll be lame. But I won’t play either, cause then that’ll defeat the purpose of you in the first place. So this is what I am going to do. I am going to start being honest. So brutally honest. No more pretense, no more hiding. Everything’s going to come out, and then I’m going to demand for an answer, and if it’s a no, I am moving on. I may find you hot, true, but please remember, I still hold both cards in my hands. I can switch anytime I like and you’d be forgotten faster than you can say gay.

I have also adopted a no return policy of late, to ensure space for newer, fresher stock; and I dare say I have been keeping at that rather well.

And you… You better start thinking hard about what you really mean to say cause the next wish that you make? Well you might just get it, beautiful.

Sidenote, Zouk was terrific. So was Marco V. It’s now 7.41am. Goodnight world.



Spitface(s).
February 16, 2008, 9:45 pm
Filed under: pigs

It is utterly disgusting how you used your friends when you needed them, how you spent every waking minute with them because you were lonely,

and how you are now throwing them aside and devoting all that is within you, to the man whom you used to belittle on your public blog.

It is also utterly disgusting, though somewhat humorous, to see that same man try to make you look like a prized possession to so many after he has told me long, detailed stories pertaining to your actual worth.

God forbid; I will never do such things in my life.

When will either of you realise that small boats should only compete in tiny ponds? Baby your sails are the size of the bubbles I fart.

When will either of you realise that in my eyes, and in the eyes of the ones that I may one day choose to tell everything to, your faces are stained with shitcoal? Too dirty to bleach to even one tenth the shade of my pubic hair.

God forbid; I will never do the things you’ve done.



Back for more?
February 5, 2008, 6:54 am
Filed under: hapeepill, pigs, young & restless

My oh my, look who’s still calling multiple times a day/night even after his calls were ignored and rejected, and he was told to stop. And no, it wasn’t to talk about school either. *smirks. The last thing he’d want to talk about is school.

Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know the things he chose to talk about, or the things he asked, or the way he suggested I call when this and that.

I wouldn’t lie about these things, and besides, I wasn’t alone when his calls came in. The girls saw “**** Home” (oh I am so dodgy!!) on the screen when my phone rang. Afterwhich they saw me press the reject button, and then they saw more calls coming in from the same number. I even have someone to swear that he heard me tell the dude to fuck off and leave me alone.

Come here, girl.

How about you go take better care of your boyfriend, huh? I don’t want to hear him giving more excuses as to why he picked up your calls late or why he’s taking forever to get ready and meet you, when I have been on his other ear on his house phone for the past hour.



A cross-cultured relationship.
January 31, 2008, 5:10 am
Filed under: hapeepill, peeved, pigs, young & restless

Please do not impose typical Indian culture on me cause I just don’t get it. Indian by blood, but I’m really Frangipanian (sorry, Nat) by nature.

Let’s do a case study. Closest girlfriends like Mya and Bella have dated Indians too, but those weren’t typical Indians. They don’t look typical and they definitely do not think typically either. A couple were mixed-blooded, most have never dated typical Indian girls, some have lived overseas all their lives, all were either well educated, well disciplined or held down decent jobs, and most importantly, none were alcoholic.

A fair warning to aspiring middle-class Indian lovers, take it from the one who’s been there and done that more than once, and watched it going on around her, more than twice- Don’t go there.

Be prepared for their uniQQQQue sense of drama, and out of this world brand (it’s almost like India is on an entirely different galaxy) of bullshit. Whether or not the Indian has nigger proned ambitions and his ex-girlfriend was quote unquote, some shit mix Indian but she’s Christian. And see, this thing about Indians is that, despite the over-crowding that is going on back home in the land of celestial cows, they still believe that the Indian community is small, tight and well-connected.

Meaning, one Indian’s relationship, is every Indian’s business. Pray the dramatics are extensive enough to allow some 5 billion black noses to be stuck in. Make sure every nook and cranny are filled up to allow every moustached mouth under those noses a topic to talk about.

If you’ve heard about Indians being likened to double-headed snakes, I’m telling you, it’s true. Not all, but most.

See the problem is not necessarily the Indian you date, cause we all know that all our boyfriends and girlfriends are essentially the most wonderful people in the world, regardless of how hairy their chests are or how much darker the room seems to be at night behind closed doors.

Most of the problem lies in the Indian community as a whole. They feel an ingrained sense of duty to make matters worse by exaggerating a possibly small issue. And until the boyfriend is put in a spot where every inch of his being is being scrutinized and dirtied, until the relationship is put at the edge of a break-up, their solemn duties as friends have not been properly fulfilled.

They must talk, even if they weren’t at the scene of the crime. The Indian boys must act like they’re brothers, and that it is of utmost honour that they say things about the girl (even if the girl is their friend) to add fire and to break the couple up. The Indian girls must act like they mother the god-forsaken boyfriend and carry out maternal duties of assuming that the boy is too stupid to think for himself. And like all mothers, they must ask stupid OBVIOUS questions pertaining to his ‘pride’ like, “aren’t you ashamed for having been cheated on?” just to you know, rub salt in the wound.

Of course the boy is in some kind of dilemma. He cannot explain to his stand-in mother that she doesn’t understand what is going on but that he does, and he knows that everything is alright. He cannot explain that she was absent from the scene and hence, she doesn’t know enough to have the right to talk so much, that she has no idea what the nature of the relationship is like and so she won’t know how the rules run, he cannot explain that he loves her and that the relationship is strong even though it doesn’t seem like it sometimes. He cannot possibly explain all that- cause they’re Indians and they are so absorbed in their land of curry and coconut that they won’t get it. Ever.

Of course the boy can’t possibly be expected to back her up like how she did for him at least twice before, of course. Because his friends are Indians, and everything else is false and unfinal except for the words that sprout from the mouth of Gandhi and all things of the same shade.

I should know; My father’s Indian.

P/S: For those who are new to my writing, and are not yet informed of my blogging habits, please know that any threats/harsh requests/anything along those lines to delete my entries are duly ignored. I am expecting some form of blow-up somewhere to come out because of the things I have said here, but threatening to take back what I say won’t solve anything. So please, spread all you want, but comment selectively.



Kids.
January 24, 2008, 7:40 am
Filed under: pigs
A certain boy will be very happy to know that I do not have a Friendster account anymore, cause it means I will not be able to pick on the 84723647 girls leaving stupid (like brainless stupid) comments on his profile by replying to them with snide remarks.I cannot help it la, I cannot stand stupid questions. Is it me or am I the only girl who wants to flirt with him and  have some inkling of brain power in me? My head’s not there just for display, thank goodness… Cause when I see these immature but mentel nak mampos little girls, and wonder if they’ve grown pubic hair long enough to start shaving yet, I am also thankful that my parents have brought me up proper and placed (more than) enough emphasis on education and intelligence.I am also thankful that I went to a school where rebellion and acts of ill-discipline were treated seriously, and that even the student community would not look up to these delinquents as model figures of movement leaders.Where I was brought up, if you were getting picked on by discipline for petty crimes, had bad grades and disliked by teachers, chances are, you’re a loser.

The popular ones were the students who were in top classes, studied, were fit and sportingly competitive, constantly looked neat, disciplined, didn’t sleep around, spoke great English, held positions of power either in student council or in their CCAs, had some kind of personal relationship with the principal and CCA teachers beyond the minimal and were well-liked by staff.

Of course the bad boys were also the in-thing back then, I should know. But they were the ones who got along fairly well in school by creating as little trouble as possible before 1.40pm, ended school and went home to change, went back out again and showed off their gang tattoos and do all things gang related, like fight, and smoke.

After I graduated, I started relief teaching. Again, I was put in a school where a lack of compliance to the rules meant that you’re so not hot.

Everybody knows, that underaged smoking in school toilets, sleeping with seniors, violently dyed hair, leaving sleazy/cheesy comments on some random guy’s profile just because you think he’s hot, truancy, excessively altering skirts and having artificial made-up faces are cheap thrills meant for the ones without guts (or connections) but are desperate for some kind of glory.