For God's sake

I seriously wonder how and why it is sooooo effortless to communicate with some people, and sometimes, it takes soooooooooooo much effort just to get your point across. And that is of course after soooooooo times of misunderstanding AND explanations that didn't go through their brains.

They are not dumb, they may have good command of the language...

But But...

WHY DON'T THEY GET IT?

And it is not like I don't have enough things to fret about.

Seriously.

13 days

It's kinda scary really

A perfect Sunday morning

I want to have a lazy Sunday morning where I will bother to wake up early, sip a cuppa lazy Sunday coffee and have a lazy Sunday morning chit chat as a change to the late night pratas. The weather has to be perfect, it cannot be too hot, no glaring sun, the right company, the right spoon to stir my coffee. Not an ice cream stick, and the cup cannot be the kopitam glass one but a white clean cup. It should be in an outdoor setting, maybe Gardens, or at least have glass windows so I can look outside to see kids trotting alongside their parents in their oversize bermudas and crocs sandals. And I can take a deep breath to breathe in the morning air, wear my Sunshine Makes me Happy tee and say Good morning Sunshine.

Like my San Francisco mornings with my muffin and caffe mocha at Cafe Breco, minus the cold and rain, plus the sunshine and breeze. The stepping out of the hostel, that big dramatic stretch that readys me for a new day.

Now is that too much to ask for? Or I guess it's too ambitious.

I did a clean up on my MSN messenger. People I don't care about or don't remember are deleted. I feel squeeky clean.

Are you the last?

I used to own this set of Russian dolls my dad bought for me. I was probably 5 or 6. I remember unscrewing each of the dolls, revealing a smaller one of a different colored head-dress and costume, one by one till the smallest one. I had a particular preference for the smallest, it was red. Well it was most likely because it was so cute, so tiny and was of one solid colour because it was too small to be painted on. I even remember the smell of the dolls.

I wonder where they are now, I've forgotten all about them until today.

I like the show. Not as much as my latest crush V, but it's good fun to watch. One thing I really liked about the movie (other than the fact that there were parts of the show filmed in London and it wasn't gloomy AND/OR raining) was the symbolic reference of love like Russian dolls. The long line of girls (or guys for that matter) you have to know (or you can think literally '(un)screw') till you get to the last. And you just keep wondering is this the last? Then oops sorry here's another. Life is just like a pursue of getting to the last doll, that day where you can finally choose that one person out of the 4 billion others you want to spend the rest of your life with.

It's a silly romantic story yes, and the ending is a lil' too postcard pretty. But heck, we all love cliches don't we.

Maybe this sort of explains why I love the smallest doll most.

There was one part of the movie that was so painfully deja vu though. Like right on, you just got it! Yeah! Me too! I knew, and you went, so good bye.


By the way, I am so disappointed with the new Cathay. The Cathay they call it. I was still hoping it would retain a little bit of the old charms, but no, guess what, it is just a freaking Shopping Mall with a cineplex inside. I miss the Orange Julius outside. Now there is Cheers, and Ya Kun, and I'm almost sure that Giodano and Bossini and Hang Ten will be there too. How absolutely clinically identical like every other cinemas we have, from Tampines Mall to Jurong Point.

Thanks for the great company. I love the Ramen most though :P

My latest obsession

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Yeah yeah, V, come sweep me off my feet. NOW. I just changed my name to Evey.