tell me about it

I get BLOODY pissed off when people intrude into my personal space, continue to be completely oblivious to my irritated coughs and jerky movements away from their intrusion, and don’t even have the courtesy to smell nice.

What, you don’t own a shower?  Never heard of SOAP?

I don’t see why you must pick the computer next to me and bring your bloody three friends along to squeeze at one stupid computer when the rest of the lab is freaking EMPTY.

Yes, person invading my personal space, I MEAN YOU.

Oh oh thank you for leaving yay :D I can breathe again!

This site made me giggle to myself for quite a long time as I scrolled downward.

I’m still giggling, actually. :D

The typos-on-purpose are just ridiculously amusing, especially because I can just imagine the kitty actually thinking these things. Something tells me you’d like this site, Matt :P Here are some choice pics:

Teehee. Still giggling.

Spot the mistakes.

We are apparently one of the premier institutions of higher in Asia.

Higher what?

Higher errors in advertising?

Higher chances of not proofreading your ads before you print them?

Hey, tell it like it is, sistah.

Colin also notes the missing “i” in “facilites”.

All hail our premier institution of higher!

I have the sudden romantic notion of logging onto my blog and unburdening my heart to all who read it.

The notion excites me. I don’t want to keep all my secrets and anguish to myself anymore. I click on the little icon. “New Post”. My fingers hover over the keys and I prepare to bare myself to the world.

I hesitate.

My fingers twitch, but don’t touch the keyboard. They hang, arrested, as my words do – lingering in the air and dissipating with my childish enthusiasm.

I can’t say that, I think, nor that either. And not that. Someone might read it. Someone will. I can’t tell people that. That’s just…embarrassing. It’s not right.

And so I sit here, speechless, and realize that perhaps my life is not as shallow as I’d like to think, that I cannot unveil my inner self with a paltry paragraph on a blog. That I have secrets I cannot bear to share.

We like to think we’re such public people, but in reality we aren’t. We wear layer upon layer, masks and deceit and outward appearances. Lobster shells to protect the tiny disgusting naked pink worm that squirms at the heart of each of us.

And nobody but yourself and God to know.

Love’s a right pain in the arse.

I just signed four years of my future away into MOE’s hands.

“What did he say?  He said something about retard principals.  Wow, they really don’t shy away from telling it like it is, huh?”

“He said RETIRED, Beth, not retard.  Geez.”

“Oh.”

(pause)

“I could’ve sworn he said retard.”

“No.”

“Ok.”

Anyhow while we were lining up to take our service card photo, I saw someone who looked familiar – turned out to be Theresia, from my primary school.  She was there with Melissa, whom I vaguely recognized from secondary school, and I was there with Geri, who was from my junior college, and Elizabeth, from university.  For a minute there my entire 16 years of school history were laid out in front of me.  Scary.

So yeah.  I’m going to get a pair of snazzy teacher spectacles and a pointer, and bun my hair up, and wear pencil skirts with cardigans, and you’re going to wipe that smirk off your face and say yes ma’am, Miss Pan, while I smack my pointer threateningly on your table.

is my kitten falling asleep under the table with her head nestled against my foot.

And a phone call.

Oh yeah, to wind up the wallet saga.

So I went back to Boon Lay interchange to pick up my lost wallet, thinking that my faith in humankind had been restored.  Nuh-uh.  I should have known better.

The admin guy handed me back my wallet and the report that came with it and asked me to sign it – and I found out that my wallet had been found on bus 242.  I’d dropped my wallet on bus 179.

Somebody had picked up my wallet from 179, lifted all my cash, rifled through my cards (i know because they were all out of order and messed up) taken it onto another bus,  and left it there for someone else to find.  And the bus driver had picked up my wallet and brought it back to the interchange.

!@#!#$$#%#$%$%^$^ I would have felt slightly more kindly had the person actually brought it to the interchange himself or personally mailed me my wallet, even if he’d taken the cash.  But wah lao that’s just mean lah.

At least he/she didn’t throw away my wallet into the trash.

Ying sent me this link and said this girl sounds like me. Heh. A little bit lah :P Struck a chord with me though.

When we met, I barely gave you a glance over, but five minutes past the door, I saw you in full light and was hooked.

It could have been your laugh or the smile that followed. It was more likely that in you, I saw everything I wanted in me.

You are all beauty and presence. Before you, I am struck nervous and uncertain and overwhelmed at once. I am fumbling for the right words, the right gestures, the right expressions to convey my interest without betraying my lust. And you are too too beautiful, too perfectly obliging, too innocuously affectionate for me to think that you could possibly realize your effect. I don’t know how to tell you but you terrify me in the same instance you awe me.

And even when you speak to my face, I can barely look you in the eye. If this isn’t love at first sight, if this isn’t the pull of unrequited passion, then I don’t know what is. Because you have warmed something deep and untouched within my chest and all I can do is wonder about the nature of your intentions.

“So how many hearts did you break this week?” someone asked me tonight. I think I will allow myself the silly luxury of entertaining the notion of our romantic possibility, and I answer, “Maybe just my own.”

-taken from Sex and the Ivy

This is hilarious and also a little bit horrifying. This Indian woman who lives in America with her husband calls a national radio station to play a trick on her husband in order to find out if he is cheating on her. The DJ duly carries out the trick…and the Indian woman finds out more than she’s prepared to find out over national radio.

Click below for classic quotes! Hurhurhur. MP3 is NSFW, so use earphones if you’re in a public area.

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