2007 has been the most fucked up year of my life - so far. I hate it, I really do. Would I go back and live it again? Well maybe, but making a few choice changes (I have NEVER once said I would change anything in my past, this gives you an idea how much I hate this year).

Next year is no comfort too. There's the hassle of getting adapted to 2008 which usually takes me the entire Jan to get used to, then new class numbers and etc. If anything else next year actually looks worse than this year (of course due to other factors than those listed above).

Fuck.

Nowadays I feel very far from the friends I used to know and love. It's almost astonishing to me to read their blogs and think of how happy, superficial and innocent they are, I haven't recalled feeling so high and floaty for such a prolonged period in a long time.

And I wish I could go back to feeling that way too. I want my easily sated high and floaty-ness back.

But no! As 2007 fades to 2008, never is it clearer that this so called innocence is gone forever and will continue to be stripped away as we youths turn into adults and then the elderly. No wonder the old people are so damn grumpy, they've been through the shit we've gone through times (total difference of of years)^3 and that damn thing ain't going to ever asymptote (I blame technology and the news for this).

I should be asleep by now.

I went book shopping today! Borders was having 15% discount and Kinokuniya 20% discount (till the 30th December) and armed with vouchers my uncle and aunt gave me for Christmas (he actually protested and said he didn't want to get me something so nerdy) I went a-book buying :D

I was surprised to find Of Human Bondage there (Daryl told me he couldn't find it here!) and Bed by Tao Lin. I was also surprised to find Oryx and Crake missing from the shelves >:( Another nasty surprise I encountered was The Rape of Nanking being displaying prominently on the 'New Fiction Release' shelf -_____- Now I don't want to jump to conclusions here, but you know Japanese bookstore and Japanese denial of the Rape of Nanking? I feel like sending them a letter to complain, but it might be an accident (yeah right).

Anyway I bought:
Jeffery Eugenides - Middlesex
Sylvia Plath - The Bell Jar
Tao Lin - Bed

And from Borders (this was a gift from my mother, the bill was insane :/) I continued my epic quest to find more books from the Great Loves imprint by Penguin.
Sorin Kierkegaard - The Seducer's Diary
James Baldwin - Giovanni's Room
John Updike - The Women Who Got Away

(This all seems very materialistic, I actually felt happy going around look for the books and holding them in my hands. And goodness I have not felt that happy in a while. I live my life through buying books.)

D.H Lawrence - The Virgin And The Gypsy
F. Scott Fitzgerald - Magnetism
Anton Chekov - A Russian Affair
Francoise Sagan - Bonjour Tristesse
Thomas Hardy - A Mere Interlude
William Trevor - Bodily Secrets

I'm still missing Vigil, Aberlard, Boccacio, Casanova, Stendhal, Freud and Mansfield to complete the lot. The one I really want is Freud, but I simply can't find it anywhere! The phallic symbol on the cover makes me giggle though. So fitting for the father of father fucking. As for Casanova I picked it up and it made me feel sick to the head (ugh I am such a prude?) so I put it back.

I have no idea how the hell I'm going to finish all of this...

I keep sneezing and having to blow my nose and my eye is red and slightly swollen. I hope I'm not falling sick! ):

So anyway as some of you know, I was in Southern China for a short visit from the 19th to the 25th December. In attempt to preserve the memories and *still* be lazy at the same time, I present you people with a little photo montage (since 1 is supposed to be worth a thousand [why can't my TOK essay be 2 pictures then?!]).

In Guangzhou we went to see my grandfather's cousin (apparently removed a few times, this confusion was made worse with the destruction of the family temple by the red army, but whatever, we're related). He was quite a nice men, and as my dad (and apparently grandpa) said, he ain't gonna last long. But they said that 3 years ago and he's still around. Tough dude. He barked at his live in maid, bought lap cheong for us, critisised me for not being able to speak Cantonese and basically came off as being a really awesome person.

I managed to capture this picture, which I'm really proud of, a picture of him laughing naturally with my father.



What was kind of freaky however, was when I watched him pause to breathe deeply, choke and etc, it occurred to me that at 17, I did the same things too - on a regular basis.

He thought so highly of us he even kept a picture of our family in his living room.



I felt terrible when I saw this, imagine a man so far away caring for us *just* because we were blood relatives when 50% of the people in that picture never met him or knew him at all. It was almost as if we were so ungrateful (for the record I requested for the visit).



This is his grandson. In some far out universe I am related to him. Maybe he'll like reading, or maybe he'll be an INFJ, or maybe he'll have some weird nose (like his grandpa, me, my dad, etc.)

My family's village is in Bai Yun Chun, Guangzhou (White Cloud Village), and specifically some name I clean forgot which has the word Dai (Da/Big) in it. The village wasn't too bad, quite affluent in fact. My family lived in a Chun Wu (Village House) which was 3+ stories high, crammed onto a small patch of land, which is supposed to indicate the family is filthy rich by China standards and the rooms were named Ipoh, Melaka and Singapore to remember how the overseas family helped when the family was starving during the cultural revolution and great leap forward.

But of course, a village is still a village.

I actually like this picture a lot as well. There was some guys playing pool on pool tables lining the road to the village as well, but er, I didn't want to get beaten up.

In the middle is the family temple, which the Red Army ransacked and screwed during the cultural revolution. Buggers. The pond in front of it is bloody disgusting, I saw lots of trash floating at the shore and the water was a toxic black colour. Fengshui my ass, it looked like it'd bring more bad luck than good luck.



This is the prized family tree which was destroyed. Right now we're at about the 26th generation, the Red Army destroyed literally centuries of my family history without regard >:(



This is my attempt to mindfuck the Wong elders. They left a pile of cards on a card table inside the temple so I went to rearrange them.



Imagine! Every single person caught in this frame is related to me somehow (well Wong elders loafing about outside the temple). I find the whole concept mindboggling. All my life family = immediate families and no more, and suddenly it's BOOM huge family.



Anyway onto to what Guangzhou is good for, shopping - upsized! I didn't really take pictures but this is a shoes wholesale centre. Imagine if Vivocity was nothing but cheap 45 yuan (S$9) shoes, and then add in IMM too. That's how mindboggling huge the entire place was.

In Shenzhen my Uncle KL's family joined us and we did the usual kitschy tourist thing, visiting Shi Jie Zhi Chun (Window of the World - I loled like hell at the name). It's exactly as described, imagine viewing the world as Gulliver and you'd get an idea of how surreal it feels like. While buying tickets my dad had his handphone pickpocketed, so it really does provide an authentic feel of the world.

They even had a Merlion, which made me LOL.



And people taking wedding pictures! The bride wore slippers, the kitchen kind under her dress.



The scales were done pretty accurately, they had the Savannah as well with little figurines of animals.



Except one thing: The monkeys, elephants and lions were all the same size.



I also love this picture I took. It does not get more mindfuck than this. A mini Taj Mahal, a rented Indian dancer costume and increasing modernisation all in the same frame.



Jesus approves!



And of course to remind you that you're still in China, here's a picture of a kid shitting at the Grand Canyon exhibit (it was in a corner and people tended to take pictures from afar).



It was onto to HK the next day, and damn, I do hate that place. It was way too crowded for my liking >:( My dad brought us to the escalators at the mid levels, I would have probably enjoyed it more had I not been so tired after 4 days on consecutive hardcore walking.



I found this sign at Sculpture Place? Square? completely awesome because it was written in Tagalog as well as other languages, and damn if that place wasn't filled with Filipinos. They sat on every free space and were spread out for a few kilometers around the main square area.



We even took a Tram up the Peak, which I hated because we had to stand and I was holding onto a pole, then this skinny bitch leaned against it AND HER SPINE DUG RIGHT INTO MY HANDS THE ENTIRE TRIP. It was so painful it was unbelievable. I felt less pain splitting my foot open. I couldn't even let go because that would mean plummeting to the lower end of the tram and falling on ever other poor sucker standing up as well -____________________-

And then the best part of that agonising Tram Ride, all we saw was this:



Hello lousy HK weather. That's supposed to be the Pacific Ocean down there, maybe if you look enough you'll see something.

The only consolation is that we didn't pay more to see that by buying tickets for some weird indoor viewing platform. Unless they had laser x-ray googles for their patrons, I fail to see how they had any advantage over us.



HAHAHA YOU SUCK MORE THAN I DO.

One of the last stops we made was to Bu Ji Tu Hua Chun (Buji Art Village) which sold art reproductions for dirt cheap. Imagine a poster sized painting of Mona Lisa for 50 yuan (S$10), and then think about how the artist was probably some art graduate with big dreams and ended up doing shit work for dirt pay. Glorious stuff.



I like this picture too, it almost seems like there's a crying elderly lady at the window. Haunting.



Here's a picture of one such 'artist' in question, working away outdoors.



This picture made me LOL damn bad, my dad too. Apparently it was a special commission, and as my dad puts it, 'fucking gay!' I am immensely amused.



Then on our last few moments on China soil, I took this picture of a China sex shop. I like the way it actually looks less dodgy than a Singapore sex shop.



Anyway, what is China without amusing Engrish?



Boiled Fish Labia With Mushroom


Fock Dance


And last of the lot, Coconuts (you need to read it to get it).

I need to sleep now.

I'm starting to do a little work again, in anticipation of the upcoming school year, starting with the most braindead - compiling Math Studies Survey results (please do it if you haven't already done so!) when I came across this:


I kept thinking Arjun did it, not sure why, but it's probably due to the prim and proper way they questions were answered (okay so the respondee misread the rate using numbers bit) - then I saw 'To Get Rich Is Glorious'. Hurrrr Deng Xiaopeng.

Speaking of which I just finished Huckleberry Finn (and damnit King Lear does not look inviting) so I should start on my Fairbank book soon.

Sometimes I think I am less of a person than who I used to be, fire-in-blood and carefree, for everyone who has upped and left has taken a chunk of me away with them - never to return. That means I am 12.5% of who I used to be in 2003.

He finally spoke to me, talked to me like I existed again and we were friends and all was normal and right with the world. The last time we spoke was in September, during the Holidays - since then I have ceased to exist in his eyes, nothing more than a veritable shade; a unknown walking along the corridor; a being, just a being.

It was a dream of classmates and fun, familiar faces, love and the past (or was it the future? I can only wish it were so!). It was a dream I was most reluctant to wake from. Where everything felt right and safe and calm. But it was just a dream.

Tonight I head off for the grand land of Chaos, to my ancestral home bearing gifts of 3-in-1 coffee and eating roasted chestnuts along the street. Taaa!

I'm rearranging my meager book collection, because braindead shouldn't be put next to awesome.

I really do hate shopping. Today I was out with the mother and she was at Massismo Dutti for the approximate time of 10 minutes + 1 Fujiya & Miyagi album + 1 Los Campesinos! album. Meanwhile I sat on one of the chairs in the store and kept very still, pretending I was a mannequin. I almost lost the game however when a bored husband came and sat in the chair next to mine and kept looking at me like I was mad, waiting for me to move - I almost burst out giggling.

From my nice black leather chair I also observed how all the female shoppers there walked and even acted like predators. Their stalky sinister walking, the holding up and examining bits of clothes, surveying the room for a suitable prey. Surreal. What the hell do females do with so many clothes anyway?!

Then hours later, I ended up spending like 1 hour in Zara holding clothes for my mother even though I was damn tired and wanted to sleep. I was also really bored so I was finding all sorts of ways to amuse myself. This included me stroking the soft suede elbow patches on some knit sweaters when another bored boyfriend came along, saw me stroking the patches and proceeded to play with the patches on the black knits (I had grey). When I wandered by a few minutes later he was still playing with them.

Anyway on the upside I have more books! Hooray!

Friday with Sharyl:
Kunal Basu - Racists (This book came out late last year and I spent forever looking for it, only to be told it was out of stock!!! Then I kept forgetting the author's name -_-)
York Notes on Twelfth Night
Something Notes on King Lear

Today:
Mark Twain - Huckleberry Finn (I thought I had it, but turns out I didn't so I had to buy it for English)
Vladimir Nabokov - Mary
Ivan Turgenev - First Love
Leo Tolstoy - The Kreutzer Sonata (I just realised all 3 are Russian)
Anais Nin - Eros Unbound

The last 4 are from a wonderful new imprint of Penguin ^_^ omg I love the covers. I want to get more of the series, like Chekhov, Freud and Hardy to name a few. It's kinda pricy though, for such slim volumes, though it also means I can probably read them really fast if I want to. Meanwhile, I have a Fairbank book on China to plow through before anything else, or maybe I'll read something else first as a treat....

Montag was wonderful (: He was a veritable one man show, bouncing between playing his violin to tapping the cymbals and gently ticking the wind-chime like instrument dangling beneath his electronic drums (or possibly mixer). As you can tell I'm not very good at identifying instruments. A Melodie I am not.

After the end of the show (well worth the $21, even if only for an hour), Montag was hanging around taking pictures and autographing stuff. Jia Hui was all, LETS GET AUTOGRAPHS, but I felt like :x because I felt scared of going up to ask him. I also had to get her to help me buy Alone, But Not Alone because I was afraid. Of what, I don't know. If Jia Hui wasn't there, I probably wouldn't have gone and gotten an autograph even if I really wanted to, because I was afraid of asking. I felt really shy.

This started me thinking once again of who I was - who I am, who am I?

According to Nic, my reputation in school is that I'm a psychotic bitch. Unfortunately cold is not lumped into that, for that did hurt me. Then I thought a little further and realised that if people wanted to think I was a psychotic bitch, it was alright because they probably didn't know me - at least they won't be people from 5.9. My Mama says I'm very 'innocent' in a sense that I am naive. My aunt says I'm exactly like my dad and the people in the office say I'm a copy of my uncle (aunt, dad, uncle are children of Mama). So who am I really?

If I'm really a nice person, why do I do mean things and hurt others? If I believe in sacrifice, why can't I sacrifice some of me for the happiness of others? If I'm really intelligent why is it that I don't understand a single thing about Theory of Knowledge (something like Philosophy)? If I am pretty as my daddy says (but he is my daddy after all), why is it I've never been hit on, never been asked for a phone number? Oh it is a confusing mass of contradictions! Who who who are we really? Who am I really? Would Jane Goodall throw away a plastic bottle or would Steven Hawking read a Tom Clancy book?

At least I can take comfort in some things which I know is true about myself.

1. I like violins. The sound of it melts my heart and moves me, even if it is a horrible song.

2. I like young children, provided they're not bratty

3. I like foreign and/or indie films. At the same time I like stuff like (prepare yourself for the
shock :o ) Scary Movie.

4. I like people who don't like the USA. Even if they are raving mad and act like idiots. (Go Hugo Chavez, Michael Moore and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad!)

5. I like meaningful and/or poetic lyrics. Music plays a huge role in my life, bringing me back to old memories or opening new paths for me. This is also why I hate mainstream shit now like YOZ FUCK DAYUM BITCHES HARD. Kindly explain the merit and usefulness of such music to me.

6. I don't like blood, nor blood tests. In fact I hate anything that involves drawing even a bead of blood, so even injections are !!! to me

7. I like to believe people are true and genuine even though I say that I believe that mankind is doomed to hell and everyone lies. I often end up following what I like to believe in instead.

8. I'm not pretty. The only one who ever complimented me was a pervy Japanese teacher I had, a boy who was trying to poeticise his life and a dodgy scout from a dodgy modelling agency.

9. I enjoy reading immensely, though I have yet to read as voraciously as Daryl or read the level of books he's at. I am happy muddling about with my Middlemarch with hopes to finish Crime and Punishment, War and Peace before I finish college. Ulysses will probably be when my children pop out children of their own.

10. I like passion fruit. I always buy passion fruit smints, lakerols and soap if I can find it. One day I vow to actually eat it.

11. I like green! Most shades, except sea foam green. I have no idea why. It started when I was either Sec 1 or

12. I like other deeper, autumnal shades as well like olive green, forest green, browns, berry shades, dusty rose, etc.

13. Autumn is my favourite season of the lot. Pity we don't have it here.

14. I like French even thought I don't understand more than the anglo speaking layperson. It sounds so smooth. I'd never like it enough to learn it as lessons though, I have Cantonese and Japanese to finish first.

15. I like 3s. Anything to do with them, multiples, things 3 is times by. My handphone number is an example: 9127xxxx. 9 and 1 are 3s in other forms, and 27 is 3 x 9!

16. I like to write stuff down. I get frustrated when I get ideas and can't write them down, I fear I will forget them.

17. I like Montreal. I have never been there, only heard of it, and sometimes not positively either. Somehow though, it fails to lose it's attraction to me. As a whole I prefer Canada above all other countries (my dad too he was educated there). Someone used to tell me that the 'anyways' I used to say was singlish, I later realised my dad said it too, as Canadian slang.

18. I am interested in Politics, but at the same time not so specifically. What I would really like to know is why the hell political leaders do the shit they do and why we as the voting population accept/fight it. Social psychology is interesting too.

19. Contrary to popular belief, I actually prefer polar bears over tigers. The whole lao hu shit started as a joke in Sec 1 Chinese and never died. This included writing LAO HU in large words that covered half the page for Chinese compo and saying that Singaporean population policies should take the lead from lao hu mating habits. According to my Sec 4 lao shi I was infamous in the Chinese dept. Everyone knew who I was.

20. I like sad things, sad movies, sad stories. I would love to bottle up sadness in little bottles, label it and hold them tight. As an emotion it speaks the most, means the most and somehow is so precious in my eyes. It is also one I am often familiar with, whether personally experienced or through empathy.

21. I don't like moving or running about a lot. I'm actually quite lazy, but I enjoy walking. Till I hurt my foot. Now it hurts to walk >.<

22. I like detective shows like Law and Order and Criminal Minds. I don't really like CSI very much though, I have no idea why. Pity though, since they only show the stuff I like at the oddest hours, like say 2am in the morning -________________-

23. I like the number 23. This was long before I came to ACSI and I found out Yeang's fanatical obsessions with it. My register number in Sec 2 was 23, and I put 23 as the age I'd like to get married at. Since then I always had a fondness of the number. Nothing more :x

And ta dah. 23 things I know for sure about myself, even if I really don't know myself (I have half a mind to ask Alchemist to do this too, but 23 is quite a bit - perhaps your favourite number? You can pretend it's 5 if you like). I also know another thing, that early doctor's appointment + insomnia + Montag = tired. Goodnight.

Oh yes that reminds me, if you haven't already done this survey for my Math Studies project (yes I know -_-) can you help me do it? Especially if you're older than 20 or not Chinese. It'll take no more than 20 minutes. Thank you! :D

suicide?

For many years, Frank never quite saw the need to draft a will. However on a rather ordinary day for this ordinary churchman, he woke up with a sudden epiphany and rose rather cheerily. Should Mrs. Frank have seen this, she would not have failed to pass a comment about how he looked younger, but as always she lay asleep with her back facing her husband.

As Frank started out the window, watching the raindrops pelt the windowpane on yet another dreary English day, he felt freer than he had in months. Worst of all was the pretense he had to put up for his dwindling congregation that yes, all was well with the Franks. Thankfully, the eyesight and hearing of the parishioners had grown so bad that they now could neither discern sarcasm from actual happiness, nor a blatantly forced smile from a real one. Their eyesight had also spared them the agony of seeing Mrs. Frank sneak Mr. Williams into the parish house, which is what a rather distressed Frank saw one day in a security camera he had installed on the church grounds – to stop the theft of the church’s prize winning roses.

The next blow came when he saw who the thief of the roses was, none other than his son, Frank Jr. As if Frank Jr. didn’t upset his father enough, the video camera also captured him giving the roses to another boy and a gratuitous make out session ensued. Such debauchery! Frank felt sick to the stomach and head and dirty all over. He leaned over and puked into the paper bin and started to cry. Perhaps this is how God feels like, he thought, able to see every single sin we carry out, rendering him sick, as his tears washed the puke off his mouth.

The final blow came a few weeks later when because the rose bushes were too bare of roses that they were disqualified from the annual county competition – for Frank was the sort of man who had a marked disability in confronting loved ones and Frank Jr. had literally deflowered the bush in addition to being deflowered in front of the bush.

Frank soon started to think rather dark thoughts, which all too often drifted to suicide from the ‘manlier’ thoughts of killing his entire family with a chainsaw. However he was a man of the church through and through, he could not possibly take his own life for it was against God’s wishes, it was a sin! What was the point of living such a Godly life and leaving a sinner? Besides, he told himself, there’s so much suffering in the world that I should at least try to alleviate some of it before I go or else my life is a waste. At that very thought, he drifted off to sleep and dreamt a dream of a land far away where he would be able to die soon without sinning and awoke the next day with a grin.

-----

Frank got into his rather small and economical car after preparing breakfast for the entire family and set off for the nearest town where the family solicitors were located. Parking his car, he headed straight for Bingham & Botts; Advocates & Solicitors. He drafted his will, leaving his wife and son the princely sum of 2,000 pounds each and willed the rest to Adulterers Anonymous and Help for Homosexuals. Feeling pleased with himself for being so witty, he then headed to the travel agent’s to book a one way ticket to Iraq, economy class, thank you very much.

Errands done, he went off to the grocers and bought the weekly groceries, giving himself a little treat by buying his favoured Polo mints. Popping one into his mouth, he loaded the groceries into the car boot and got into the car and set off for home.

He found Mrs. Frank and Frank Jr. at the breakfast table eating the breakfast he had nicely laid out earlier and he greeted them cheerily, receiving guttural grunts in return. He decided there and then to announce his plans to his family. “Can I have both of your attention please? I’d like to say now that I’m going to Iraq for a trip this Saturday.”

Mrs. Frank paused from drinking her tea. “Isn’t it dangerous my dear? What if you die there? What will happen to Frank Jr. and me then?”

Frank smiled, for he knew his wife too well, “I’ve already drafted a will with Bingham & Botts, so in the event I don’t return, I have already made provisions for you two.”

“Oh”. Mrs. Frank then returned to the morning papers and her tea. Frank Jr. didn’t even say a word and continued devouring his scrambled eggs.

Unable to contain his excitement further and eager to get away from the degenerate lot, Frank headed to his room and started to pack the things he wished to bring along to Iraq. He held each article of clothing dispassionately, old fond memories forgotten in anticipation of the future.

-----

Saturday morning came and the Franks pilled into the car, Frank Jr. quiet as usual and Mrs. Frank prattling about how it was quite unfair the parish was disqualified from the yearly rose competition. Frank himself kept quiet but smiled and nodded, acting like he was listening to Mrs. Frank.

At the airport he hugged Mrs. Frank tightly and ruffled Frank Jr.’s hair. As he walked towards the immigration counter, he shouted out for Mrs. Frank to take care of herself and Frank Jr., and with a wave disappeared from view.

On board the flight to Dubai, he promptly fell asleep, awakening later only for the on board meal and then proceeding to fiddle with the amenities provided. Waiting at the Dubai airport, he couldn’t resist calling home just to hear Mrs. Frank’s voice one last time (for he did still love her as much as she didn’t love him). As Frank said that he loved her and would miss her, he could hear Mr. Williams in the background asking where the toothpaste was kept. Still having a little time to kill before his next flight, he explored the airport a little, playing with the automatic sensor taps like the little child he felt he was.

Upon reaching Iraq and clearing immigration (he told the immigration officer his occupation was as a paedophile, a pea collector), he found the directions to the market square he had seen in his dreams and took a cab to the vicinity. Getting out of the cab, he was assailed by the punishing heat of the Middle Eastern sun and headed off to find a drink from one of the many stalls there.
Finishing his route around the entire market, he walked to a corner where he continued to gulp down his bottled water. Saving a little still, he closed his eyes and emptied the contents on his person.

Around him, the sounds started to evolve from the chatter of people to the more animalistic screams of terror. Frank opened his eyes and saw the source of it; a convoy of large militaristic-looking humvees were speeding into the market square, kicking up magnificent clouds of an ochre dust – in pursuit of a dirty blue car filled with men. He turned to look behind him and saw a woman (or possibly a cross dresser) dressed in the typical black burqa, eyes shining with fear and holding on to two young children by the hand. The younger one started to cry, sensing the tension around.

As the car shot through the market square knocking over various wares, Frank took a deep breath and thought, this is it – this is my dream!, he couldn’t help but give a completely situation inappropriate grin. He popped in a polo mint as he half watched and half anticipated as the car, now a few meters away from him, failed to make a right turn for it was simply traveling at too fast a speed, slammed into a building right behind him. The car now cut Frank and the woman off from the main market. The humvees were almost within firing range. Frank turned and ran towards the woman and the children and tackled them to the ground, covering their bodies with his rather large one.

The last things Frank experienced are as follows: Felt – Wet from being peed on by one of the children; Heard – Wail of a child mixed with the sharp ratatat of the guns; Saw – The woman crying from the little window to her eyes; Smelt – Jasmine perfume that originated from the woman; Tasted – The polo mint he had been sucking.

Today I watched a movie about a purple butterfly, saw 93 drive by on both sides of the road and wore a shoe on my right foot for the first time in a month.

Hello December.

American Trash Television is the best invention ever!

Funnily enough I understand the idea of wanting to have a child at a ridiculously young age and wouldn't mind having one myself (if it didn't mess up my education plans that is) - but isn't promiscuous behaviour going to make one wind up with some nasty STD that completely kills your ovaries and womb?

Also: WHY THE HELL IS SHE POSING AND TALKING LIKE A BLACK PERSON (+ collecting baby stuff: she's totally warped)?!