bugging question

Fine, Bugger. I won't blog about applications :P

So tell me, how did you know that I just woke up when you called me this morning? That little piece of trivia about how people can tell when you are still in bed is bugging me. I have never had the pleasure of waking people up from sleep :(

Disclaimer (before Beatrice mauls me to pieces): He called me about apps! Nothing else! And he called KayJay first anyway. So KayJay's your man.

[Update: Bugger finally told me. Apparently, it's the groggy whispery tone, e.g. errrrmmm helllllooo?]

blubberings

am again back to my hobby of staring at empty word docs. this time, the empty space is reserved for the school profile. wtf am i supposed to say?

*checks online*

oh. i'm supposed to angkat my school so that it sounds more prestigious than Eton. the hell? now i have lost heart to write. i thought it would be the boring things about principal's name, #staff, #students, #classes, #clubs, #trees, #drains, #toilets, etc etc. the boring boring stuff.

but noooo... have to list school achievements too. as if they hadn't done enough trumpeting for themselves already. gosh. my high school is extremely good at self-advertising. blowing their own trumpet very very loudly. framing those certs for sekolah cemerlang whatever and plastering them over a very nice mural. putting rather ugly photos of old women to show off alumni. putting up graphs showing %passes and %A's. potted plants at the most aesthetically pleasing but most inconvenient places. painting the building a sickening yellow-brown colour. my my. they do try.

it's not a bad school though. the school spirit is there. it really is. it is, in essence, a very dignified school. refined. sophisticated. elegant. the very epitome of a grand old dame. the building speaks for itself. utilitarian design shows off the no-nonsense and practical side of the school. thick columns, heavy-looking facade, solid stone stairs show the importance placed on reliability and stolid will. little embellishments of remarkable beauty shows an understated sense of appreciation for art. the whole building speaks of grace and of learning.

but too bad. along the way, this grace, this elegance, has chipped away bit by bit. the school knows what it can be, but it just cannot be. garish graffiti on a few walls. hideous classroom decorations (which is, ironically, mandated by the school). yellowing articles on foam boards nailed to century-old brick. ridiculously modern-looking tiles contrasted against the smooth worn stone-flagged floor. modernity. at the price of elegance.

disclaimer for anybody who wants to flame me for being ungrateful: all i did was criticize the decor. go on, scroll up and reread. or rereread.

now. how am i supposed to make this fallen dame sound like she is at the prime of her life? i shall try. if i do a good enough job, Eton-lad may come over to court. heh. that will be the day.

blabberings

I am having a major attack of Writer's Block right now. It's all so blank. So empty. Words don't feel as if they have magic. No spark. No tingle.

Blank.

And seriously, I dunno what I want to blog about right now. Let's see what comes out, okay? Experiment! Writing without a topic in mind! Maybe it'll start me on a writing frenzy. I hope so.

Blank, but wide awake. It sucks, I tell you. Wanting someone to talk to, but everyone's off. Gosh. Happens every night. But it never fails to make me feel that little tingle of desolation. Then I'll imagine being in the middle of an ice floe that just broke off from the main ice sheet, with cold biting wind driving little ice bullets into my exposed face. Wow. See how much I suffer, just because you people don't want to stay up to talk to me? See?

Now, does anyone want to stay up from 12 to 6 with me? :D

Just kidding, ok? Don't take me seriously. Especially at 3am.

Ah. Hit by a random notion. If anyone asks me what do I look for in a boyfriend, I have the perfect answer. He must have sleeping habits like mine. 6am to 12pm. And his prime must be from 12 to 6 am. Then we can have hot sex all night long :D

Okay. I think I have managed to eliminate 90% of the applicant pool. But then again, 90% of nothing is still nothing. Wow. I'm talking about boyfriends like college applicants. LOL. Someone shoot me!

And someone please shoot Bugger for me. He told me about August Rush OST and now I have this Moondance tune stuck in my head. And I have it on loop on my player. Damn. And it's not even cool to listen to! Very old school use of saxophones and harmonica, mumbly singing, something your parents will like. But that particular tune and beat.. It gets to me.

Now, suddenly, I feel like writing a love poem. But I have no one to write to. And who ever heard of a girl writing poems for a guy? Gosh. But I really really feel like writing one..

Oh, by the way, something I find intriguing. Phone rang at 8am today. Woke up. Shook head to chase away lingering dreams. Cleared throat. Even managed to drink some water. Answered. And after all my efforts, he started my day with "Still in bed, huh? Wake up! Wake up!"

How could he tell? Is it that obvious when someone just woke up? To find out, I may have to call some of you at 5am :D

*scrolls up*

Gosh. That was some random crap.

*opens up word doc*

*stares*

Maybe I'll write a really horny love poem and put it in the WHY [INSERT UNI] part.

A really really horny one.

And for the WHY ENGINEERING part, I'll write about how I want to work for the sex toy industry. Make Safe Toys. Then people won't get electrocuted when they, uh, play vigorously.

Come to think of it, if I were to design a sex toy, what would I make? Hmmm...

*stares at blank word doc*

This is NOT going to work. I better sleep now and get up earlier tomorrow. A lost soul might need my help.

If I can't sleep, I'll scribble me a love poem. For.. uh.. Well, for an unlucky guy.

Thus ends the randomest, messiest blogpost ever.

renovation refugee

i woke up today thinking someone was mining me for oil. there was this humoungous ear-splitting drilling noise that vibrated my cranium so badly, i had to hold my head in case my brains fell out. it was my bloody neighbour and his &*^@*$%*^$%^$@* renovations. garrrrhhhh. why must he renovate NOW?! when i am home? damn kanasai, i tell you. i still remember during pmr the neighbour on the right was banging and banging and banging on the walls and floors and ceilings and whatever he can get his hands to bang on. pmr! and i haven't finished reading my stupid kh! and then! during spm! the fella on the left started banging too! but he also sawed and drilled and scraped and whatever that weird noise between the drilling and the sawing was. that time i started to think they did it on purpose to annoy me. how to remember about bloody aryans when the noise keep trying to puncture your eardrum?! and now! when my brothers have upsr and pmr SIMULTANEOUSLY you don't want to renovate. where is the justice?! why can those buggers have peace when i can't? you just screwing with me, right? the moment i come back, you start your stupid renovation. when i need peace and quiet, you start to ketuk here, ketuk there, drill here, drill there.

oh gosh now you're shifting furniture. and i remember that noise from pmr! that noise! i don't know what you're doing, but cut it out! dammit! it's like you're giving birth to an alien. an alien spaceship, to be exact.

why. can't. you. stop. it. 

curse you and your selfish ass! one day! on the day when you need peace and quiet! on the day before the most important badass exam of your life, i will hire the biggest and the baddest asshole contractor i can find! and i will RENOVATE. i will renovate my bloody house. i will ask them to retile my whole house. and cut the tiles right here. and i will also ask them to rewire the whole place so that they will need to bang on walls. a lot of walls. and i will ask them to drill whatever it is that can be drilled. i will ask them to give birth to the Mother of all alien spaceships. and the Father as well. and when i move the furniture, i will draaaaaag them.

cut! it! out!

gaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhh.

well. at least my dad is taking us on an escape to the camerons or someplace. i don't care where. as long as it's far away from this hellhole. i just hope we get started soon. the stuuuuuuuuuuupid drilling is starting again. i want to be deaf.

paper smoothie

paperwork will be 

the death of me

i swear

it is too much

to bear

oh you tangle

of floss and dribble

go write yourself

please?

all the pomp

and formality

just isnt

my cup of tea

i prefer mango smoothie