Today, Elvin told me to get some rest.
Unfortunately, it's not because he thought I was doing a hell lot at work. More because I'd been dozing off the whole of today. Lack of sleep makes for a very bad worker. Sorry. So yes, I will take the advice and get some shut-eye so I can be "100% tomorrow".
I'm so tired I can't hear myself in my head.
I can't believe it's Friday.
-------------------
MN: Hey hey TGIF.
Me: Fuck that. I'm so smashed I don't know what day of the week it is. I don't quite feel Friday in my bones yet.
MN: So you're heading home?
Me: Yes baby, sorry. No Music & Lyrics today.
-------------------
***This was an extraordinarily long conversation, so it's not captured word for word. But hell, you'll probably think it's just drivel anyhow cos I don't think it's appropriate to discuss what was actually... discussed. My vocabulary rocks when I'm knackered.***
ST: I don't understand why people are so judgmental.
Me: Yea, I think it's pride and insecurities lah.
ST: Ya lah. But also, it's different values lah. But when you hear the things some people say, then you realise that you can't really be true good friends with them because opinions and values are different and they are so quick to place a label on someone.
Me: Well at the end of the day, people can judge all they want and you can choose to be as affected as you want to be. You make your own bed, you lie in it, and if you can do that I will respect you for it. I don't think we have any right to judge someone, especially someone we don't know. But if you are one who is so afraid of people saying things behind your back, then you'd better be damn sure to hide your dirty laundry well.
ST: Yes! I totally agree. Is it us who are weird for thinking this way, or is the world strange?
Me: Tsk. Of course we're not weird lah. Everyone else is.
Haha.
-------------------
***I just realised using initials can be quite misleading. I have two SFs, two STs and two ESes. Time to find friends with more exotic initials, like... XF. Or something.***
ST2: How's your day?
Me: Too long *yawn* I need to sleeeeeep.
ST2: Yeah you do. Did you eat? Do you want dinner?
Me: Nah.
ST2: So, did you think about what I said the other day?
Me: Yes.
ST2: And?
Me: ...
ST2: You don't believe I can break down that wall?
Me: Buhbye, I gotta get back to work.
Okay the last part wasn't exactly like that.
I'm a coward for not daring to believe. And I'm chicken shit for not having the guts to say it outright.
-------------------
Me: Oooohhhh, I just found out my mate can get Chanel bags at a cheaper price! I think I want my Chanel again.
ES: Buy lah. You should have kept yours in the first place. How much cheaper is it?
Me: SGDXXXX. Black or grey, you think?
ES: You're asking me to pick a purse colour? Whichever. I didn't get you anything last year right?
Me: You did.
ES: Oh ya. But you gave it away.
Me: You know I'm not comfortable with this when I am attached, so there.
ES: So you're not now. The bag will be your birthday present.
Now before you think that I'm lucky to have a friend like that, you have no idea what kind of shit I'm potentially setting myself up for. But I'm not afraid to admit that I enjoy the attention. Better enjoy generosity while I still can.
-------------------
CC: Eh wait, stand back and let me see you.
*pause*
CC: Wah you're damn covered up today.
Me: Yes yes, I can look decent too okay? I was damn tired so I grabbed the first thing in my closet.
CC: But your jeans still damn tight lor.
*Later, another colleagues said that the space between my second and third button was gaping wide.*
CC: I knew it! I knew there was something! Hahahahahahaha...
Nabeh. Time to go shopping for clothes that cover more of me.
The Reigning Jot
Siren Says
Friday, November 06, 2009
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Dutch Drubbing
I just submitted the post-match to SingTel's site. Here's a little snippet,
Arsenal 4 - 1 AZ Alkmaar
"But this was a rout all right. With Arshavin pulling the strings and Cesc scoring like a millionaire frat boy in a brothel. Song's passes found a teammate even when they were intercepted. Nasri looked like he'd been playing full games all season - fit, unfazed and stunning to watch as always. Gallas was so bored he kept running forward. And I am pretty sure Almunia and Vermaelen were sipping tea while holding the fort. Gibbs who started the game in Clichy's absence played a wonderfully mature game and almost scored. Samir Nasri who had just returned from injury scored a goal. My only disappointment was in seeing Cesc replaced before he could complete his hat trick."Final Score
Arsenal 4 - 1 AZ Alkmaar
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Idolisation
This post is written after I submitted a Cesc Fabregas tribute piece to SingTel Football Frenzy today.
No, I didn't have an idol growing up. I was one of those geeky freaks who reads her textbooks before semester even starts and goes ga-ga at Bookworm Club book fairs. I never believed in idolisation because I was a little rational geeky badgirl even at a young age (yes the contradiction that is me started that early).
Sure, I had my fair share of liking some bands and singers, etc., but I've never pinned up posters of rockstars. I've ogled at models and actors and put them on my wallpaper, but I've never bothered to read up on gossip columns to keep tabs with their lives.
Then came football and Tony Adams. Even then I wasn't crazed and obsessed. I was merely interested. I started reading books and biographies. When September 2003 came about, a skinny Spanish 16 year-old boy with bad hair moved to London and would make me regress into a screaming schoolgirl.
I was already on to players like Iker Casillas then. For quite a while in fact. Then I noticed Fernando Torres and his cute freckles and awkward long legs. Yes, I've always had a thing for Spanish men. So shoot me.
When Francesc Fabregas Soler moved to North London, I began researching on him as I would any player I hadn't heard of. There weren't many videos or online information about him, but whatever I'd read seemed impressive enough. I believe he was a top scorer (or almost one) even though he played in midfield. I was uber excited when he appeared for the Arsenal as their youngest player ever that same year. And when he scored his first goal for Arsenal (youngest goalscorer!), I was hooked. I wasn't even a full-fledged Arsenal fan then despite my respect for AW and admiration for Adams. I mean, I liked players from other teams too.
As the seasons came and went, I kept my eye on young Cesc and his unfortunate hair experiments. As he filled out his Arsenal shirt more and more, an overwhelming sense of pride grew within me. When he scored his League goal and his Champions League goals, I actually celebrated, much to my Man United-loving Dad's despair. I didn't always get to watch the matches, but I'd always check the scores.
Today, Cesc has become such an instrumental player I cannot imagine our midfield without him. I dare say this, and I am not exaggerating, every completed pass he makes in every game (which is A LOT) makes my heart skip a beat. Every brilliant assist (also too many to count) he produces makes me giddy. Just think about how over the top I get when he scores a goal and kisses the badge on his chest.
Sometimes I feel silly feeling so much love and awe for the young Spaniard. Because I know for a damn fact idolisation doesn't get anyone anywhere. That doesn't change the way I feel about Cesc Fabregas. I still scour the Internet for information about him. I try to find obscure videos and pictures. If the world of football was Hollywood, Cesc was my Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Gerard Butler, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, Ryan Reynolds, Liam Neeson, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Ewan McGregor, rolled into one.
When I met him for the first time - not the first time I saw him on the field, but the first time I was actually in close proximity with him - I swear I was hyperventilating. I remember the events in slow motion.
I was just behind the team bench and shouting out to Valencia's players (the first Emirates Cup) because our lads weren't out yet. Canizares wouldn't turn around, Villa wasn't out there yet, so I flirted with Morientes.
Then Bendtner walked out of the tunnel. Fans screamed. Bendtner went back in and re-emerged with Justin Hoyte in toll. Bendtner won't talk to anyone or even turn around. Mark Randall walked out and sat beside him. I spoke to Mark, took his picture and flirted with him until the 17 year-old blushed an English-rose red. Eboue and Hoyte signed autographs for the fans.
Then Cesc strutted out of the tunnel.
He was two seats diagonally to my right. The entire flock of Arsenal fans behind me charged forward and I was squashed. I think Mark giggled at my expression, I am not sure because I had tunnel-visioned. When the game started (Arsenal wasn't playing yet), I annoyed the fans next to me by squeezing by them and saying, "Tio bueno!"
He turned around.
"Are you playing later love?"
His reply was a simple, "Maybe", with a cheeky smile on the side. And I swear he winked at me too. I spent the rest of the 90 minutes staring at the back of his neck.
I was very lucky to have more encounters later (and several ones to further embarrass the very shy Mark Randall). But that first will always be in my head and heart.
Every game that Cesc plays, he brings heart, bravery and dedication. Every interview he gives is lined with humility. The feel of his arms still thrills me and I actually really remember how he smells (contrary to popular belief, not all Catalans smell bad). The day he was made captain (a day before my birthday), I had tears in my eyes and was convinced that it was my best birthday present ever. And when he scores goals like the one against AC Milan in 2007/08 and Spurs last weekend, I kid you not, I fall in love with him a little more.
His new ink on his right arm only upped his sex appeal more, if that's possible. I already thought his first on his right wrist was hot.
So yes, I'm a giggly schoolgirl with pigtails. I finally know what it feels like. I'm in love with my right-footed God.
No, I didn't have an idol growing up. I was one of those geeky freaks who reads her textbooks before semester even starts and goes ga-ga at Bookworm Club book fairs. I never believed in idolisation because I was a little rational geeky badgirl even at a young age (yes the contradiction that is me started that early).Sure, I had my fair share of liking some bands and singers, etc., but I've never pinned up posters of rockstars. I've ogled at models and actors and put them on my wallpaper, but I've never bothered to read up on gossip columns to keep tabs with their lives.
Then came football and Tony Adams. Even then I wasn't crazed and obsessed. I was merely interested. I started reading books and biographies. When September 2003 came about, a skinny Spanish 16 year-old boy with bad hair moved to London and would make me regress into a screaming schoolgirl.
I was already on to players like Iker Casillas then. For quite a while in fact. Then I noticed Fernando Torres and his cute freckles and awkward long legs. Yes, I've always had a thing for Spanish men. So shoot me.
When Francesc Fabregas Soler moved to North London, I began researching on him as I would any player I hadn't heard of. There weren't many videos or online information about him, but whatever I'd read seemed impressive enough. I believe he was a top scorer (or almost one) even though he played in midfield. I was uber excited when he appeared for the Arsenal as their youngest player ever that same year. And when he scored his first goal for Arsenal (youngest goalscorer!), I was hooked. I wasn't even a full-fledged Arsenal fan then despite my respect for AW and admiration for Adams. I mean, I liked players from other teams too.
As the seasons came and went, I kept my eye on young Cesc and his unfortunate hair experiments. As he filled out his Arsenal shirt more and more, an overwhelming sense of pride grew within me. When he scored his League goal and his Champions League goals, I actually celebrated, much to my Man United-loving Dad's despair. I didn't always get to watch the matches, but I'd always check the scores.
Today, Cesc has become such an instrumental player I cannot imagine our midfield without him. I dare say this, and I am not exaggerating, every completed pass he makes in every game (which is A LOT) makes my heart skip a beat. Every brilliant assist (also too many to count) he produces makes me giddy. Just think about how over the top I get when he scores a goal and kisses the badge on his chest.
Sometimes I feel silly feeling so much love and awe for the young Spaniard. Because I know for a damn fact idolisation doesn't get anyone anywhere. That doesn't change the way I feel about Cesc Fabregas. I still scour the Internet for information about him. I try to find obscure videos and pictures. If the world of football was Hollywood, Cesc was my Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Gerard Butler, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, Ryan Reynolds, Liam Neeson, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Ewan McGregor, rolled into one.
When I met him for the first time - not the first time I saw him on the field, but the first time I was actually in close proximity with him - I swear I was hyperventilating. I remember the events in slow motion.I was just behind the team bench and shouting out to Valencia's players (the first Emirates Cup) because our lads weren't out yet. Canizares wouldn't turn around, Villa wasn't out there yet, so I flirted with Morientes.
Then Bendtner walked out of the tunnel. Fans screamed. Bendtner went back in and re-emerged with Justin Hoyte in toll. Bendtner won't talk to anyone or even turn around. Mark Randall walked out and sat beside him. I spoke to Mark, took his picture and flirted with him until the 17 year-old blushed an English-rose red. Eboue and Hoyte signed autographs for the fans.
Then Cesc strutted out of the tunnel.
He was two seats diagonally to my right. The entire flock of Arsenal fans behind me charged forward and I was squashed. I think Mark giggled at my expression, I am not sure because I had tunnel-visioned. When the game started (Arsenal wasn't playing yet), I annoyed the fans next to me by squeezing by them and saying, "Tio bueno!"
He turned around.
"Are you playing later love?"
His reply was a simple, "Maybe", with a cheeky smile on the side. And I swear he winked at me too. I spent the rest of the 90 minutes staring at the back of his neck.
I was very lucky to have more encounters later (and several ones to further embarrass the very shy Mark Randall). But that first will always be in my head and heart.
Every game that Cesc plays, he brings heart, bravery and dedication. Every interview he gives is lined with humility. The feel of his arms still thrills me and I actually really remember how he smells (contrary to popular belief, not all Catalans smell bad). The day he was made captain (a day before my birthday), I had tears in my eyes and was convinced that it was my best birthday present ever. And when he scores goals like the one against AC Milan in 2007/08 and Spurs last weekend, I kid you not, I fall in love with him a little more.
His new ink on his right arm only upped his sex appeal more, if that's possible. I already thought his first on his right wrist was hot.
So yes, I'm a giggly schoolgirl with pigtails. I finally know what it feels like. I'm in love with my right-footed God.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Trick Or Treat
The important thing first...
Arsenal 3 - 0 Tottenham
THREE!
Hello Robbie Keane. Better team? We're having a laugh!
I did miss the beginning of the game, but the moment I sat down we scored two goals within a minute. The first by Robin van Persie, a right-footed swipe catching a great cross from Sagna. Gomes looked confused - back of the net you scum!
The second goal was pure class. Cesc danced passed three before sending a low bulleting shot past the keeper. I swear, watching Cesc score a goal or fast-footing around the opposition is better than foreplay. Blink and you'd have missed it. So. Fucking. Sweet.
In the second half, it was still the Gunners in control. Within 15 minutes of the restart, Robin completed his brace. And this is how it's done David Bentley. Don't forget your Oyster Card now for the trip back to Seven Sisters.
I won't go into the chances we missed and whatnots. Suffice to say, we got the job done. And then some. It's always more significant when it's a local derby isn't it? This is going to make me smile for the whole of next week.
Have I mentioned yet that I love Cesc Fabregas?
-----------------------
Halloween. Work. Liz. Alley Bar. Arsenal. Supper Club. Golden Boy from the future. Dutch sailor. Ex Lover.
That about sums up my day.
Saturday has become Sleepy-Day for me and I did get ample rest before heading to work. A good thing, since it turned out to be a long-ass day.
The great thing about hanging out with Lizzie, is that we are both damn chin chai so anywhere is fine. And we've got similar taste. And we keep cracking each other up by saying the same things at the same time. We will remember that this was the day we walked from Alley Bar to Supper Club in 4.5inch heels.
Happy Halloween.
Arsenal 3 - 0 Tottenham
THREE!
Hello Robbie Keane. Better team? We're having a laugh!
I did miss the beginning of the game, but the moment I sat down we scored two goals within a minute. The first by Robin van Persie, a right-footed swipe catching a great cross from Sagna. Gomes looked confused - back of the net you scum!
The second goal was pure class. Cesc danced passed three before sending a low bulleting shot past the keeper. I swear, watching Cesc score a goal or fast-footing around the opposition is better than foreplay. Blink and you'd have missed it. So. Fucking. Sweet.
In the second half, it was still the Gunners in control. Within 15 minutes of the restart, Robin completed his brace. And this is how it's done David Bentley. Don't forget your Oyster Card now for the trip back to Seven Sisters.I won't go into the chances we missed and whatnots. Suffice to say, we got the job done. And then some. It's always more significant when it's a local derby isn't it? This is going to make me smile for the whole of next week.
Have I mentioned yet that I love Cesc Fabregas?
-----------------------
Halloween. Work. Liz. Alley Bar. Arsenal. Supper Club. Golden Boy from the future. Dutch sailor. Ex Lover.
That about sums up my day.
Saturday has become Sleepy-Day for me and I did get ample rest before heading to work. A good thing, since it turned out to be a long-ass day.
The great thing about hanging out with Lizzie, is that we are both damn chin chai so anywhere is fine. And we've got similar taste. And we keep cracking each other up by saying the same things at the same time. We will remember that this was the day we walked from Alley Bar to Supper Club in 4.5inch heels.
Happy Halloween.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Nipples???
Watching The Hurt Locker with Roy and Shn got Liz and I thinking about military alphabet codes after. Yes, we got the first few without trouble, and then this happened...
Liz: L is?
Me: Lima
Liz: M?
Me: Ehhhh... Don't remember.
Liz: N?
Me: Ehhhh....
Liz: 'M'onster 'N'ipple?
*throes of thunderous laughter*
Liz: Well, it's clear what! Monster is confirm 'M', and Nipple confirm 'N'. Cannot be 'Mipple' right?
Damn classic. Try spelling 'Column'.
They are Mike and November just in case you were interested.
She also insisted that 'S' should be 'Sex'. Fair enough actually - who in the world can't spell 'Sex'? Imagine spelling 'Mississippi'.
And this is why I love that silly girl.
Liz: L is?
Me: Lima
Liz: M?
Me: Ehhhh... Don't remember.
Liz: N?
Me: Ehhhh....
Liz: 'M'onster 'N'ipple?
*throes of thunderous laughter*
Liz: Well, it's clear what! Monster is confirm 'M', and Nipple confirm 'N'. Cannot be 'Mipple' right?
Damn classic. Try spelling 'Column'.
They are Mike and November just in case you were interested.
She also insisted that 'S' should be 'Sex'. Fair enough actually - who in the world can't spell 'Sex'? Imagine spelling 'Mississippi'.
And this is why I love that silly girl.
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