(There's one about NUS too, but I'm too lazy to link to it.)
I copped out of that modelling thing. I did some super last-minute background check on the company because I started to get worried about the reliability of the whole she-bang at around 11.30 p.m. on Saturday (I was supposed to go for the training thing on Sunday). In short, I discovered two alarming facts that made me kiss all that potential money goodbye:
1. The company isn't registered; and
2. The cosmetics I was supposed to buy are pretty much unheard of. Googling the brands only unearthed Singaporeans selling eye shadow and lipsticks on Yahoo! Auctions for a buck a pop. Right.
To be honest, I wouldn't really care that much about Fact #1 if Fact #2 didn't exist. After all, just because the law says something is legal, doesn't always make it right (and let's pretend that this sentiment is actually related to what I'm typing now). The whole thing became too dubious for me to ignore and as much as I really wanted the potential money (and the fun/experience), I decided that it wasn't worth it. So I went down to Orchard with my mom on Sunday and told the woman that I wanted to back out. I told her that I wasn't comfortable with the fact that I couldn't find the company in the Registry of Companies or whatever, and she was all, "We're not registered? But we've been around for over 10 years!"
Yeah, tell that to the Registry, not me.
Anyway, in the end she made a phone call to her superior and was like, "Okay, we can cancel the agreement for you."
It just goes to show how important that agreement is when it can be so easily cancelled.
Having said that, she was quite nice about it all and didn't force me to stay.
Actually a part of me regrets it because...yeah. Because I don't freaking have money, I don't have a job and don't want a job, and I want money. I need money. It's horrible to have practically no money in your stupid, lousy bank account, because you can't buy anything and it's just so depressing when you see nice things and think, Ooh, I want that!, but a second later you remember the emaciated state of health of your skinny-ass bank account and you're all, Oh, but shit, I don't have money, damn. And pop, your bubble is burst, you're back to feeling like a damn vagrant, a homeless bum, deracinated and aimless.
Ah, woe is me.
On a more serious note, as much as I appreciate that my parents will still give me money and all that, I'd rather find some way to get money on my own. It's just not nice to spend their money on things they don't really approve of (e.g. Veronica Mars DVD sets, Buffy DVD sets, my 3427835th mini skirt, back-exposing tops, more clothes to add to the mess that is my closet...), especially since it's because I kept spending on things they don't approve of that made me as broke as I am now. And it also sucks to high heavens that I have to ask them before I can buy something - which is, like, totally ridiculous, because I am 20! I am supposed to be on my way to financial independence! But instead, I'm prowling the streets of Orchard Road with a pathetic $30 in my pathetic bank account.
Sigh. I can't get over this. I can't explain this irrepressible urge in me to buy clothes whenever I'm in a shopping mall. Sometimes I don't even want to, you know? Like, sometimes I'd be meeting friends for lunch and all that, and I'd be there early and to pass the time, I would normally look at clothes, try on some, buy some. But now? I can't. At all. Without a book in my hands I would have absolutely shit-all to do.
I feel sad. Sigh.
And I still want to buy a lot of books.
I've never needed a rich boyfriend more than I do now.
After two missed deliveries, I finally got my Buffy DVDs. Like FINALLY! They came in a nice box. The postman came back last Saturday after I missed him while sleeping till 12 noon on Thursday and hence didn't answer the door. But because our door bell has been broken since time immemorial, my mom didn't know that the postman was outside and so she missed the delivery. How dumb. I think the 'please knock' sign should be permanently pasted on the door/wall/whatever.
Talking about Buffy DVDs reminds me of the Emmys and how crappy they are, but I don't quite feel like getting into the whole story. So suffice it to say that they're crappy and retarded because they have snubbed Lauren Graham for six years; because they nominated Alfre Woodard for Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series (she's the black mother in Desperate Housewives - like, not even remotely funny, hello?); and because they nominated Grey's Anatomy for Best Drama over Lost.
Oh, and because they didn't nominate Kristen Bell for Best Actress.
Hmm, I think I'm forgetting something...oh yeah, and because they didn't nominate Veronica Mars for Best Drama, nevermind that it's easily better-written, better-acted and a lot more intricate and complex than fucking GREY'S FUCKING ANATOMY.
Don't get me wrong; I enjoy Grey's Anatomy. But therein lies the problem: I enjoy it. End of story.
But Veronica Mars? I obsess over it. I quote it whenever I can. I know all the episode titles by heart (who cares or even knows a show's episode titles?). I watched Season 1 six times. I could go on, but I'm sure everyone knows by now that I'm in love with that show. It's the 21st Century James Dean for me, you know? Something to relate to, something to seek solace in, something to depend on when everything else sucks ass. Sure, the rubbish Duncan plotline in Season 2 stank, but the rest of the season was story-telling gold.
But Grey's Anatomy? Meredith Grey is its main character. Enough said.
So yeah. To sum up, the Emmys suck.
How to tell if a guy's a complete loser:
1. He makes it a point to tell you self-deprecating things about himself, nevermind that you've typed all of two short phrases to him and that him telling you things like "no one ever answers my messages" and "I never get messages" are totally not making a good impression, probably hoping that he'd come across as honest and humble instead of completely lame.
2. He types crap to you thirty seconds after typing his last message. It gives you the feeling that he's trying not to let you escape, and that he thinks constantly typing stupid things to you would somehow elicit (note: I spelled it 'illicit' at first and thought something was wrong) a response. Well, it doesn't. In fact, it only pisses you off.
3. He starts a random IM conversation with you by saying 'how do you do'. You reply politely because you're, like, freaking bored, and he goes, "I'm good too", and honestly expects you to follow up. Seriously - whatev.
4. He sends you a message after not receiving any replies from you for a few days, the gist of which basically goes, "Hmm, haven't heard from you in a while. You're probably busy. Or maybe I'm boring. Well, hope to hear from you soon." Needless to say I cleaned up the bad English. His blatantly making up excuses for your total indifference hilariously smacks of a pathetic attempt to make himself feel better about being ignored, and you read it and go, Whatever.
5. He still instant messages you even though you totally ignored the first few 100 times he tried to talk to you.
6. He can't spell.
7. He can't punctuate.
8. His English is fuck-bad.
9. He actually asks you if you mind that he's sending you a message even if he doesn't have good English and doesn't know what proper Chinese is. Seriously, what does he expect you to do if you do indeed mind? Pull an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and erase that memory? Whatever.
10. He sends you a message anyway even if he professes to have shitty English and Chinese, nevermind that in the 'who do you want to meet' section of your profile, you flippantly typed some crap about good English, Chinese, the usual. It's like, dude, can you not read?
11. He spells 'a lot' as 'alot'. A major crime.
12. He says, "Can we be friends?" The only thing to do when you read such banal "messages" is to make a beeline for the trusty 'delete' button.
13. Worse still, he goes, "can we b frenz?" Help my sanity, please.
14. He's an engineering student.
15. He's an engineering student at NTU.
16. He doesn't know what a 'prole' is and yet still messages you even though you specifically said that people who don't know what a 'prole' is should fuck off forever and ever.
17. He thinks Literature is equivalent to Romeo and Juliet, and/or he reads The Da Vinci Code and thinks that can sufficiently impress you. Not even close, buddy. Don't bother trying again.
18. He uses three question marks/exclamation marks instead of the usual and correct one.
19. He honestly thinks that you'd consider going out with someone with crappy English, typically Singaporean looks, and a polytechnic diploma. Hahahaha. You don't even know when to stop laughing. (I realise that the poly diploma thing is a bit mean, but honestly. Unless the guy did FSV at Ngee Ann or even Mass Comm at Ngee Ann, he won't even register on my radar. Just...come the hell on. I can't even be bothered to be politically-correct here.)
20. Last, but not least, he doesn't have the fucking balls to tell you that he's tired of your long-ass messages and that he doesn't want to talk to you anymore, and so he resorts to writing something as lame as, "You don't need to feel obliged to write to me. In fact, you can forget I ever wrote to you." What the fuck kind of fucked up shit is that, right? I think so too.
21. Last and definitely least, he doesn't reply when you're all, "Unbelievable. That's the lamest shit I've ever read." Of course you don't say it in such crude, offensive terms, but the gist is pretty much there.
22. Oh wait, I thought of another one: Cyber sex gets him off. He sees a headline on a girl's profile that reads, "'You got a trophy for a rim job?' - Veronica Mars" and sends her a stupid message that goes, "Would you like to earn that trophy?" And the girl doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, and she decides on laughing and hits the loser back with, "I totally love cars!" And the idiot is stupid enough to be all, "What about cars turn you on?" No. Freaking. Way. Are people seriously that desperate? And here I am, thinking that horny people can just satisfy their urges by logging on to one of the 3482758235 free porn sites out there. How naive I have been.
Actually, this list can go on and on and on and on.
But hey, I suppose I should be glad that I get more messages from naive, stupid guys than guys looking for a free fuck. After all, the utter lameness of their messages is objectively easier to digest and ignore than deprave things like, "Want me to give you a rim job?" (Even if, in some distorted, alternate universe, my answer would to be yes, I don't see how that can physically happen when the retard in question lives in America. And besides, I don't have a car. When I get my Peugeot 307cc a few more years down the road, I'd make sure it has the best rims the world can offer.)
And I have lost the plot. OKCupid is only good for the tens of thousands of personality/trivia tests. Everything else is filler and a continuous ego boost.
Having said that...engineering/computing/science/acc
There's a huge pimple on my chin. It hurts when I touch it. I get the urge to touch it every ten seconds and so it hurts every ten seconds.
Desperate Housewives in one minute. I wonder why I still keep watching formerly good shows that are slowly but surely turning to crap.
Oh, yeah. I remember. I have nothing better to do.