Humans - Gossip = Extinction

And the African guy saga has come to a close with a bang! And poisonous fumes emitting on the other side... muhahaha...


Those who are itching for details... I will not post it here for you. HA!


Anyway, the 7-eleven guy at the building where I work gave me a free can of longan drink. And the poor guy was being teased incessently by his female co-worker about--- what else?--- me.


See, now I remember why I got addicted to these mind games. They get me free favours. Now I'm wondering whether it's worth kicking this addiction...


Hmm, I look good in some of my mom's blouses. Maybe I should raid her closet more often.


I needs to sleep. Early workslot tomorrow.

Nature can be surpressed. It can also resist surpression.

I've just completed first set of pyjamas! Wheeee... wearing it now.


About that African guy? So it seems he isn't as nice as I initially thought, which is just as well coz now I can relish in deciding whether or not I shall simply ignore him till he stops bugging me, or whether I should be nasty and deliver a slap to his ego. Really, he's a way too desperate, i bet he doesn't know he's given himself away. I suppose ignoring him is safer, but slapping his ego is more absolute, much faster and so much more pleasurable.


I was right about my mother. She doesn't like the idea that I do such things to amuse myself (wondering around the streets waiting to be picked up, then "breaking hearts" aka stamp egos). And (this being my mother) not without good reason. I know it's dangerous. But I'm a mild sadist, and I like the feeling that I'm somewhat controlling a situation. I like trashing the egos of pple who try to pick me up (as proven, guys who try to do pickups on girls they've never known before are usually a**holes. Not that I mind much). I guess it's one addiction I should kick to give my parents a peace of mind, and before I get in a situation I can't control. Still, it's an addiction. It's not going to be easy to kick.


I guess I don't make a very good christian. *angelic look*


Yes, I know. I'm sick. I'm mental. But you can't prove that. HA. SUFFER.


Gee, I have a lot in common with Hitler. We're both addicted to power. Fortunately for all of you, I'm too lazy to take over the world, and frankly, I'm no genius.


Mother wrote about the concert for Business Times, and some guy did the same for ST. My mom's article was boring to me (sorrie mommy), but the guy who wrote for ST was an idiot. I'd quote, but I'm too lazy to get the paper now.


He gave absolutely no credit to Damien Guillon. He praised the soprano to the high heavens (bear with me, I'm exaggerating), and he approved of the "correctness" of the intonation in the orchestra. WHAT ON EARTH. I guess he knows nuts about singing. He said that the soprano was the star. DEAD WRONG. Sure, she was dressed like one, but she wasn't (though her voice was nice). The star was Damien Guillon. There was obviously no competition. ST, if you want someone to write about singing, get someone who's been trained in singing.


Damien!! Wave hi to your new fangirl!! *screams*


Oh, mother taught me a piece from The Marriage of Figaro (can't recall the italian title. In fact, I don't even know the story). There's this little exchange between a young maid, Susanna, and a seasoned Countess. Reading the translation, I still don't know what it's about, but Susanna seems to be uneducated and views the Countess as a teacher. Anyway, my mom wants me to learn the part of Susanna, so we can do a duet with her as the Countess. It's rather cool, I get to start the piece!


Learnt the tenor part of Adieu, Sweet Amarylis, sang Since First I Saw Your Face, Amyntas With His Phyllis Fair (read the poem. Eeeee, so naughty), Where e'er You Walk and of course, the usual Schlafe (it's a simple lullaby that she first taught me ages ago). After which mother dear left me to sort out Marriage of Figaro and to sing my favourites from the Andrew Lloyd Webber collection.


Ohohoh, on monday, I skated at east coast in the rain (lesson was cancelled again)! And I managed to skate on the bike roads! So proud of myself. Found a dead dog on the beach though. Flies were on it, looks like it was wrapped in a layer of something yucky... I wonder why it wasn't cleared.

There are any number of players in mind games, but who's leading?

This has been quite an interesting day.


Lemme see... first was work, then was lecture after work that held me back unnecessarily (though I appreciate that the person says it upfront instead of behind backs, but really... we know when we did something wrong, no need to rub salt), then was the unavailability of just about everyone I could possibly think of for a impromptu luncheon, leading to the lone romp of the orchard streets where played with some people's line of vision and (ahem) see whether or not I could deliberately get a guy to try a pick up.


Needless to say, the deliberate part didn't produce any desired effect.


However, someone did try to pick me up. And his pick-up was much smoother and smarter than the average local guy.


I guess it's because he wasn't a local guy. He's an African contract footballer from Johannesburg staying here for the past few months. Gee, I wonder if it has anything to do with the World Cup, or is it just a coincidence.


But even though he wasn't as obvious as a typical local guy, he still committed some of the usual flaws (most common ones being excessive compliments, repetative conversation during lack of conversational material... not that I was helping very much nyahahaha).


Evil me is tempted to just publish his name here on moi blog for all to see, but he's a nice guy, so I won't do that. However, I think I might play with this guy a little while more. Yes, we've exchanged contacts (don't you love these games? Oh wait... maybe you don't. But I do. Anyone remember the flag day post on the previous blog?). But it's a matter of time before he'll find himself longing to delete it. Muhahahaha...


Whatever though. I established to myself, and his second sms today confirmed that, he is definitely not my type.


Oh my. I just thought of something. It's an evil something, but I might just decide to do it.


My mother is going to kill me twice over and feed me to triggers.

Some things are worth throwing everything out the window for. Others... well, aren't worth enough to be stupid.

It's an unearthly hour of 0230 in the morning, and I'm here sitting here with panda eyes because I must. I just have to.


You know those novels where this parent laments, "My child is enamoured of an penniless opera singer," or "My son insists that he loves an angel"?


My mother now laments, "My daughter has fallen in love with a voice." Well, actually, it's her own fault. Nyahahaha.


I haven't just fallen in love with any voice. I've fallen in love with the voice of an angel.


See, she took me to this Singapore Arts Festival- J. S. Bach's Mass in B Minor by Collegium Vocale Gent (Belgium choir and orchestra).


OhmygoshIshouldn'thaveletthesongsplaywhileIbloggedohGOD(sorrybigguy)mysoulmysoulI'llexplainlater.


Anyway (ooooooo... arghnowCarmen'splayingit'ssodistractingbutsoaddicting- okay, I paused it- let me breathe awhile), it all sounded great when it started and all, the soprano was really nice, and two syllables later the counter-tenor started singing.


I was like, whoa. But he was holding back, restraining, not stealing the show.


Some time later the counter-tenor did a solo.


OhmygoshmysouljustmeltedIwatched
hisvoicecarrymyheartawayandcouldn't
bebotheredtoevenwavefeeblybyebyeI
couldn'treallybreathenormalthatvoice justfilledmyheadandIcouldn't bebotheredtothinkanymore


His name is Damien Guillon. Apparently he's a student of another really famous counter-tenor called Andreas Scholl.


The tenor? Oh, kick the tenor. He's definitely trained, but he's a pain. My mom says use a wire brush on him.


The baritone... well, not much really... I was expecting better, but his behaviour was quite cute, so hard to get annoyed.


Actually, conductor also very cute. Can see he was rather enjoying himself.


Soprano was sweet, very well done, I wish I could sing like her.


But the counter- tenor... Oh. My. Gosh. I should make it a criteria. My future boyfriends must all sing like that. You know what? Heck with that. Anyone have Damien's email? I'm going to propose.


No, no... don't try to readvise me. I know my chances are slim, but I have to try!


Okay, okay... I'll stop the hysterics momentarily.


While he was singing Agnus Dei, I was drunk AND feeling my heart being wrung.


After the movie, my mother then explained to me: The voice of a counter-tenor is typically also known as the voice of an angel for the following reasons:

1) The voice is androgynous. You can't really place a gender on it. (They are males that sing in falsetto. As such, they are also referred as sopranos or altos depending on their range)
2) As my mother describes, the voice is unearthly. It doesn't seem possible (if you only hear the voice and not see the singer) to credit a human with it. You can't imagine it. You have to hear it. And since such a beautiful sound can't come from hell, it has to come from heaven.
3) Nothing else, not soprano, nor alto, nor tenor, nor bass quite sends shivers down your spine like the counter-tenor.



On the way home, my mom let me listen to her mp3, on which she downloaded The Three Counter-Tenors (somewhat a spoof of The Three Tenors, but not quite). It really doesn't take a genius to figure out which is Andreas Scholl's voice. Listen out for the one that stops your heart.


It is now on my mp3.


Oh, guess who was seated behind me (my mother and I had separate seats, though she recognised the guy behind me and I didn't. I'm so lucky I didn't decide to turn around and spew poison). Spoilt my experience before the intermission. Seems I got off lucky today though.


* Reportedly, when he was young, he used to run up to the stage in the middle of the performance, and there have been other times when he'd just rattle on and on and on. Today he just burped from time to time. Still spoilt my experience, though.


Because of who he is, basically no one dares to do anything to him. But, at the risk of being whisked off to some ulu no-daylight prison (as well as understanding that I probably don't know a single thing about this matter), I've got to say this here: this guy needs somebody assigned to him to be his best friend, take him in hand and discipline as well as educate him socially. Granted, it's a bit late and very difficult to do so now, but better late then never, right? I'm sure his father will be so proud if it's successful. I mean, his father and grandfather (especially his grandfather, who's still a bit too worried about matters to let go of his reins just yet and honestly, I'd rather he keep a good hold for a while) have done much for everybody's sake, that's undeniable. Shouldn't they deserve a chance, a hope that this guy, their son and grandson respectively, can one day be more of a pleasure to people in the musical arena, can walk around with no more than 1-2 attendents and still be able to do his stuff, and really be living proof that anyone can be anything? I never used to think much about this guy (more so since I'm not a news person), but after seeing him for myself and obtaining more infomation thereafter, I'm thinking, this guy could become a living encyclopedia of music. He seems inclined this way. He's got a gift.


But until that happens, he will appear offensive during the afore mentioned situations, and there are going to be people everywhere who will gossip, talk behind backs, and have no intention whatsoever of doing anything except complain. As Singaporeans are inclined to do. *


My mother will kill me if she saw the above. Before anyone else does. As if it isn't obvious enough... this is enough to possibly ruin the rest of my future. Yes I'm exaggerating. I think.


Whatever. I'm stupid. I'm impulsive. So sue me.








Me enjoyed Sunday class outing and mahjong. Though I suspect somebody *ahem* stole all my fengshui. Me also enjoyed Tuesday outing with another SY. Only she's LSY. Lamsy? Me Vansy. I swear those pool balls have a mind of their own.

If knowledge is power, and with power comes responsibility, tell me again why we want knowledge.

* I know I shouldn't look back. But I do. I'm human. I regret. I recall. I regurgitate. I relive. And then I feel like banging my head on the wall. And then I feel absolutely useless, both for not being able to bring myself to do just that, and for even thinking that. What do you expect?


Come to think of it, I've been feeling useless for a while now. Why is it that I seem to be able to do everything until something really matters for me to do anything? Why is it that at times someone is really needed, I can't do a single thing? When I really try to do something, I mess it up big time.


How is it I can be so arrogant and feel so useless at the same time?


I feel like I'd do just about anything now for an audition of some sort. For the stage, or for some role on a tv show or something. I want to be someone else, even if that someone else doesn't exist. I don't care. Even if I just walk past a screen or if only the back of my head will ever be seen, I don't care. I need to get away from me.


The worst part of all of this is, I have no cause for complaint. I know I'm a pampered, privilaged child with everything laid before me. I know that full well.


It seems like I haven't done nuts for anyone who has done anything for me.


When did I become such a wallflower? *

There are many types of fun... Can you find them?

The seeds of my plot have been sown.


I have carefully tended them, watered them...


... Now, they are sprouting, and I await the fruits of my labour...



MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!...


By the way, remember the cute guy at the skating rink I mentioned?


Fishyfishyfishy... hook, line and sinker.


Then again, I've been wrong before. Hey, a girl can dream, right?


Dubious sign #1 (by the way, this one is really dubious, just so you know): Last week, after skating lessons, the dear boy concerned was slouched on the floor about to retire his skates. After speaking to my father on the phone, I decided to get up and skate a while more. Just as I got moving, I saw dear boy looking on after me. A short while later, he joined me for a bit more fun.


Dubious sign #2: Dear boy invited me to join him for a McDonald's drink, and paid for that as well as my lunch. In fact, he seemed pretty determined that he should pay.



He's not really a guy I'm head-over-heels for, but he's cute, and he's nice, and he's cute, and he's clean, and he's cute, and he's (was) innocent, and he's cute, and he's sweet, and above all, he's cute. So... yah.


Okayokayokay... basically he's a really nice guy, the rare breed that doesn't let ego rule the world, nor undermines himself, and can adapt socially. Doesn't strike out the fact that he's cute. The fact that he's so innocent gives me impression that he doesn't have an other half.


If you think I'd let go of such a fine catch, you're dead wrong. Especially since I had a limit of five lessons (not including the unexpected free lesson today, thanks to Coach's schedule mix-up), about two hours each, to reel the guy in. It seems I've almost succeeded. Just a little bit more!


Oh, Acsians? I met H. Singh with his wife, kids and dog at the skating rink today. Yes. That very scary PE teacher. Such a small world. His kids are so pretty!! Although I don't think pretty should be used for boys...



Ohohoh!! That dress I fell in love with? I wore it to paragon and hyatt with my mother yesterday. Simply regal. I love it!


My mother got me this Lucido-l hair wax thing. The type I got is Straight and Smooth, and according to the manufacturer's personal grading system, it's got a 1 star holding power and natural shine. It works quite well, my hair falls nicely after using it, and it feels nice, not sticky or oily. Lucido-l has many different types of hair waxes, each graded by holding power and shine and each is used for a different purpose. The one for bouncy curls has a five-star holding power (hmm). Tempted by the Pearly Shine one. The wax is glittery!

Assumption is not only dangerous, but deceptive and restrictive.

HURHURHURHURHURHUR
HURHURHURHURHURHUR.


I'm am now wasting my money on something useless, atrocious, detrimental... dangerous.


It is a deadly addiction, one from which I'm afraid I've not the strength nor the will to pull myself away.


It is as frightening as heroin, sweeter than nicotine, cooler than ice, more thrilling than ecstasy.




I am consuming... manga.


What? What did you think I was doing? And why is it I sense so much murderous intent emanating from my computer screen...


Anyway, my current manga craze includes the Saiyuki series (currently Reload), Tsubasa chronicles and XXXholic. As of yet, it seems that obtaining the two latter series simultaneously is pretty worth it, since they run parallel with, though individually and separately from, one another.


The two talking steamed buns (one in each series) are soooooooo worth the money nyahaha.


I'm also waiting for the second book of the Saiyuki prequel. My sis has the first book.


Two weeks off work in corrospondance to the June holidays for the kids. Pling.


Oh! I got a new dress! I saw it and fell in love with it. It's very simple, some may even say it resembles a sackcloth, but I love it anyway. Now I need an excuse to wear it out.


Should I try out for the New Face contest? Not that I'd ever qualify (have you seen my face lately?), but you all know how I adore doing stupid stuff. It's a little itch I like to scratch. To do all the pointless things. Like observing a caterpillar in the middle of skating lessons. Heh.


Oh! Oh! Oh! ... Milo-milk tastes good! Just get the amount of milk you want, heat up less than a third of it (or get some hot water such that water forms less than a third of the total amount, might actually work better), saturate it with milo powder, then pour in the rest of the milk. Personally, I just dumped in about half a packet of milo (slightly more, to be honest), put in minimal hot water to dissolve, then filled up the glass with cold milk. De-licious. Cool temperature was fine for me, but some of you may like it hot.


I guess that's no surprise. I mean, milo is made from cocoa too, right? Come on, try it. It's not at all gross, milo and milk really do taste good.


Yummy.