Dainty.

It's Blonde Post Day, ladies and gentlemen. Be warned, this post is fueled completely by hormones.

Blonde No.1 - Eric Christian Olsen

I'm not usually that kind of person who giggles over some cute guy on TV. Because well, there are many cute, topless guys on TV (See : 90210, teen-drama-series-with-lots-of-sex-and-booze) but I think it was destiny that brought him to me. I don't watch NCIS : Los Angeles because I don't think it's a show that is worth investing my time in. But it so happens that I was bored (yeah, isn't that always the case when you meet cute guys on TV?) and I saw him on TV. I saw him and he instantly grabbed my attention with his flirty smile and floppy hair. And his sense of humour. And he was carrying a gun (don't I just love men with guns?). While wearing some shirt that was totally made to make him body look so damn yum. So, mind you. He wasn't naked or by any beach doing that Baywatch slow mo run. He was an agent, saving the world while flirting with women and his partner with a really hot shirt on and gun by his side. And also, being very funny.

But that's not it. After that episode, I watched a movie on Diva Universal and guess who was the hot nephew who's a total flirt, sells cars like he's giving you his love, hilarious and has floppy hair? And I was like, 'Oh my gosh, hot blonde guy. I don't know what's your name but unggg, so hot'. Of course I watched the movie til the very last bit when he finally wins his true love and eats popcorn with Parmesan cheese with her. Isn't he eccentric? Parmesan cheese with popcorn. Okay, so it's his character but whatever. Still, he portrayed his character so damn bloody well that I told myself to send some gooey cheesed popcorn to him.

OH MY GOSH. How can I leave out the most important detail? He has the most amazing facial hair. Facial hair that is so amazing that I could just imagine him rubbing his face full of that sexy stubbles on my bod - uhm, yeah. He has incredible facial hair.

LOOK AT THE FACIAL HAIR UNG.

So, gooey popcorn. Is that it, you might ask? Of course not! I watched The Thing just now and again, guess who is the hot assistant to some douchey professor? C'mon, it's not that hard to guess. Okay, it's the hot blonde guy who I still don't have a clue what his name is. And I was in the cinema just staring at him wearing hot clothes (Fur coat and lots of thick sweaters. What did you think I was talking about?) and decided that this is destiny's work in progress.

And then I learned of his name. Eric Christian Olsen. Ung.

DESTINY. He is mine, bitchez.

Blonde No.2 - Mark Foster

Okay, firstly. He is a dirty blonde. He is. He might look like he has brown hair but he is a dirtay blonde. And I meant it both ways. Because I always imagine him doing dirty things to me with his lips and facial hair. Uhm, what?

I've heard Foster The People's album and I didn't like it at first but it's getting to me now. Just like how you need time to brew tea, listening to Foster The People and MGMT needs some brewing time. And they sound pwoah in the album and they are pwoah-er live.

I love this video because they sound so fucking badass here and also, hate this video for having an abrupt end.

Mark Foster. Looks so good with wet t-shirts. And wet hair. He makes my ovaries do a little jump whenever I see him all soaked in sweat. He needs to get wet and sweaty all the fucking time. Because he is bringing happiness to the world. And when the world is happy, there is no war. Mark Foster in a sweat soaked t-shirt has the potential to stop wars. See where this is going? I'm advocating peace in an unconventional manner. And Mark Foster needs to be my poster boy. With sweaty t-shirts. And hot shades. To protect his eyes from all the sun that is making him sweat that much, duh.

So hot. Ung. I want to see Mark Foster live. With Foster The People too. What, do I look like those kind of fan who would pay to look at hot, sweaty frontmen and not give two fucks about the music? My motto is always music first, hot members second. Always.

But Mark Foster. *grabby hands*

Indeed, I will.

Quaint.

Spontaneity. It keeps life interesting and fun.

Like, when I decided to cut a fringe for myself last night.

You know when you reached that point when you have read enough of the Islamic wars and you just want some time out. And when blasting music while playing dress up in the room is not satisfying anymore, you pull out a pair of scissors and you start cutting off some hair.

Thus, I have documented this fantabulous event for everyone.

Picture No.1. The Before picture. Notice the face with no hair distracting my sight. Oh my, look at how much my skin has grown fairer. With the help of nothing, of course. My skin is such a magical thing.

Picture No.2. Wait, should I be giving a tutorial of the right way to chop off some hair? Onwards then! You must gather the fringe part of your hair that no longer resembles a fringe. You are adviced to use a comb to gather the fringe so you won't accidentally cut off sections of your hair that is not the fringe. Because cutting off sections of your hair that is not your fringe may result in regret, which you do not want to feel after your moments of spontaneity. That is a horrible emotion to feel.

Picture No.3. Use a scissors. And cut some hair off. The longer, the better. Look at me, posing with my hair that is not attached to my head like a trophy. It is your trophy. For being so darn awesome and having so much guts to cut your hair without a professional hairdresser by your side.

Picture No.4. The After picture. Look, ma! I has fringe to poke my eyes whenever the wind blows into mai face! Now imagine this picture with fireworks as the background. There were fireworks, because of Deepavali. See, even the people outside are proud of my achievement. I should've switched on my Christmas lights as an added element of yay!ness.

Now I have a fringe yay!

Stay dandy people!

Insight.

This happened when I played Pokemon FireRed on my phone. A corrupted file of the Pokemon FireRed. I didn't dare to go further. Because I'm a chicken for worrying that my phone might explode or something, okay? But it was pretty funny when I first saw it. Until people warned me that it might be filled with viruses. That's when I stopped laughing.

Also, how the fuck am I to study with a weather that is not meant to be wasted by studying? I am waking up everyday, worrying that November is getting closer. November, stay the fuck away from me please!

I want to type more but my fingers are moving awkwardly from the cold weather.

Special Occasion, y'all.

Dear Vanessa,

You know what day it is. I know what day it is. I think the Facebook community also knows what day it is. But I shall come back to that later. Because I'm sucha tease.

How long have we actually known each other? Two years? Jyeah, two years and it was all because of that Matt Bellamy singing 'Fucking Fucking Fucking Fucking Little Fucking Fucking Little Fucking Fucking Fucking Fuckers Jyeah' video. We should thank Muse for bringing us together after years of being in school but not quite knowing each other. Thank you, Muse for uniting fans from different computer chairs. Here's a piece of cheese for all the hard work.

I digress. So. Two years. It feels like I've known you since I was in diapers or something. Two years must've passed really slowly for some reason. Must be the sign of the Apocalypse. Oh, speaking of Apocalypse, Supernatural. Dean Winchester. Castiel. Sam Winchester. Yes? Yes? Yes. You made me love something that not only I can't grasp, but something that requires me to download from virtual space and use a pointer to feel the files. You made me love a show. I don't usually put all my effort in TV series. Music, yes. TV shows, not so much. Because shows need a lot of commitment and loyalty. Shows need you to sacrifice 8GB worth of Internet when I have a quota of 20GB. Shows require lots of patience and I don't have that much to spare. But yet, you got me so into the show that I actually dreamed of Dean Winchester trying to break into a barn house (I don't remember what I was doing but I bet I was a great help to Dean).

You've been an awesome buddy. A buddy of all sorts. A gig buddy. Remember that time when we ran a marathon to get money from the ATM and then realise that it's not a Sigur Ros CD? Good times, those are. An Internet buddy. Remember that time when you flood my inbox with emails of music and your obsession over Timothy Olyphant's sexy style of walking? Oh, that is all the time. *snorts* A listening buddy. Remember when I needed cheering up? And that time when you wanted to smack a certain someone who couldn't type proper English because it pisses you off? TV buddy. Remember the Royal Wedding? Remember how delectable Prince Harry was? And Rugby. All those time we were hanging onto our phones to text each other when one of us decides on Hot Man of The Match (Sonny Bill Williams is always in the top 3). And those tries. And blood. Music buddy. All those times when you expose me to new and good music. And your attempts to make me fall in deep love for folky music. And of course, a buddy buddy. Because we're buddies!

Here comes the cheesy part. Get it? Cheese? *points up* Cheesy? No? No? Okay.

All those years (2 years), we've gotten really close (really close). So close that we decide to share men (Misha Collins, James Franco, etc), music (Muse, Arctic Monkeys, etc) and stories (your supernatural stories, my bad breakup phase, etc). It's nice having a friend that I can talk to about anything and everything. And I love how you always give me something to anticipate by posting links on my FB wall or email me with stuff (I still have your OMG DAMON SALVATORE email in my inbox). You helped me in so many ways. Like, when I can't find download links. Or when I needed to tell scream to someone about how hot Joseph Gordon-Levitt is and how he needs to fly down here and hide in my cupboard with the littlest clothes possible. Or when I needed someone to criticise my essay writing skills. Or when I needed someone to give me a mature advice about everything. Or when I needed someone to talk about life and philosophies and religion and hot men and the Apocalypse.

So, you know what day it is. And I know what day it is.

Happy Birthday, dude. Happy 21st birthday. I shall be joining the twenties group with you next year. I will give you a physical gift when I am old enough to purchase things online with credit or debit cards. *hints* But for now, please accept this virtual gift. I wanted to make a mixtape for you but I'm guessing that whatever I've heard is something that you have already heard so it just beats the purpose of a mixtape. So, sorry for the lack of creativity for presenting you with an open letter. I sayang you a lot and many more years of friendship, I hope! Stay awesome forever and look our for hot men for the both of us, kays?

Here's Sonny Bill Williams looking hot with his tattooed arm and Dan Carter looking all bossy in a suit, being happy for your birthday. Oh, you guys. You need to come down here! You have loyal and horny fans waiting for both your asses!

Happy Birthday, Vanessa Lourdes Pereira. Hugs, kisses, and confetti yay!

With lots of love and mwah mwah,

Sue

Higher.

Sticking Post-Its with quotes and lyrics on my cupboard.

Because I needed to find a way to procrastinate.

Hill.

You will never find love until you mature and grow out of your ridiculous, childish self.

You might be enjoying the sensations of falling in love now but soon, you will wake up and you will run away from it. Because you have not dealt with your screwed up self and you will just continue to hurt the people who gets involved with you until you realise that you are the cause of the downfall of the relationships you have had (or tried to have).

Jealous? Perhaps I am, perhaps I'm not. But that doesn't make my words any less true.

Back.

2-in-1 goodness. Rainbow ice cream and potato chips.

It's tasty. The soft ice cream and the crispiness of the chips. Everyone should taste this at least once in their lives.

Okay. I can strike off the 'eat whatever I fucking want' point off the Shameless List.

Happy Monsoon Season everyone!

Ride.

Things that I have come to adore in the past few days (or weeks, whatever):-

1) RUG-fucking-BY

The greatest sport that has ever graced Astro Channel 816. The most badass sport that reminds me of the Romans being all gladiator and shit at each other and become all beer buddies after the game. LOVE IT. Also, because there are hot men running around in tights with blood on their sleeves. Such badasses. I like.

2) Teachers who are open about everything and anything

I asked my teachers today about their experience of delivering a baby/babies. They told me about how painful it is and how most women will end up with a stitched vagina because the doctor will slit the opening to ease the baby out. Okay. Firstly, someone is going to cut your vagina with a scissors or a scalpel so that a watermelon sized head can go through a hole the size of a lime. Secondly, stitched vagina. HOLY SHIT WHUT. *crosses legs tightly*

3) Younger guys

I have come to realise that younger guys are much hotter than guys my age. They wear hot clothes, have hot hair and hot hands, and use sexy smelling cologne. I was walking behind a younger guy in tuition and dude, he is hot. I need to find a hot younger guy. That won't be hard, judging by the fact that they are in abundance. In tuition, at least.

4) Pineapple jam tarts

The aunty who sells these sinful things has never tasted her own tarts because I've never seen her smiling. She needs some tarts shoved into her hole. Her mouth. I meant her mouth.

Things I don't adore:-

1) Stitched vagina

I am not going to have a baby. I am not going to force a basketball though a golf ball-sized hole. I AM NOT GOING TO MUTILATE MYSELF FOR A CRYING, POOPING MACHINE. Can someone tell me how is this legal? I love my vagina and I do not wish for it to be sliced vertically.

2) Tuesday

I want it to be a Friday like now because I want to watch rugby gahhhh! Doesn't anyone understand that it needs to be Friday now? Anyone?

Crickets.

There's one thing I truly miss when I was in secondary school.

Passing notes.

Exam times are usually the time when I unleash my sneaky fingers skill. I would write the question number on a paper, fold it into a minute sized origami and pass it to a friend, usually a smarter friend who is kind enough to share answers. I would have an equal share of scrunched up papers coming my way too and I was never stingy with my answers.

I remember that one time when everyone in my class were furiously passing notes to each other during exam. I think the new substitute teacher noticed our master plan and someone (I wish I knew who it was) threw a ball of empty paper into the air. The teacher approached the person and opened the paper and she was a little disappointed because it was empty. The whole class giggled. Then, another paper ball flew into the air. Then another. The next scene is so epic that it is forever seared in my memory. Everyone, and I mean everyone started throwing paper balls into the air. It was like a confetti party in class. The teacher was so shocked that she just stood fixed at her spot, glaring at everyone. And we were laughing, picking up the papers on the floor and continued throwing papers into the air.

That was one of the best days of my school life. For once, the class felt like a unit. We felt like we were in this together. The teacher can't possibly report all of us to the principal, that's why we were daring enough to do it. The teacher screamed for us to stop but we didn't. And she walked out of class to get another teacher's help to diffuse the excitement we had.

Ah, the good ol'days.

______

This is the next Amy Winehouse, ladies and gentlemen.

View.

I have stretch marks.

I was ashamed of them once upon a time. Like any insecure teenager, I wanted it to go away. It was so red and visible to everyone. It looked so ugly. Undesirable. I would go to my family doctor and ask him for stretch marks removal cream. I would religiously apply it on my stretch marks but it never went away.

I was looking at my body just now. Observing myself with a mirror. I took off my clothes and I stood in front of a mirror. Stretch marks, birth marks, moles, scars; I had all of them. I might've hated my body if it was the 16 year old me, staring back at me through the mirror. But I'm not 16 anymore. I'm not that teenager anymore.

I love how my body looks. I love all its imperfections. The moles on my body. The stretch marks on my thighs and butt. Scars from the sad and happy times. Birth marks that have been with me since my first intake of air. Uneven skin colour. The shape of my breasts. The knobby knees. My small butt. The shape of my hips. My barely-there-but-there tummy. The curve of my body. My forever messy hair. Dimples. Uneven eyes. My weird looking toes.

I am free. From my own judgements against myself.

Vent.

Today I punched a guy. For continuously talking dirty and giving suggestive looks.

Actually, I'm fine with these kind of things but he took it to the next fucking level today. It annoyed me and I felt harassed. So I punched him. But I hit his watch.

His fucking watch that is like, 95% metal. 5% glass, of course.

I ended up bruising my hand. Like, a really bad bruise. And he came out from the war, clean and unharmed. No blood gushing from any part of his body whatsoever. Really, just shittastic.

What fuckery is this, reality.

Repeat.

People die two different kinds of death; the physical one where the soul leaves the body and the emotional and mental one where memories of that person slowly decays in your mind.

Physical death, I can handle. It's the end of a person's sufferings and joyful experiences on Earth. The soul leaves the body and the body becomes an empty vessel, yadda, yadda.

It's the lost of memories that I hate the most. Death in mind does not apply to only people who have passed away but also to friends you stopped talking to due to circumstances and the people who came and left but were significant to you at that time.

It's not that you want to forget. You would try very hard to hold on to the memories. You can imagine the smell of the baked cookies and feel how hot the weather was on that day when you reminisce about a person. You can feel the emotions attached to that particular memory. You can remember every tiny details of that memory; how the chair was positioned, the clothes you were wearing, the colour of the sky, the sounds of laughter shared, the smiles, how frizzy your hair was, the feeling of the afternoon breeze on your skin. You would want the person to live forever in your mind.

Yet, slowly but surely, the memories will start to lose its brilliant colours. The memories you have will become duller as time goes by. First, you will start forgetting the minute details. Was there a bird in the tree? What was the colour of the pencil I borrowed her? Then, emotional attachment. You don't cry anymore when you see something that reminds yourself of your grandmother. You stopped feeling happy when you reminisce about the fun you had with your childhood friend. Then, the memories will just run in your mind like a film in the early 1900's; silent moving picture shows. Finally, you just forget. And the person dies. Again.

Maybe not again. Maybe you lost contact with a friend, then you found out that he suffered from lung cancer and he dies. So, he actually died three times. Just like that.

Everything dies. It is a cycle of life. People die, memories die.

Just like that.

Eyes.

You know what gets me flinching in pain all the time?

PpL Hu tYpe lyKe tIs~!!111 Ue no?

Holy shit, dude. I think I became a little less intelligent just by attempting to type like that. Typing that was hard for me because I have enough decency to type properly to ease the readers so it won't be a freaking Sudoku. And I hate Sudoku. So yeah, a double whammy.

I don't know about you guys but I have this certain perception for people who type like this. I'm not trying to stereotype but I think that people who type like this have a lower level of IQ. I mean, it mind boggles me to try to fathom why some people just can't seem to type in full. Can't spell? Can't see the letters on the keyboard? Not enough letters on the keyboard? What? Tell me and I will try to understand your predicaments when using a computer. I'm sure the people who use the Internet have some sort of education. A degree or a diploma from your nearby kindergarten (kindergartens are so bloody advanced nowadays) or at least, some exposure on how to preserve your social worth. I don't think saving time by typing like that is a pretty concrete reason. I'm fine with initialisms like 'BTW' and 'FYI' but to replace 'come' with 'cum' or 'you' with 'ue' (yeah, 'ue' because 'u' is just not creative enough, unlike 'lyke') is just guhhhh.

I don't mind simple grammatical mistakes because I'm not a Grammar Nazi and I do make grammar mistakes myself but c'mon, please learn how to differentiate 'they're', 'there' and 'their' and 'you're' and 'your' because the ability to distinguish homophones actually makes you look smarter. In reality, no one really knows if you're using the right word during a conversation because of the characteristics of homophones so you're a lucky bastard who can get away with it but in the cyber world where we type words to communicate, you're as good as fucked, my darling.

I don't know why I'm being so hard on people who type like this.

I just hate them? That's good enough right?

Another thing that annoys me like fuck. Using numbers to substitute words and syllables.

Dude : Hey ther!

Bimbo : Oh hey 2 ue 2!

Dude : Gr8 work wit ur presentation.

Bimbo : Thnks 4 the compliment. Nyway, c ue l8er!

Seriously, that was hard. I should actually applaud for these people who type (and think like this in their minds) on a daily basis. It is hard work, people. Their brains probably work in a different frequency compared to normal people.

Also, people who abuse their caps lock and shift key.

HaHa TiS iS sOO FuNN!

No. No, it's not. Capitalising alternate letters in a word is not fun. People use the caps lock for a reason. See, I use the caps lock when I'm trying to emphasise something. Something like THIS. And when I'm experiencing an emotion that requires me to use the caps lock key. For example, when I'm happy (HAHAHA! YAAYY); when I'm in shock (OMG WTF IS THAT) or when I just need to shout my thoughts out (DID YOU KNOW THAT TODAY IS SATURDAY? YAAAYY). You know what? Here's a challenge for you people who abuse the caps lock and shift key. I would like you to pronounce and say it exactly like how you type without looking like a complete ass. I fucking dare you.

And the best part is that behind this retard typing skill, there are actually intelligent people who choose to project themselves this way. Why? Why do you do that to me, intelligent people? I respect you for your brain superpowers but when I read the posts or messages you post, the inflated balloon of respect I have for you immediately shrinks or deflates. Just like that. Gone. Poof. Along with your attractiveness (I always find intelligent people to be sexually attractive like, oh turn me on by reciting the Newton's Law, you sexy hunk). You can go from a hot, sexy guy who knows about Greek mythology, UFOs and listens to Arcade Fire to just some guy by typing like that. Because it's a fucking turnoff okay?

I'm releasing that pretentious bitch vibe, aren't I?

Personally speaking, I detest this because it is just degrading. It degrades the standard of the English language, which is to me, a very beautiful and creative language. Like, why-noses-run-and-feet-smell creative. English is such a fun language and wordplay is never ending. But to watch people destroy the language like this and indirectly destroy the minds of readers is just..saddening. I respect the language, thus explaining why I always type the way I do. Sometimes I feel that English is deteriorating because we allow people to destroy the language like that. This has nothing to do with the freedom of self-expression or your individual right to type however you want because you can. It's a matter of preserving the integrity of the language. And to realise that fellow Internet users can actually understand this kind of crap upon their first reading is just scary.

And there it is, my first post for my Shameless List.