Maybe this will be a normal entry for once. Hm well it was a busy day. So much so that I was practically dozing off while standing on the bus during the journey home. Psych was about the opium war and Tokugawa Japan and lanky Harry who is such a fan of hitting himself. Sounds so SM huh, but he's mentally retarded. It's kind of sad to see him bashing himself up, and almost made me want to help him. But too bad, I hate statistics and bio more. And when Gloria and I thought we were so smart to not witness Harry's latest action flick inspired move and left earlier, oh we were so wrong. SMRT just couldn't pity two poor, battered, weary souls and rumble on to Nus faster, but no, we had to squeeze onto the dirty, smelly, overcrowded bus that reeked of stale perfume, sweat, overdued deodorant and animal fur. I hate SMRT. I really do. I think we uni students ought to stand up for our rights and start a protest outside clementi stadium on the rising cost of bus fares. I mean look at the bloody 151! The timings are atrocious and the bus is so freakin small and there they are, wanting to increase bus fares! And to make our bus journeys a little sweeter, to decrease the cost for changing buses! For what I ask? To wait for barbarians? And then we bus commuters end up cabbing instead. Ah see it's all part of a plan. SMRT has taxi lines right. See see see. 

And to make things worse, Lit lecture today was not about mutilated body parts belonging to Elle and Lui, but also a projection of my mutilated self a few months from now. Oh how apt. I was so inspired to take Lit as a major and such a passionate, fresh, hopeful student gearing up to read, listen, analyse, paint, sing, sketch and photograph. And learning about film making, directing, dissecting scenes and characters, and the wonders of the camera. Yes, I can still do that (if the department takes me) but I'd have to endure hours of words and breath into a microphone I'd gladly stay 10 metres away. Why must TRoy breathe into the mike when she speaks? And sound so darn sophisticated like she's some snobbish French aristocrat puffing away on a cigar, dragging her ugly poodle around the hotshot boutiques selling fur and feathers? Ghastly combination but that's how exactly I'd have drawn how she looks like if I were to only hear her breaths. It sounds like she's sighing most of the time. Thank God her voice is pretty melodious; if she has this moany voice I'd bolt out of the door faster than if they start playing rihanna's umbrella. 

What is that song supposed to mean anyway?

under my umbrella ella ella ella eh eh eh

the representation of how one closes the umbrella? like how it gets smaller and everything. 

and i don't understand why singers like to assume another persona in a new album. WHY? does that mean if they dont, nobody will buy their album? oh like how we consumers are so retarded as to buy an album cos, oh because madonna is acting like china and marigold from the bluest eye in her new album! fishnet stockings and giant bosoms and cloth. 

if jason mraz were to ever prance around in a cowboy or astronaut suit, i'll run away to iceland.