I'M NOT JOBLESS.

I didn't want to be late for my first day at work, so I was at the office by 10am, which was too early, because everyone else came only after 11am.
So I swept, called several people, and finally got to doing REAL work after Cik Midah arrived. Cik Mamat came much later. My lunch was taken care off, HEH, and I suprisingly saw a REALLY CUTE GUY at the coffeeshop below the office. I mean, Joo Chiat isn't an ideal place to oogle, you know.

AND I ACCIDENTALLY DIALLED THE WRONG NUMBER (THINKING IT WAS MY UNCLE), AND STARTED BLABBING ON AND ON ABOUT INCHCAPE, SIGNING OFF, BULGARIANS, AND ALL THAT JARGON.
THE GUY WENT ALL "HUH? WHAT ARE U TALKING ABOUT?" ON ME, AND IT WAS HUMILIATING, ESPECIALLY WITH THE WHOLE OFFICE (OKAY, THERE'S ONLY THREE OTHER PEOPLE, BUT I'M EXCLUDING THAT PART OUT.) LAUGHING AT ME.

Anyhow, headed to PP after work to redeem my complimentary dinner meal in celebration of Haq's birthday.
Izad paid.
They ordered seafood, and that doesn't work for me, but I'm not complaining because it's free.
Free food tastes better.

Izad and I walked to TKSC, while the rest had their own form of transportation.

I WANT THAT CONTACT LENSES IN MYSTICAL BLACK!! THEY DIDNT HAVE MY DEGREE!
I AM BEYOND SAD.

After which they searched for a place to Karaoke, but the place was fully booked, and they can only start their session much later.
So I bid them farewell and off I go in my Mercedes, that was waiting for me at the taxi stand.
(IGNORE THE TAXI PART OKAY? I PAID FOR THAT BLOODY CAR. WITH HIS MONEY.)

THANKS FOR THE DINNER AND CAB FARE AND THE TOP-UP.

The taxi ride home was, depressing. I was all upset about the MOON INCIDENT and the CALL, and the driver, as if sensing how fed-up I was that the radio were playing fast-paced songs when I just want something soothing to my ears, instinctively switched on his CD compilation of sad and slow romantic songs. Then, I don't know. I cried.

I FUCKING CRIED.
THE FUCKING LOSER.
PATHETIC ME CRIED IN THE CAB.

Driver Are u OK? Do u need anything? Water? *Passes a box of tissues* Just pretend I'm not here.

The driver was kind and really respects my need for privacy. I feel like writing a letter to compliment his willingness to give his helping hand when I needed one. His small gestures touched me, and I am now indeed convinced that we humans are indeed compassionate creatures (to strangers only).

For the record, I hate men who can BUT control their bloody raging hormones and their filthy thoughts of infidelity. I HATE SCOUNDRELS.

Trample my pride if you will. I have back-up.