It's the time of the month again.
Let it stay that way.
(:


If George Orwell lived to witness the revolution of blogs, he would probably have died of a severe heart attack from the excessive use of dying metaphors and the many reasons we pretty up our sentences with complex words just to make them sound better and more technical.

My current hobby is reading up Straits Times, preferably political reports, and having a ball of a time with these articles, like we did in Lit Class. Hoh.


MJT: Eh, you are selected to go for a talk. You and Rashidah.
YT: OH, REALLY? *grins* What sort of talk?
MJT: Regarding your skirt length.
YT: Oh, what's the selection criteria?
MJT: *Ignores my question* You owe me Functions Summary.


Just because the set containing sluts is a subset of the set of those with lack of material down the thighs, they are not necessarily equal sets!


HAVING NOT EXERCISED FOR SO LONG, I PANT AFTER MY SECOND ROUND AROUND THE TRACK.
I hate interval trainings in the hot sun.


I should stop complaining.


After a tiring day at school, I hid behind the LT, basking in Rash's company. I just didn't feel like seeing anybody, not even those muggers studying their asses off as though tomorrow is the start of A Levels. Not even Harry Potter or the Prisoner of Azkaban.


Walking in the heavy rain, without any care in the world. Drip. Drip.


My weekly doses of you, Fraps and Cheesecakes.


And her face reminds me of that particular New Year. The good old times.