God Thinks I'm Abel

It seems recently that the appropriate end to a night out is, inevitably, an immobile mass of girl wretching or foaming at the mouth from one too many alcoholic beverages. Whether it is stupidity or just inate compassion that compels me to succumb and help the useless cadaver,who knows. But I do anyway. I am not regretting it, heck I might just go to heaven for the number of times I've played Mother Teresa, but I am just tired of it.

When I say I'm sick of clubbing, it is most probably females who can't hold their alcohol that I'm tired of. More importantly, females I feel obliged to help due to two or three degrees of separation (ie friend of friend or friend of friend of friend etc). For petes sake girls, if you give no hoot about your livers (like me), at least take into consideration a matter that should be close to every girl's heart ; YOU LOOK DAMN UNGLAM OK! What's the point of tracing your eyeliner meticulously if sweat and reflex tearing is going to smudge it all up and make you look like a bloody ewok?!What's the point of getting your hair right and spritzing on your favourite eau de sexy beast if you're just going to have puke acting as a stylant and matting your hair into repulsive knots and end up looking like those crazed aunties who insist on jaywalking even though your Learner's car is evidently speeding in their direction (which leads me on to another matter altogether...but I digress). GOD PEOPLE.GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER.

This is not the first time drunk idiots have happened and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last. I wish I wasn't so frickin... nice sometimes. I wish I could just place those heels they've managed to kick off in their drunken stupor on their laps and just leave them there to choke on their own regurgitation. Too bad I was brought up better.It's just too bad.

Another lesson learnt is, you are never safe from drunk people. They are everywhere, and they will find you.They will sniff you out and hunt you down like the determined alcohol chugging hounddogs they are.You don't have to be somewhere happening like Zouk or MOS, you can just look to your own backyard,like Cocco Latte. Yes, I had a thing there tonight, just for fun, and I had it all for free but when it came to leaving time, perfectly timed, the drunk girl was there waiting. Not really waiting but you know, totally concussed.

It's times like these you wish you had a reason to make a run for it,like maybe a giant version of your ex chinese tuition teacher chasing you with your sec1-4 shou che syllabus whilst wielding a metal ruler in the other hand.


Another thing I'm very disgruntled with is my fat. My fat fat fat fat lard fat. You get the picture. It also doesn't help I've been eating Oreo Cheesecake like it's going to go out of fashion soon. Peckish; Oreo Cheesecake...and recently, I've picked up on B-3s which are basically chocolate brownie chunks mixed in with cheesecake. The fat I've lost in 3 weeks was gained by the manipulative,sinister cooperation of forces between the oreo cheesecakes and the B3s. I wish I could just staple my mouth shut together or just remove my hypothalamus and maybe that will curb my diet. I'm just a few more slices away from clapping my hands (and probably arms soon) with glee shouting 'Her-Cu-Lees Her- Cu- Lees!' Nutty Professor style. Better yet, when I jump for joy, I might get stuck. Even sitting on the floor typing this, I see my rolls of fat spilling over each other they have become almost separate entities. My cousin has called her belly fat Ronda which is a good name I feel for something as disgusting as a waistband of jiggling cellulite that seems to move before you do ;it has a life of its own I tell you.

The pains of puberty are never ending. I wish I stayed my gawky 12 year old self. Nevermind I looked plain fug, it's the body that matters to the immature, hormonally challeged male species prowling the streets of Singapore right.