Monday, June 30, 2008

Destiny...or something like it

In the days of yore, dreams were considered prophetic. A way in which the universe is communicating with us through our subconscious. In ancient Egypt dreaming was considered a supernatural communication or a means of divine intervention, whose message could be unravelled by those with certain powers. The Red Indians have always regarded dreams with great respect. They saw dreams as a means of obtaining sacred wisdom and guidance for life. Dreams would lead us to the right path and some even believe that dreams would show us, our destiny. If we let it.

Destiny came to me in a dream. Yes I have other dreams before, notably that really fucked up dream in which I was borderline paedophilic but that, that was nothing but my subconscious messing around with me. This other dream on the other hand, is destiny. I'm sure of it. I shall heed the wisdom of ancient Egypt and the legacy of the Red Indians and believe that this dream is my destiny.

Last night I dreamt that I was in cafe sipping coffee on my own. I sat there alone watching people coming and going away. None of them seem familiar to me. Until a man came and pulled a chair and sat down next to me. He lit my cigarette. (Apparently, I'm a smoker) He told me how beautiful I am. Than he complimented on my shoes. I look down and realise that I was wearing this gloriously beautiful pink shoes. And when I look at him again, I realise that I do recognize him.
Its Big, from Sex and the City. And bitches, I am Carrie Bradshaw.

Okay so the only thing that dream proved is that I should stop watching SATC back episodes on DVD before going to sleep. Also I need to get a life. But in that dream, I also found my destiny. My destiny is to own a pair of glorious beautiful pink shoes. It came to me in a SATC dream. SATC dream.

Pink shoes + SATC = Destiny.

Hours online have brought me to my des-ti-ny:

Jimmy Choos Lumiere Patent Sandal.

It's glorious.

This is it. The pink shoes. Can you hear that? No, hush...listen. It's calling my name. Its saying "Come CD, come and get me. We belong together. You and I. You complete me" .......Such gentle declaration of love that I have never heard before. I must have it. I must. Nothing stands in between me and my des-ti-ny.

Of course it has to be Jimmy Choos. Like I can afford it. Bastard is Malaysian and yet I cannot afford his stuff. But there you go. The pink shoes of my destiny. So Ladies and Gay Men alike, any ideas where to get the knock off version of that? I need them. It is my destiny and I intend to fulfill it. Which is just bullshit talk of I-want-to-go-shopping-so-I-come-up-with-some-melodramatic-crap-like this. Either way, pink shoes.


Friday, June 27, 2008

Priorities. I haz dem.

If any of you have been following this blog for a while, you would notice that I only blog on 3 days of the week: Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Don't ask me why those days, it just seems like a good idea. Of course you would also notice that I missed a post yesterday and I have perfectly good reason for that:

Clive Owen.

See, awesome reason. No one can dispute that....But let me take it from the top.

I do not know those good people who are working in HBO Asia, but whoever they are; I hope one day I would get to cross paths with them and tell them how awesome they are. How everyday for the rest of my life I will always think of them in my prayers, how one day 1000 cupcakes with the words "Thank You" on it, in strawberry icing (no less) would appear on their doorsteps magically, how I only wish the best for them and their families.
Yes, people-working-in-HBO Asia: The Constantly Dramatic One hearts you.

On Tuesday night, those people who work in HBO Asia has graciously played two Clive Owen movies back to back.

Back to back. Inside Man and then Children of Men.


Shit's better than pr0n man.

Much, much better. I thought I was coming down with a fever. Turned the AC on, but that didn't help one bit. Nope, not at all....

Let's talk about Children of Men. See in that movie, they want us to believe that its the year 2027 and the world have become this incredibly horrible place. Women can no longer give birth and the world's population is dying because well, there's no more children. But really, casting Clive in it kinda completely defeats the whole purpose of the movie.
It makes no sense. How could the world be horrible and desolated when Clive's there looking ruggedly and supremely hot. And how could women NOT get pregnant when Clive's around? I mean, that shit makes no sense. Its like saying gravity doesn't exists.

This bitch is sooo lucky that she has a baby or I would have layeth the smacketh down on her sorry ass.

And who says the world is horrible just cause there are no children in it. Seriously? Stop creating drama when there is none. Who the hell wrote the script for this movie anyways? I mean.......I don't want to be the bitch who says it but y'all know my view on children. And plus this also means that I can have kinky monkey sex with Clive without protection and I won't get pregnant?.........Huhu sign me up bitches! Sounds like a good time to me. *wink wink nudge nudge*

Of course the whole Clive Owen movie marathon ended round 3am on Thursday. I would have blogged then.....but I forgotten cause I was busy finishing a whole box of chocolate by myself and then still need to have a cold shower cause the chocolates didn't work... already sleepy.

So I'm sorry that I abandon you guys for Clive, but c'mon....girl gotta have her priorities. Riiiiittttteeeeeee..........

Friday, June 20, 2008

Does my brown skin offend you?

Right, so I have been bitching about this for weeks to everyone that would listen. Now its time to put fingers to keyboard and blog about it.

There's this mentality in Malaysia, the whole of Asia come to think about it that fair is good. Fair is beautiful. Everything white is exquisite and any other thing that isn't white is fug. Okay, maybe not in those terms. I watch TV, I flip through magazines and newspapers and I cannot recall a moment in time when I was not bombarded by some kind or other beauty product that promises "Fair and radiant skin in 30 days" or "Whiter and fairer skin, he would never let go of you now" or some kind of bullshit with that kind of premises. A promise of whiter skin in a bottle for non-white Asian women to feel better about themselves. I never really care about it.

Until now.

My moisturiser is finishing up. I give it another 2 weeks and I would need to buy a new one. I am not happy with the current one so I figure I finish that off and get a new product. So I walked into a store that prides themselves on facial regime and skin beautification. A salesgirl came up to me and asked me what I wanted. This is what I said:

"I'm looking something for my face. I have combination skin. Slightly oily T-zone, not that oily that the oiliness could be captured in pictures but oily enough for my nose to be all shiny under the light. I have dry patches on my cheek but not so bad but what I'm concerned most is the open pores, the size of the back of needles along my cheekbones. Any recommendations?"

People, it does not get more specific than that.

From that what would you tell me? Perhaps you would recommend the pore control regime, or maybe products specifically for combination skin. That bitch however feels that its a brilliant idea to introduce me to their skin whitening range.


"Why are you showing me this?"
"Oh this is our skin whitening range. It can make your skin fairer."
"What wrong with my skin?"
"It's not fair."

.............................Years from now, this is the moment when that bitch would look back and wished that she would have given me to one of the other salesgirls.

"Oh, my skin is not fair? That's a problem now? I do not recall having brown skin is ever a ...."problem". I remember perfectly well that when I came in, I highlighted that I have combination skin and open pores. At no point did I mentioned that I hate the colour my skin and would like you to suggest your skin whitening products to me. What is the logic in recommending skin whitening products to someone who has combination skin and open pores?"

I said all this without ever raising my voice. I said it all in a low, strict voice and I did not brake eye contact. My mother does this all the time when she's angry with me. The woman never yells, but she speaks in a quietly fierce way that seems to scare people. Over the years I have come to mimic it and achieved similar results. At this point of course, that bitch looked scared.

She didn't managed to answer anything. I'm sorry that I picked on her though. I bet that just what she's trained to do. I'm sorry that she had to deal with me. Now no offence to anyone who is into this whole whitening thing. I mean, go crazy. I on the other hand thinks its offensive.

Why would I want to put some magical cream on my face so that my skin would be whiter? That I would be beautiful once I become white? And isn't that shit weird when only your face is white when the rest of your skin - your neck, arms, legs would still be brown? What the fuck is that? Why is that when I walk into a skin care store; I am being told my brown skin is a flaw. Why the fuck should I use that cream and become white? No disrespect whatsoever to white people of course. I mean no offence no anyone. I am just perplexed.

What is so wrong with coloured skin?

It's not just in Malaysia, in India poor girls are buying face creams that promises them that their skin would be fairer. But some of the chemicals are untested and dangerous. They ended up with disfigured faces and some even went blind. All just because some time ago a group or marketing fucks dictated that fair is good. Fair is beautiful therefore we all must. What ever happen to pride for your skin colour? Why is that we Asians want to become fairer? I went to Thailand and I see the same shit in their shopping marts. Singapore and Indonesia going through the same shit as well. Why do Asian people wants to have fairer skin? What's wrong with our skin now? Colours make the world a more beautiful place. And yes, that includes our skin too.

I never would have guessed that when I was born bout 2 decades ago, my brown skin would be a flaw and make me look fugly. Well.... tough. I rather be fugly than change the colour of my skin.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Sleep with the fishes

I have been getting weird phone calls out of late. I think its mostly wrong numbers but really, its getting to me.

I loathe random perverted messages. Truly. Like this one time it was around 2 in the morning and I was watching CSI: Las Vegas Season 2 on DVD. Thinking that its all kinds of wrong to be attracted to Grissom when the phone rang. I answered and there was heavy breathing on the other end. And then somebody yells out like he got an orgasm.


There will always be perverts who would just be pressing some numbers in the early mornings. If you're at the other end, hanging up and moving on with life is the best bet. And you know what else pisses me off? People calling you and then asking you who you are. What the fuck is that? You call me, you worthless piece of shit. Not the other way around. You don't ask who I am, you let me know who you are. I don't ask. Asshole.

But as of today I have been getting these phone calls. I dunno who the hell it is from but the same number kept on calling. Its kinda freaky. Everytime I answers, the line would be incredibly blurry and I can barely makes out a word. It goes like this:

"Hi. Why are you awake?"

"Who's this?"

"Its Jason."

"I dunno any Jason."

"But I know you."

Then the fucker hangs up. He done this 3 fucking times. You would ask why I kept on answering. That's a fair question and this is your answer: because I am the dumbass that did not save that number in my phone therefore I do not recognize it until I answer it. Now I do. And I'm pissed. So in a total bitch move I'm giving you people the number:


Call him and tell him to fuck off and die. Call him and say that you wanna chop of his balls and feed it to the goats. Call him and say that the Constantly Dramatic One sends a message, she says "Tonight Jason, you will sleep with the fishes". Or maybe write it on the wall of a bus stop "For a good time, call this number." Whatever you want to do with it, do it. I'm fed-up with his stupid late nights calls.

As if I don't have other issue to deal with.

Now go forth and do my biddings.....Would be much better if you can chop off his balls and feed it to the goats. I would be eternally grateful.

Monday, June 16, 2008

The one that was supposed to be published on June 6th.....

The following post was supposed to be published on Friday, June 6th. But before I managed to do that I was hit with some kind of early-twenties-life-crisis, which I rather not talk about but have left me felling depressed for the whole of last week.

Issues. I haz dem.

In any event, things are looking up now...somewhat. I have scheduled a meeting with the college therapist because you know, calling
Befrienders help line and crying to strangers in the middle of the night has lost its appeal. And totally raking up the phone bill. The college therapist however, is confidential and free. Keyword being "free". Even in turmoil, the Constantly Dramatic One is a cheapskate.

Consider the following post a time machine if you must, let it take it back to last last Friday, to the time when I haven't had any fucking issues. Well not as much anyways.

And oh- I'm back, bitches.

Friday, June 6th 2008

Its like this whole week I have been getting screwed by members of the opposite sex. And not in ways that I desire to be screwed either. Ahem. *buffs nails*

So let's recap: On Monday, I the Constantly Dramatic One had a very awkward situation involving
a dude whom I faked numbered. Situation have not really improve since than seeing that I still act like I'm constipated around him. On Wednesday, I decided to go window shopping on my own and ended up being followed around by six men. The fear I felt might have cut my lifespan short by seven years. And then yesterday, I got screwed yet again.... by another member of the opposite sex.

And no, still not in the way I desired to be screwed.

I was sitting on my own, minding my own business.....studying for a quiz that's coming on next Monday when out of sudden someone begun massaging my shoulders. Okay massaging is an exaggeration. More like two squeeze at the shoulders but still.....

"You look so tense CD, and its only the second week."

I turned around and it was that kid that I had a dream about. You know....
that dream. I freaked like crazy. I was trying to avoid his touch that I turned around so quickly; I almost fell of the chair. I was already half away to the floor when I grabbed onto the table which simultaneously save my face from having a direct contact with the floor and humiliating myself. If I would have slipped off my chair, I would have forever branded myself as a dumbass within the hallways of my college.

"Are you okay? Why are you freaking out?"
"I'm not freaking out. Who says I'm freaking out?"
"You face almost hit the floor."
"Human error."
"Riiiiggghhht.....that chair taken up?"

Before I could say anything, the son of a bitch sat his ass down right next to me. There are 3 other empty chairs at the table. But nooooooooo, he just had to sit next to me. Son of a bitch.

"Why are you sitting so near to me?"
"I'm not sitting near to you."
"Yes you are."

Okay truth be told he wasn't sitting that near. He was like an arm's length away but considering the nature of the dream that I had about arm's length is like.....vulgar. Its awkward okay. I don't want him to sit next to me!! So I ignore him and pretended to be soooo into reading my textbook.

"What are you reading?"

Then his face appeared out of nowhere next to mine. So fucking close. I almost died.

"What are you reading?"
"Dude, why the hell are you so nosy?"
"Why are you being so weird?"
"I'm PMSing. My hormones are all over the place!"

*Awkward silence.*

"So I can get back to my book now?"
"What's PMS?"

...................................OMG!!!!!!! I can't believe I had a sex dream about him!!!!!! What kind of dumbass doesn't know what a PMS is?!! I mean honest to God?! Seriously. No wonder I feel awkward, its like I raped him in my sleep. A child, a mere child. "What's PMS?". Good god.

Talk about sexually repressed. Me. Not him. Coz you know.....
He probably still thinks that babies get delivered by storks.

Saturday, June 07, 2008

Juvenile? Moi?

I am being a juvenile little bitch by refusing to talk to my sister and her husband.

The reason? My sister and I was supposed to go out for lunch on Thursday but she cancelled at the last minute coz the husband got sick. Completely valid reason.

But I'm still not gonna talk to her. Coz I'm a juvenile little bitch.

I am ashamed of myself.

But being ashamed of myself is not gonna stop me from sulking.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

"Creepy" is not "romantic"

You know what's creepy? Being stalked. Being stalked is creepy as fuck.

A message to little boys out there:

If you like a girl, come up and talk to her. Do not under any circumstances gather your posse of five and then follow her around a mall. Now in your collective deluded minds, I'm sure stalking a girl as she drools over shoes that she can never afford is romantic. But no it is not. It is the epitome of creepiness. You bitches completely ruin her shoe shopping mojo and it takes a lot to ruin that.

Now you see if you, little boy, is checking a girl out and the girl in question notices that- this is the point where you start flirting. Smiling and looking friendly would go a long way. What don't go a long way is that you are a fucking pussy that rather gather five of your fucking friends and follow her around than actually talking to her. Being followed around by 6 unknown men is not a turn on. In case you did not get that, let the Constantly Dramatic One rephrase:

Being scared is not a turn on.

You stupid piece of shit.

I'm gona go lie down now coz I'm getting a heartburn from the experience.

Monday, June 02, 2008

The past WILL haunt you....and kick you in the balls.

This is the second week of the new sem and I already know which exact word to use to describe it:


Seriously. Its a short sem, only 7 weeks of classes. The maximum number of subjects that we can take is 3, minimum 2. I'm taking 2 coz I'm lazy. End of story.

Anyways today I went into one of my classes and I spotted a friend. And I was like "Oh hey Mia! I didn't know you were in this class." Before Mia could said anything some dude went "I'm in this class too." And then it turns out it was him.
You know, the guy whom I fake numbered last time.


He stared at me and I swear there was hate in his eyes. And the only thing I could think of is "Ohmygod! WTF?! What is he doing here? Shit! What's his name? Oh man, this is a bad time to forget his name. Ohmygod, he gonna whoop my ass!" Then before I could say anything he said "Its Jeff*. Coz I know you've forgotten."


I smiled weakly. I sat down. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. Then out of the blue he came and sat next to me.

"Oh did you went for class last week? I heard he gave out assignments. Can I have it?"
"Uhhhh...the lecturer's a woman. Mrs.J? She didn't give out any assignments last week......."
"No our other class. We're taking the same subjects this term."


"Yeah. I noticed you but you didn't noticed me."

At the point my inner monologue went: Okaaaaaaaay.......creepy stalker bastard. OMG!!! Where the fuck is my pepper spray?!! Where the fuck is my pepper spray?!! My bag is too big!! I cannot find it. Never mind, I will kick him in the balls.

"Uhhhh, I don't have my notebook for that subject. So I can't remember the exact thesis.......but I can email it to you."
"Oh that's cool. Here lemme write my email for you. I would ask for yours but you probably give me a fake one."

Pwned. Again.

At that point Cheesecakeerian came into the room so I told him that I wanna go sit next to her. Than I kinda half run, half-trying-to-walk-like-I'm-cool towards Cheesecakeerian. That shit was so fucked up. What the hell? I was caught unprepared okay. And he is such a he-bitch.

You know I was being kind when I faked numbered him. Yes it was kindness. I could tell him the truth but that would hurt his feeling. I mean which would he prefer: being fake-numbered or "I'm sorry. I don't want to go out with you coz you're not Clive Owen"? I mean, honestly. That shit is kindness. Be thankful you little he-bitch. Wanna give me attitude and all.....

Stupid He-bitch.

But damn. This is awkward. I'm gonna be in 8 classes with him- for 6 weeks. This sucks donkey balls. Its like Tweety all over again. Tweety is stupid but this one is a little he-bitch with attitude......Hmmmm, come to think of it... I rather take the little he-bitch with attitude than Tweety any day of the week. Yeah...... silver lining in everything.

Still gonna be awkward though.