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.

Destiny.

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.



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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 him....an 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?"
"Book."


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!"
"Oh........."


*Awkward silence.*

"So I can get back to my book now?"
"Yeah.....................CD......"
"What?"
"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.

Awkward. Very awkward.

This is.......... awkward.

The first one is just a random fluke. But a second one? Duuuuuudddeeeeeeee.

I know its normal. People gets it all the time. I mean it happens even more when you are repressed. But twice? Its wrong.

I'm talking bout uuuhhhh..........sex dreams. I mean its all fine and dandy when the man in question is Clive Owen. Who looks like this:

But when the man in question is not a man but more of a man-child, who is years younger than you, who can be your younger brother....but thank God at least not a minor.....looks like this:

Yeah, it takes wrong to a whole new level. What the fuck am I doing sexing up a nerd in my sleep??!!! Talk about sexually repressed. And worst of that kid is someone I know.

I feel dirty all over. And guilty. Like I'm a nerd rapist.

A paedophile nerd rapist.

Chicago the Musical

You know how people have a list of things that they wanna do before they die? Yeah I have that:

1) Fly in a hot air balloon- checked.
2) Take over the world.
3) Bungee jump.
4) Shoot a feature length film.
5) Have hot kinky monkey sex with Clive Owen.
6) Bake cupcakes and NOT burn down the whole kitchen.
7) Watch a Broadway show ON Broadway.

So far, I only have the hot air balloon down. And then I found out that Chicago the Musical is coming over to my end of the world. As in the actual Broadway show....

Insanity kicked in. I need to watch it. I need to be there. I need to see Velma and Roxie and Billy in action. I need to check number 7 off the list...well at least part way seeing that I would watching it at KLCC Convention Centre and not on Broadway. Its good enough for now. One minor glitch though, the tixs are truly and really expensive. Like a fucking bitch. And you know what....I really wanna sit upfront, the one closest to the stage. The one that the tix cost RM350. I really want that.

So I got it.

Now my ass owe my dad RM350. But its okay. I'm checking off number 7, partway, off my list.

The show was good man. If you went in and expecting to see the glitzy number that Zeta Jones, Zellweger and Gere gave you in the movie then you would be disappointed. Coz the movie is better than the stage show. It was expected because in movies there are all about techniques and special effects and they can make something that is so minute into something spectacular, with stage show, its all in real time and there are no such things as close ups to exaggerate a detail.

Saying that, for the first 20mins into the show I was a bit disappointed because I have the movie mentality in my head but once I got over that, the show KICKED ASS. The songs, the moves, the actors and the guy that played Billy Flynn was pretty hot, hotter than Gere I have to say. Or maybe coz he was prancing about on stage wearing a classic suit. As they were dancing on stage, I found myself dancing along in my seat and the dude seating in the seat next to me gave me a look.

Hey dude, I paid RM350. I fucking dance on the seat if I want too, mmmkay?

The show was glitzy but it also had a noir-ish feel to it. Dark humour and the fact that the dancers were smoking as they danced around gave that really cool, 1920es feel to it. I am now convinced that I have been born in the wrong era. I should have been born in New York in the 1920es. Bitch, I would have rocked the whole flapper thing and do a mean Charleston. I also want to quit college and become a Broadway dancer but we all know that's not gonna happen now don't we?

I went alone on accounts that other people are not so much into musicals and don't want to get the expensive tix. I figure, if you can't sit up front, why bother go at all? Shows like these are all about the experience not the merchandise. Saying that, I bought a whole bag of CHICAGO souvenir costing RM90 containing a program book, a shirt and the CHICAGO original soundtrack. No more entertaining other drivers in traffic jams with my renditions of Kelly Clarkson in my car. Watch the Constantly Dramatic one pulling off a CHICAGO dance number in her car from now on....man its going to be a bitch to pull of dance numbers while simultaneously needing to keep your feet on the pedals. But I shall prevail!

Saying that, to any of my friends reading this post let me just warn you that all week next week I'm gonna be busting out random dance moves from the show at any given moment. That's right. Count yourself lucky. You get to see a free amateur CHICAGO show.