I wonder if they'll ever find out that she is faking it and that she is not real.

I wonder if they'll ever found out that she is just a little girl hurting in silence and trashing in her sleep.

I wonder if they'll ever find out that she despises the reflection in the mirror and the big smile that means nothing to anything.

I wonder if they'll ever find out that beneath it all are just delusions and endless conflicts.

I wonder if they'll ever find out what she really is.

I wonder how they will punish the pretender that she has always and will always be.

Of hypocrisies and TV...

Question:

If a guy compliments you on your selection of footwear does that mean that he wanna have sex with you?

As in: "Love your shoes, very sexy. Lets get it on?"

If anyone have the answer to this question, hit me up.

******************************

I had a conversation with a guy the other day. Nothing earth shattering. Nothing worth mentioning. He wasn't hot, wasn't bad looking. Unfortunately he wasn't all that interesting either. I need a certain level of intellectualism from the opposite sex to keep me interested and he wasn't displaying the level that I require. Hey everybody has a check list, Intellect for me rank waaaay Up There.

So today I was watching TV, as part of my ongoing eternal campaign of procrastinating from doing whatever shit that I'm supposed to do. As I was flipping through the channel I saw something that looked familiar to me. I saw that guy. Of whom I have spoken to. On TV. WTF?

Albeit that it was on sports channel and I was aware that he was saying something about sports but it was pretty...'insert-proper-adjective-here' to know that he is on TV. And he didn't mentioned that to me that his work actually involving him being on TV.......now that I know he is on TV, his level of HOTness just skyrocketed. Does this makes me shallow and superficial and hypocritical seeing that I say I value intellect intensely?

Of course. To all 3.

Do I care? Not really.

As far as I'm concerned, being on TV is a huge turn on to anyone....now where did I put his number?

God's Payback

Right. So fucking pissed off. Wanna kill little puppies. Wanna kill fuckers that cross the road as I'm driving my car. Wanna kill that asshole who look at me funny. Wanna hurt, inflict physical pain on people just because they say "Good Morning" to me.

Fuck that shit!! Do I look like I'm having a super great morning with cherry on top to you? Huh? Do I appreciate you're coming over and being happy while my hormones are so messed up I just wanna say something mean so that I can make you cry? So that I can make you feel as miserable as I am? But I'm not doing that because fucked up hormones or not situation is still under control. Now excuse me while I leave your side and sit at the other corner of the room. Coz if I stay here any longer, I will ended up bitch slapping that face of yours and that would be a shame coz on good days I do like you a lot and we are friends. But you need to stop talking right at this very moment coz you're pushing me over the edge.

Fucking fucking fucking hate PMS. I hate that so many people knows my name that so many need to say hello that so many need to fucking know how I am. I am pissed. I am miserable. I am not in the mood for small talk and no, I do not want to help you get a gift for your girlfriend. She's your girlfriend, not mine. Eat shit and die. My hormones are fucking with me that I either wanna yell at you or break down in tears. That I either wanna smack you so bad but at the same time I want you to hold me tight. And no it doesn't matter who you are either.

This is insane. I'm keeping it in. There is a saying I heard before. They say that at times God punish women coz apparently Eve committed the first sin. Well payback is a bitch and I'm paying for it now. Thanks a lot Eve, thanks for the crazy-ass bipolar mood swing on a monthly basis. We owe you BIG time.

God I hate that guy who's looking at me from across the room. Don't fucking smile at me. I don't fucking know you. I am not in the mood. Stop fucking smiling or I will go there and I will poke your eyeballs out with my pen. Stupid smiling fucker. Must maintain cool. Must not yell at people. Must not poke anybody in the eye with a pen. Good God, this guy in front of the class wearing the fugly shirt is a dickhead. What a fugly, fugly shirt. I wish I could kick his ass. Jason Bourne style, straight out the motherfucking window.

Arrggghhhh!!!!!! So angry, so angry for no reason. Fuck I hate PMS. I hate PMS. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. People are so happy. Laughing all the time. Smiling and talking shit and laughing and laughing and laughing. I hope you choke and die on your own laughter. At least you'll die happy and not miserable. Be thankful for that. I hate this. I want to go home. I want a sedative. Like a calming pill. Like a...a....what's the name of that calming pill? Or something better. Like chronic.

I need to hit something. I need to hold something. I need to go home and calm down. I need to chill. I need a pill. I need chronic. I need to get laid, oh great look at that. Now I'm horny. Somebody hurry up get that tranquilizer gun and shoot me with it already.

Having PMS sucks donkey ball.

I hate that each month, every frickin month until I hit mid-50ies, assuming of course if I can get to live that long, that there would be days usually spanning three to four days of which I will wake up and hating myself. From that self-hate will come anger and this anger will manifest itself into incomparable meanness. This then will automatically set a chain of events that by the end of that three or four days, I will most probably have no friends left and my family will most probably hate me so much that they will seriously consider disowning me. But I couldn't really give a rat's ass to the issue seeing that I am busy wallowing in self pity and angst ridden to the point that even Sylvia Plath and the army of emo kids around the world will be held in awe by me.

I fondly call these moments O' Shitty Days.

You know this as PMS.

We all collectively despise it.

If Jason Bourne were my husband...

Before you, dear non-existing blog reader say that this movie is old news and why the hell is the Constantly Dramatic one blogging about this? Let me clarify. Bourne Ultimatum hit Malaysian shores like on the Oct 11th or something. I'm not sure, so where I'm at, this ain't old news...its moderately-new semi-old kinda news. Cool? Moving on.

For those of you out there who have not watched this movie I say friggin drag your ass to the cinema already and watch it!! It is like the one of the coolest movies I ever watched. And its an action movie too. FYI, I hate action movies with a passion so deep, it scares the bejesus out of Hitler. Most actions movies are repetitive and empty- plot wise, that they insult my intelligence. Case and point: ALL VanDamme movies.

But not with the Bourne franchise. Finally a movie that has both brains and brawn. Bourne can speak 7 different languages, highly intelligent and move swiftly like a friggin ninja! Bourne can kick ass like no body's business. It's so cool, I could wet my pants. Plus, BU also has a pretty intelligent plot seeing that it does come from a bestselling novel triology. And have I mentioned the fight scenes?

Okay, yes I am aware that the fights were choreograph. Yes, I understand that those scenes are not done in a single take. Yes, I acknowledge that the art of editing and the magic of sound effects made all the fight sequences look and sounds so amazing. Yes, I comprehend that the usage of handheld cameras adds to the suspense. While I do know more than the average person regarding the matters of film making seeing that I am heading off to film school, I choose to overlook it coz, c'mon why wanna ruin a brilliant thing like the Bourne Ultimatum over some flimsy thing as the basics of film making? Fuck that.

The fights scenes were so brilliant that upon leaving the cinema I had the overwhelming urge to pick fights with someone, anyone, so long as I can kick their asses- Jason Bourne style. Uh huh. Seriously. But I repressed it because as it turns out I am not Jason Bourne, and if I do get into fights with anyone I will undoubtedly get my ass whooped. This, I have no doubt.

But wouldn't it be cool if say...I am married to Jason Bourne? Say that in some alternate universe we met, fell in love, have fantastic sex and then he ended up being my husband. Dude! I would pick fights with everyone coz I can. Coz my husband is a bad ass. Think about it:

I'm in line at the cinema and some asshole cut in front of me in the queue. I tap him on the shoulder and say that he should go to the back of the line but he told me to fuck off instead. So what do I do? I call my husband Jason Bourne and he comes and whoop that asshole back to last year! Yeah some kungfu ninja shit and all while looking insanely sleek. Then as the onlookers ooh and ahh, I'll go "Yeah, that's my husband Jason Bourne. He can really layeth the smacketh down on any one of you assholes. He hardcore."

I found a parking spot and as I was maneuvering my car into it, some jackass came out of nowhere and got into the spot before I did. WTF? I got out of my car, banged on his window and demanded that he move his damn car .He told me to fuck off and somehow managed to slip in the fact that anything with tits can't park cars for shit. So what do I do? I call my husband Jason Bourne and he comes and whoop that jackass back to last year! Yeah, he will brake Jackass's window and then proceed to grab him by the ears and drag his ass out of the car. Yes I said "grab him by the ears". Coz that's my husband Jason. He hardcore. Then he will do a roundhouse kick with a combination of jujitsu to beat the living crap out of Jackass. Finally when Jackass cannot take it anymore, Jason (my husband, in case you have somehow managed to forget that) would then proceed to flying kick him off the roof (lets assume that the parking lot was a rooftop parking lot). Then as the crows who live on the rooftop caw insanely at the spectacle they just witnessed I'll say "Yeah, that's my husband Jason Bourne. He flying kick people off the roof all the time. He hardcore."

When I finally begin my evil plan to TAKE OVER THE WORLD, I will use Jason as my awesome-death-defying-fighting-machine.

In the movie he was involved in a car crash and did not even get a small cut while the villain had a concussion or something. He leaped from one rooftop to another and not once did he stumble. Finally in the last scene, he jumped off a building- a 20 floor building, got shot in mid-air and plunge into the water- 20 floors down, mind you- and STILL survives. If that shit ain't hardcore, I dunno what is. I will collect his awesome-death-defying-fighting-machine DNA and harvest it so that I can raise an army of Jason Bourne clones. Bazookas, tanks, fighter jets and whatever combat weapons you have, have got nuthin on the Army of Jason Bourne Clones that I have created.

MWAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

I am an evil genius. Now bow down and stare in wonder.

Biatch.