One word-- damn.
Young.. restless, fucked. Insert irksome adjectives. New Years' plans have spiraled downhill-- I ain't shit but vexed (to a tolerable extremity) at the mo'. Askew self-objectives is the disruption, matter ain't solved either and it's bound to sunrise in approx. 4 hours. A back-to-back New Years on the hills, sordid grass as carpet, and fighting off obstructions (trees) to view alleged-magical fireworks? No, thanks. What else has been anchoring me down: (i) the Blues-- 2nd, in a deteriorating motion, inferior tactics against set-pieces and a duo of inconsistent forwards. Fuckin' glorious.; (ii) men; past flames who don't get it, current streetside mini-crushes, "Goodnight" texts that come from the wrong people. I covet an expanding social circle. God, a little help here?; (iii) bitchin' shoes didn't arrive last afternoon-- and goddamn, I'll need swagger-clad kicks to help me survive New Years. Oh Mr. Postman, where art thou?; (iv) 5th of January-- 'nuff said. I am to mutate into a devout geek once more, whilst balancing religious posts on the Electric. I can do it. And an online fashion project. I love this. I love work! Ah-ha, multiple thanks to those who clicked Stuff at the sidebar (shameless promotion) and the permissible funding of a Miu Miu thingamajig when I jet off to Hong Kong on the 6th. Note: permissible. I'd give a limb to have a Bowler, but damn-- we'll see what happens. Oh great, fucking great-- die, earphone, die. Re-shuffling for New Years (old favorites, I don't scour fresh music no more): Tilly and The Wall, Blonde Redhead, Joe Satriani and Daft Punk collaborations.. oh damn, ending rants. Bladder overpowering!
[MUSIC] Incubus - Paper Shoes
"You can sit beside me when the world comes down."?
Heck..
Excuse me while I bawl over the right-hand side orgasmic pictorial image and the magnificent/irksome fact that I am a candidate for a excel-or-die examination in 2009. Wow. And-- damn, at that. Fuck all else-- I am here for whatever's left of me since the last time I left the Vox compose page, clicking "Save Post" after reaching a self-climax (satisfaction-- the clean kind) of the uploaded Yoann Gourcuff images. Yes. In Roman numbers it is: (i) wagoned to the two-winged retailer on Friday, tangled in a dependent relationship with a wicked flannel shirt I left on hold at Forever21-- whined, nagged, released inner Wild Child and scored it. Plastic-swapping inclusive.; (ii) survived interim halt to social life-- football on Boxing Day, dozing off on the leather three-seater, on the emaciated end of the 1300-13-1300 hotline, gaining 6 pounds over a McValue set, Super Sunday, squid-dancing after 2-1, pillow toss after 2-2.. dramatic stuff, si?; (iii) am waiting (anticipating!) for these bitchin' 4" Dior knock-offs to come via the postman. I hope it arrives before New Years-- because I intend to start off '09 lookin' like a pre-mature dominatrix. Come, shoes, come! [Zara is having a sale-- not helping self-recession. At all. Self-control, self-control..]; (iv) Chelsea 2 -2 Fulham-- it ain't no ease with Fulham's bitchin' defence line-up and we.. we are mere mortals at the mo' below the Kops. Fuck. How did that happen?! But I am relaxing-- another half-a-season to commence and I foresee a beast/striker in the transfer window.; (v) frolicking with 'dem girls to Pyramid in approx. 9 hours. Commute.. ugh.
[MUSIC] All American Rejects ft. the Pierces - Another Heart Calls
Christmas! Damn!
First off-- Christian folks! Merry Christmas. I hope (faux) Santa comes and rain down i-Pods/guns under thou (faux) Christmas trees. Hmm. I am going to attempt "kindness" today, please applaud along the way to show support. What's on for me: (i) I am broke, skinned, in a self-recession.. and hence is begging YOU! (Yes! You!) to check out [Stuff] at the sidebar to fund me.. um, (let's be honest here) New Year shoes. Bitchin' header, si? I am so creative. Slap me now.; (ii) Christmas! I'll be in the Curve perhaps, gawking down food materials without hints of stoppage, either that, or-- gawk down with elegance.. because I am in a bandage dress. Stomach architecture matters, si? Si. Bitchin' Christmas lights and faux-snow at the Curve equals to lotsaluvin'.; (iii) I re-discovered a part of me where I talk emotions, go deep down south into the heart's core (goddamn, t'was deep) when I conversed about The Opposite Sex Dilemma over a round of fags with a lad. I miss this. Dilemma was not solved.; (iv) le prom dress (I haven't washed it since last week..) smells like leftovers of a man's scent. Scandalous! (insert multiple yawns) Ugh.. and it smells good. Wait-- what? Washing! Washing!
[MUSIC] She & Him - This Is Not A Test
Truckloads of love, luck, and sex appeal to come forth on Boxing Day. Yes! Footie action!
Oh ho, nocturnals!
Wasted hours on the midnight interval anchored me into a caffeine-intoxicated lithe-- and, here I am, downing salvation in the Godsent form of a Daim cake. Gold, si? Please do not come close when I am within close radius with a cake/chocolate-covered thing/watching soccer because I mutate into a full-blown man/beast with a girl's voice. God must've been drunk pissed when he made me. What I did after waking up at approx. 4pm (she-sloth! she-sloth!): (i) re-organize, re-thought, re-discovered little luxuries in the wardrobe-- and I am in total accounts crisis. Sales blog to exist soon (help me fund New Year shoes, si, mates?).; (ii) ate at Bubba Gump Shrimp & Co. again-- goddamn, I died. I was uber stuffed, I died. Come and think of it-- that's all I do. Eat. Die. Eat. Die. Eat children. Die.; (iii) kick-arse Dior knockoffs have arrived via pre-order-- I am in need of a hundred to retrieve it. Snapshots will surface when I get me euphoric hands on it. Promise! For shoes, I don't lie.; (iv) I felt compelled to write out loud that.. Em and I-- we are complete fangirls of our working crushes. Em's work at Subang Parade, mine-- he works at _______. I won't disclose his location because I am a fangirl. Fangirls treat locations as sacred, si? You got me. I learned via Google. Ah-ha, and-- we're going to visit them on Tuesday (Gloria Jeans' Ladies Day! 50% off everything!); (v) Mogwai coming down. Cue high-pitched vocal chord emittance! But it's a school night. I ain't going..; (vi) Fabregas out for 4 months? What the fuck! Arsenal is doomed. Who the fuck is gon' excel in midfield? Fucking Denilson?! [I should be worried about Chelsea, I know.] Enough, enough. Cake awaits!
[MUSIC] Damiera - Fourfight
Tumblr crush! And I sometimes smile at people who attempts e-mocking. Sad (unless needed.)
Fuck, shit ain't gold.
First off-- I'd like to petition for a ban against Fellaini's afro for blocking defenders' view when marking him against corners/freekicks. Cunt. Back to the game-- first 15 minutes was an utter disaster; then it evolved into a too-fast quick touch football to a slow counter-attack mode (what the fuck-- who does slow counter-attack?!) and no Blue-clad man hit target when pulling a long shot. Damn, son! Chelsea sold back Shevchenko so I don't have people to blame now, goddamnit. Kidding. Wait-- who the fuck kids when making a serious match review? Focus! At approx. 34th minute, Captain Marvel decided to donate a studs-up challenge on Osman (hah-- Osman!), hence was emasculated with a red card. Yes. Stellar stuff tonight from Phil Dowd's pocket. Yellow card count: Chelsea 5 - 0 Everton. [Prior to the game, Sir Alex left Cristiano Ronaldo's week wage on his doorstep.] Alleged lethal duo Ze Drogz (pimp name) and Le Sulk worked no magic as long balls keep coming from Cech. Cech to Drogba. Damn, that's a couple kilometres right there, son. Midfield area was glorious enough-- Lampard with deft runs forward, kick-arse crosses from Bosingwa into the box and Mikel is also warming up to me as the holding midfielder (pre-John's sending off). I am just baffled at times how bad our strikers' finishing is. And we'd have to make do without Captain Marvel for West Brom, Fulham, and United on 11th Jan. Rejoice! Ricardo the titanium autobot could feature against West Brom on Boxing Day. Yes! Come on lads, we ain't no pussies in the land of real men! [points to the Kops]
[MUSIC] We Are The Physics - You Can Do Athletics, BTW
Chelsea-Juventus post to come. Includes January's possible signings (hormone-controlled post).
Ugh-- emotions.
I am in direct contact with self emotions approx. 58% of the time. People know this, people are used to this-- heck, I am used to this. And fucking micro-fissures as of late was a throwback to what I am not: a sap, a common loner, a Twilight fangirl.. kidding. Hold on! Twilight! I was wagoning back home, heard a poll on the radio: "What's The Best Movie Of 2008?" and texts sent it bombarded with Twilight and High School Musical 3. I feel ashamed, insulted and assaulted (in some metaphorical sense) that I listen to the same radio station as these.. Zac Efron lovers. The sole fact his name is mentioned in this blog makes me 34% less respectable to the world. Damn. Where was I? Yes. I don't know where I was.. or am. Since I am off the track, I'll self-organize and put it into number form (excuse): (i) was perusing compact discs (perhaps, attempting to take home Keane's..) and a child/dude asked, "What's Keane's genre like?" and I said.. "Uh, I ain't quite sure.. Keane's turned a bit Coldplay.." and it involved Paramore (him), At the Drive-In (me), Garbage (me). He asked for digits. I declined with a lie, "I am attached." (muka penuh konfiden) No, I did not mouth Bojan Krkic afterwards. Hmm perhaps in the subtlest tone. But dude!; (ii) scoured for menswear at the Topshop sale (and Charlie!)-- epic fail. Failure to see Charlie! After two back-to-back visits. Damn. I am such a girl..; (iii) tried to find Fleur de Lis via cab-- failure two. Fail, fail, fail. Ish.; (iv) oh, I lost to a Chinese in this contest. It said "minus the spam"-- I swear on The Epic Leather Jacket I didn't vote for me even once. I was Amira, and no one else. But it's good to know that I am loved (and le siblings upped me as well, wow), and friends can be counted on. I major-heart thou all. Papi was extra sweet to get me a Razr V9/i-Phone (which one!) though. Papi rules big time!; (v) I came as a she-thug last night for the costume party. Lock chain was involved. And another chain-_______. Signing off! Chelsea vs. Everton-- lads, do me proud. Joe Cole? Do me proud.
[MUSIC] the Bird and the Bee - Fucking Boyfriend (thanks, Em!)
Chelsea vs. Juventus post-- I promise! Upgraded elegance? Hmm little chance.
