Hello all!
I’m back from Malaysia, in case you didn’t know and hence didn’t miss me. But if you didn’t know I don’t blame you, because I realised that I didn’t tell anybody I was leaving except for Farah, because I so happened to have went out with her the day before my (now) ever-so spontaneous father said “hey, let’s go to malaysia tomorrow!” Maybe my mum planned it and told me but I was too much in my own world. When I came back I felt like a total douche for worrying about leaving my phone behind. Because NOBODY SMSED ME OK. Thanks. Haha, no I’m not THAT unloved i’ve got *checks phone* three. 2 being debate related (oh, joy.) And one being from a particular spectacle shop which cares ever so much for my eyesight it offered my contacts at a ‘cheap’-though-still-very-expensive price. Ok, why am I talking about my smses now? I don’t know, but i shall now tell you this : Cassandra Jean Joseph has got a crapbag for a phone she has now christened ‘Craphone’. Don’t laugh at that name because Tess Durbeyfield of the book ‘Tess of the D’urbervilles’ named her bastard child ‘Sorrow’ and it died. So hence, this is an indication to the world my beloved Craphone may soon end up in the toilet bowl in time to come. Whether intentional or unintentional remains to be seen.
Yes, I (apparently) sometimes don’t receive smses (on time or otherwise). Calls seem to evade the hideousness that is my phone. I send people cryptic codes unintentionally, and my phone never cease to annoy me with it’s constant restarting with all the time and dates going haywire. So since it has a mind of it’s own, it’s only befitting that I give it a name it can be proud of ala Craphone. But I guess i’ll miss it when i (probably) flush it down the toilet. All the times we spent together, me banging it so hard on the table (god that sounds wrong), seeing only the beautiful picture that is my wallpaper and nothing else. It’s a love hate relationship. Really, no one understands us.
So, on to more sane topics. Oh yes, my trip to malaysia. Malaysia, the land my aunt dubbed “lembu-land” (which means ‘cow- land’ in Malay). The highlight of the trip was our visit to some crystal shop. My mum wanted to get gifts there, and apparently the lady manning the stall was a fortune teller. So when it got to me (and i only gave her my birthdate) she told me that next year would be a bad year for all my fellow monkeys. I was hoping she would stop there, because frankly speaking I don’t want to believe in superstition, but when i hear something bad it’s hard for me to shake it off. Then she went on to tell me to stay away from metal. Assuming I was a traditional indian, she told me to stay away from gold too (and when i heard that I was all yaay-ness because i hate gold). Then she told me to stick to the colours green and white. And get this: brown is a bad colour for me. I was told to stay away from brown. Then she was staring at my skin. Just quietly staring. Then I thought “OHHOH. I know what you’re gonna sayyyy! Go on, say it. SAYYY IT!!!.” But no, she moved on to other things. HAHA. I’m brown and I should stay away from brown. Ok, I believe an MJ-like bleaching process is in order… NOT. I love my skin colour okay. It makes me stand out, makes me very BOOMZ.
AHAAAA funneh. She made me think I was going to die next year, i swear. Told me to be cautious of my health, who I mix with, when i go out, etc. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blowing her off as a nutcase. Some things which resonate for me i’ll keep. Other things that don’t resonate with me i’ll dispose of, ala the brown problem. I can stay away from brown all i want, but what good would it do if i’m still brown? I’m still gonna live my life regardless.
Oh yes, being the non-swimming idiot that i was, I’ve got SWIMMING POOL BLISTERS! Or abrasions, because the floor was rough. And since I couldn’t swim, a walked, and hoped and jumped till my toes now hurt. Next stop, LOSERVILLE.
And Shikin has joined Facebook! Little miss-I-don’t-care-facebook-sucks actually joined facebook! WOW. But seriously, Facebook is getting boring. It makes me feel bad about myself, somehow. Doesn’t really do me good, save for keeping in touch. Its like you see apparently perfect people all apparently happy with their lives what with all the camwhoring at interesting places with interesting faces. But when you get to know them on a personal level you’d realise it’s all a show. They are not as perfect as their pictures claim to be. Somehow I feel cheated that way. But ah well, that’s Facebook for you. Scary, but somewhat necessary.
ok then. Gotta go now. Mum has some ballet tickets. So i’ll be watching some ballet performance today. And WTH. There’s this South-african gospel choir coming down and all the expensive tickets are left! NOOO. 2 time grammy winners. It’s on the 22nd and 23rd. *sighs* Bye bye Sowerto concert.