.. of being an Adult?
Having to pay your own Bills.
:Op
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Do You Remember...
Your childhood?
1. Transformers (Viva Optimus Prime!), Strawberry Shortcake, SilverHawks
2. Nik Eizwan :O)
3. Mima Land
4. Tiny Nutella Snack Packs
5. Egg tarts
6. Valencia orange juice
7. Being a mermaid. (I know someone else who should remember this. ;O>)
8. The Raintree Club
9. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go!
10. Books
I was going to say they don't make times like those anymore, but perhaps I'm simply too old now, too jaded. I've forgotten how to appreciate them.
1. Transformers (Viva Optimus Prime!), Strawberry Shortcake, SilverHawks
2. Nik Eizwan :O)
3. Mima Land
4. Tiny Nutella Snack Packs
5. Egg tarts
6. Valencia orange juice
7. Being a mermaid. (I know someone else who should remember this. ;O>)
8. The Raintree Club
9. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go!
10. Books
I was going to say they don't make times like those anymore, but perhaps I'm simply too old now, too jaded. I've forgotten how to appreciate them.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
QuarterAge Angst
Oh, this is so going to sound like a 15-year-old's whine, but...
When the hell will she effing leave me in peace?
I've had a SHIT week at work. The last week has been absolute hell with me walking into the office at 7.30am and leaving no sooner than 10pm with NO BREAKS in between, no not even lunch because I couldn't afford the fucking LUXURY, running around all day - and all night! - just trying to get the fucking job done, then getting home, only barely managing a shower and not even bothering with dinner because I could only just manage to stagger to bed. Come Friday, though, I said, "Fuck everything," and was out of there like a shot the minute the PA went du-du-DU! The weekend was finally here, tank de lawd!
After a hellish week doing shit for other people, is it too much to want the weekend for yourself?
Fuck, No.
But apparently, to my mother, it is. She wants me to spend the whole of Saturday doing fucking stupid things she wants to do for my house, so even my Saturday will have to be spent in the HickTown of Boredom where I already have to spend five fucking days a week. And she tells me this not 4 days before, when she planned it, no. She tells me half-an-hour before work ended, only half-an-hour before my eagerly-anticipated, dreamily planned weekend.
Fuck That.
It's my house, I don't need extra shit.
You know, I thought that I would have some semblance of peace once I moved out.
No Dice.
Shit, does that mean I'll actually have to get fucking married before she leaves me alone? I thought she would leave me alone once I moved out, so it looks like even if I were to fucking marry just so I can play the card, it still looks like
No Dice.
Fucking fucking fucking hell.
I wish I had a place closer to town so I didn't have to come fucking back here for the weekends just so I can come into town to feel civilized.
And when I expressed all this (albeit sans cussing), this is what I got:-
"If being with your boyfriend is more important than being with your family, when I'm ONLY doing things because I want the best for YOU, then go lah."
Oh, shut up the lot of you who are thinking to yourselves, "Ingrate."
1) You didn't have my shit week. It was very long, very harried and going home feeling like you were coated in grime.
2) You didn't have quiet weekend dreams of a quiet dinner (or two) and of just enjoying a bit of quality time with your 4-year-old brother upset at the fucking last minute.
3) You don't have to deal with my mother.
Sorry, babe, guilt trips don't work on me. You'd think that 26 years of dealing with me would have at least taught her that. I'm calling it in, I'm taking back my weekend for me. She can think and do whatever the fuck she wants. I certainly will. I deserve my weekends.
Fucking hell.
When the hell will she effing leave me in peace?
I've had a SHIT week at work. The last week has been absolute hell with me walking into the office at 7.30am and leaving no sooner than 10pm with NO BREAKS in between, no not even lunch because I couldn't afford the fucking LUXURY, running around all day - and all night! - just trying to get the fucking job done, then getting home, only barely managing a shower and not even bothering with dinner because I could only just manage to stagger to bed. Come Friday, though, I said, "Fuck everything," and was out of there like a shot the minute the PA went du-du-DU! The weekend was finally here, tank de lawd!
After a hellish week doing shit for other people, is it too much to want the weekend for yourself?
Fuck, No.
But apparently, to my mother, it is. She wants me to spend the whole of Saturday doing fucking stupid things she wants to do for my house, so even my Saturday will have to be spent in the HickTown of Boredom where I already have to spend five fucking days a week. And she tells me this not 4 days before, when she planned it, no. She tells me half-an-hour before work ended, only half-an-hour before my eagerly-anticipated, dreamily planned weekend.
Fuck That.
It's my house, I don't need extra shit.
You know, I thought that I would have some semblance of peace once I moved out.
No Dice.
Shit, does that mean I'll actually have to get fucking married before she leaves me alone? I thought she would leave me alone once I moved out, so it looks like even if I were to fucking marry just so I can play the card, it still looks like
No Dice.
Fucking fucking fucking hell.
I wish I had a place closer to town so I didn't have to come fucking back here for the weekends just so I can come into town to feel civilized.
And when I expressed all this (albeit sans cussing), this is what I got:-
"If being with your boyfriend is more important than being with your family, when I'm ONLY doing things because I want the best for YOU, then go lah."
Oh, shut up the lot of you who are thinking to yourselves, "Ingrate."
1) You didn't have my shit week. It was very long, very harried and going home feeling like you were coated in grime.
2) You didn't have quiet weekend dreams of a quiet dinner (or two) and of just enjoying a bit of quality time with your 4-year-old brother upset at the fucking last minute.
3) You don't have to deal with my mother.
Sorry, babe, guilt trips don't work on me. You'd think that 26 years of dealing with me would have at least taught her that. I'm calling it in, I'm taking back my weekend for me. She can think and do whatever the fuck she wants. I certainly will. I deserve my weekends.
Fucking hell.
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