Sleepless in JB

So right now I am sitting in bed with my laptop watching Harry Potter on Channel 5.

The professor and a long hair dude are trying to kill the Mouse Man. Wait, now there's a full moon and the professor is turning into a very skinny (badly animated) werewolf. Next, a black dog pounce on the wolf. The dog lost and is writhing around. Alright, commercial break.

Gawd I'm so bored!

I'm in JB right now. It is my 'play good daughter' weekend which roughly translates to showing my face around the house and eating what is being fed to me. Now that I am fed and everyone's gone to bed, I'm bored.

I called The Man to tell him I'm bored. He said he is getting ready to go clubbing (he da happening one!) and ask me to go play mahjong or something. I called Phillip but no answer. I forgot he is hosting a party at his place tonight. I texted The Queen next but no reply also. I think she mentioned she is going Italy to buy shoes this weekend. ARGHH! Everyone has a life but me!!!

I do have something to do actually. I've got a presentation deck to prepare but I just cannot muster enough discipline to start working on it. The file is lying right there at my feet. Zzz. I am flying to India next Monday to do the presentation. On the scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the most, I think I am at about 1 in terms of being excited about this trip. The Frou is going for an entire week and she is terribly, terribly unprepared.

The Toe taught me a presentation trick. She say if I suspect my participants are losing me, I should test whether they are still listening by slipping in "pappadom" midsentence. E.g. ".....and that's why it is important for you to check your liabilities in every pappadom you enter into. You don't want a third party to be able to use pappadom against you in court."

Once The Toe and I start talking cock like this, we can't stop. We came up with other ways of incorporating ‘pappadom’ like "Who moved my pappadom?" or "Oh pappadom! It's hot in here." My favourite line from her is, "Am I just hungry or are those your pappadoms?"

We are so terribly, terribly lame.

Anyway, Harry Potter just ended. The professor resigned because he anyhow turn into werewolf so cannot be around the kids. Poor thing.

Zzz..

I was cheated on The Conveyer Belt

Have you ever wondered why some women are blessed with ginormous bouncy boobies while others looks like they got mosquito bites for breasts?

Here is the story, lesser known to most.

That particular night was unusually balmy and humid. In the Factory of Life, the Conveyor Belt whirls gently as it carries millions of to-be-born female human beings to the last stage of their manufacturing.

The Big Guy was sitting astride an uncomfortable tall chair. He was holding a ladle in each hand. He mechanically plunges each ladle into a giant tub of Boobies Material. As each woman passes underneath him on The Conveyor Belt, he pours the content of each ladle onto their chest area. Voila! Breasts!

The Big Guy was hard at work that night. He has about 12,785,660,050 boobies to dish out that day and he is down to his last couple hundreds. If he wants to make it in time for happy hour, he has to work those ladles double time. He was already dreaming of creamy lager and deep fried battered chicken wings.

Meanwhile, The Queen passes underneath him on The Conveyor Belt. Still thinking about beer and chicken wings, he dishes out an extra large dosage of Boobies Materials.

Plop. Plop. Voila! DD cup!

Next, Empress Bao came rolling by.

Plop. Plop. Voila! D Cup.

Maro was next.

Plop. Plop. Voila! C Cup.

The factory clock chimes 7pm. “Crap,” he muttered to himself. “I am going to be late for happy hour.”

The door open and Peter stroll in with a clipboard in hand. He was doing his last round to tally off figures before closing for the day.

The Big Guy: Oi, Peter. What time we going drinking ar?
Peter: See how lor. Maybe in half hour? Eh, have they reported to you what happened at the Gonads Section?

As they chatted away, The Big Guy got distracted.

Peter: Then the machines crashed and balls were rolling all over the place ….

Now passing under The Conveyor Belt is Dailytoe – waiting to be blessed with beautiful female breasts.

The Big Guy: Oh me! No way! And then how?
Peter: And then they tried to collect the balls by using a golf bugee but there were just too many….

Alas, preoccupied in the conversation, The Big Guy forgot to dip his ladles in the tub and as the pair of ladles was held poised and motionless in mid-air, two tiny drops of leftover Boobs Material dripped from the handles of the ladles onto the female form below.

Tooit. Tooit. Oops. A cup.

Next on The Conveyor Belt, comes The Frou.

Peter: By the way, have you heard about the new kid in town?
The Big Guy: Who? Who?
Peter: The name very hard to pronounce lar. "Mo" something...

The Big Guy, completely engrossed, again forgot to dip his ladles. Instead, as he ponders over Peter's question, he subconsciously twirled the ladles in pensive thinking. Two tiny drops of Boobs Material flew off the twirling ladles and landed on the female form below.

Tooooit. Tooooit. GAAAAAKS! A Minus cup!!!

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

Fast forward, 30 years later:

The Man: Eh, I think you better stay away from using Mopiko cream near your chest area.
Frou: Why ar?
The Man: Because your ‘mosquito bite swelling’ might go down.
(Frou stabs The Man repeatedly with her fork)

Who's that cute frog over that lilypad?

I found some old love letters today.

From not just one ex-boyfriend, but three. And all from the 1990s which is the era where people still write love letters - by hand. Such a rarity that my mum has deemed it necessary to store them away in a shoebox for me.

Love letters are by nature supposed to make you feel all loved-up and mushy. On the contrary, I was cringing like mad after re-reading them and here’s why:

Dearest Honey,

Hey, I’m sorry if I spoilt your last week but hey, I hope you like the gift because I like it and you will too. And I went out with Karen to get it so you see, don’t jump to any conclusions. Just understand I’m like that. So live with it. Hehe.

(I take that back. I'm not sure if this is even a love letter. My week was probably spoilt by his alleged philandering with this so-called Karen and any guy who says “hey” (twice) in a letter to his girlfriend indicates he's kind of a jerk anyway. And the “Hehe” at the end looks like it was thrown in for good measure only. From what I remembered of him, he was kinda obnoxious…. which is of course why I went out with him in the first place. Gaaks.)

The second one is slightly more romantic in a morose kinda way….

To the only one,

By the time you are reading this, I’m the way to the airport with a broken heart. Let me tell you something, the best thing I got so far from this university is YOU and you’re the type of girl, I should not let you go. I’m waiting for you to tell me we are still going out when I come back. I will wait forever.

(Yes, he’s a totally sweet dude but no, he didn't wait that long. He had a new gf the next semester.)

And the third one gets even more dramatic:

My love,

Before you do anything to ignore this letter, please read its content no matter how bad you must hate me. I really wish that you won’t end this because of my mistake and if you’ll just give me a try, I’ll prove myself worthy of you. You mean the world to me and I will show you.

(He showed me alright. He and his friends stalked me three years after.)

Three very different men. Three very different relationships. Three very different phases in life. One commonality: an irresolute princess.

They say the life of a princess involves a lot of amphibian kissing. With every frog she kisses, she gets that much closer to finding her proverbial prince.

Funny how it feels like I have done my fair share of running around the pond yet I am still roughly about 1,457,864 frogs away from The One.

Don't ali baba me!

Usually at the mention of “Ali baba”, most people will think of the fictional Arab woodcutter who outwitted 40 thieves. The more savvy of us would think of the online trading marketplace. Some might even think of Turkish kebabs and shishas - for no other reasons other than because the word sounds middle eastern!

The very same clever friend who taught me how to “Zzz” also taught me many new and wonderful usage of the word “Ali baba”. I feel obliged to promote these newfangled definitions here so that I can henceforth use this phrase freely in my blog without confused readers wondering why I keep referring to some Arab man.

Short of giving verbose explanations, here are some concise examples on how to use “ali baba” in conversations:

1. “She got me an ali baba no-brand wallet as birthday present! Grr!”
Means, “crappy”

2. “You don’t know how to climb this route? Just ali baba it lar!”
Means, “anyhow do”.

3. “He didn’t even turn up for our date! He ali baba-ed me!”
Means, “play you over”

4. “You don’t know how to spell hippopotamus? Why you so ali baba?”
Means, “dumb”.

5. “My cut wound has dried up. Now it looks ali baba”
Means, “gross”.

6. “My hairdresser is in a bad mood today. Now my hair looks ali baba”
Means, “ugliness personified”.

7. Eeks! Ali baba!
Means, a general exclaim of shock and disgust.

Kapish? Easy to use? Hehe…

The intermediate use of “ali-baba” involves doing a special “Open Sesame” song and dance (in Mandarin) simultaneously but I’ll save that for a later post….

Who let the fat chick out??

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a girl with very long hair.

Her name is Rapunzel, so-named after the flower which ultimately caused her imprisonment in a high tower by a witch. You see, when Rapunzel was still a fetus, her mother saw a bunch of beautiful purple rapunzel blossom in the witch’s garden and in her irrational pregnancy mood-swing, ordered her husband to go steal it for her. When Mr. Obedient got caught (as we all expect him to be), the deal with the witch is, if he gives up his newborn, he may live. He is as much Mr Kiasi (i.e. Mr. Scared To Die) as he is Mr. Obedient so he agreed.

In order to preserve her maidenly sensibilities, the witch deem it best for Rapunzel to grow up in a high tower, away from the lecherous eyes of the kingdom’s male subjects. To facilitate her visits, the witch had Rapunzel grow her hair very long so that it can function as a ladder for her to climb up and down the tower. Whenever the witch comes round, she will shout. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair” and Rapunzel will throw her golden braid out of the only window in the tower and the witch will ascend and descend on it accordingly. Many years of this same routine has resulted in Rapunzel having very strong hair and a very numbed scalp. Kids don’t try this at home.

What is life like locked in a tower? “Boring” is a huge understatement. Rapunzel’s only comfort is in food, which she unreservedly indulges in without reproach. Oh, did I forget to mention that our dear Rapunzel is not as….err… slim as you think most lead fairytale girls are? How else do you think she can anchor herself down when the witch pulls on her hair?!

So little fat Rapunzel grow up into a young fat lady. Luckily she has a pretty decent face so when she peeks out of the only window in her tower, she still gives the illusion of a pretty girl stuck in a tower. And that is how the horny prince, who rode by one beautiful moonlit night, was deceived.

He circled the tower a couple days and after watching how the witch gets into the tower, he too shouted one day, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair” and the bimbo that she is, obeyed.

Have you ever gotten so drunk that you wake up the next day screaming at the person next to you and in that moment, realized that that human beings, as a general, looks so much better far away and in the moonlight? Well, that is the same epiphany that hit our prince when he reached the top of the tower and saw what she looks like below the neck. The word “regret” cannot begin to describe the way he felt.

Rapunzel, on the other hand, is ecstatic to find a handsome prince instead of a winkled old hag as usual. All these years of “containing her maidenly sensibilities” has reached its apex, and at that moment, it ruptured. The poor boy. She dragged him, kicking and screaming, into her hood and kept him prisoner and playmate…. (oh, I can’t go on describing more.)

On his third day of imprisonment, the broken and wretched prince realized that our dear Rapunzel is as dense as she is fat, so he hatched a brilliant plan.

Prince: How about we elope from this tower lor?
Rapunzel: Also can! But how? My hair only allows one person to be let off at any one time?
Prince: Why don’t we cut it off and I will hold it while your abseil down the tower. After that, I will tie it around this chair and abseil down myself. Sounds good?
Rapunzel: Oh! So clever!

So the prince chop off Rapunzel’s lovely golden braid and he held it out of the window for Rapunzel. At an opportune time when fat Rapunzel is climbing down on it, the prince release his grip and …….

………… this is my answer to Ah Toi’s query on who is the fat chick who fell off whilst climbing Rapunzel’s hair i.e. the Ipoh version of the story.

Inertia

In physics, 'inertia' refers to the body's tendency to resist acceleration. That means, the body is incline to remain at rest or stay in existing straight line motion, until an external force acts on it and forces it to change.

Ahh, we are such creatures of habits. Lackadaisically dragging our feet along this dull & somniferous existence with the tenacity & enthusiasm of watching paint dry. Until someone or something comes along to kick us on our asses;
asking us to move faster,
move better,
move on.

Alert: "Bigger, better things out there!"

Move on. The clock is ticking.
Go on. There's no point in waiting.

A gormless morning

Barely awake, one of us flicked the channel to Nickelodeon.

A grey monster with 'diabolical hands' and known as 'The Strangler' is busy terrorising Sponge Bob. At appropriate heinous moments, The Strangler's 'diabolical hands' will shake and emit some sort of radioactive evil waves to signify its readiness to strike.

Sponge Bob's very dumb best friend, Patrick, came bouncing through the door just as The Strangler (in disguise) is about to squeeze the life out of Mr. Square Pants from behind. In an attempt to diffuse the awkward situation, The Strangler pointed at Patrick and accuses him of being the famed Strangler instead.

Patrick's eyes welled up with foolish tears as he wonders whether, unbeknownst to himself, he IS really the Strangler. Believing it to be true, he took off in guilt, to turn himself in. In his hurry, he burst through the closed door, leaving his starfish shaped imprint behind.

A gormless but righteous fool.

Back in the three dimensional world, two other gormless fools have rolled off their beds, laughing. Dailytoe and I finally manage to pick ourselves off the floor, turn off the idiot box and went off in search of pancakes.

Patrick: "I know a lot about head injuries...belieeeve me!"

华语 Cool!

The last time I asked my sister to read a headline from a Chinese newspaper, she went, "Err, Zhi er Long Por...something something er Shui...Zhai something?"

Yes, there was a flood in Kuala Lumpur, if you can figure that out.

It never cease to amaze me that a person can spend 10 years studying a language but remain totally inept in it. I noticed the same thing amongst some of my Singapore-educated friends who took Chinese as a second language. Despite studying it throughout their primary and secondary education, they still can't string together a proper sentence in Chinese.

Which is why, it brings me great joy to listen to these people struggle with the language. When provoked, they can come up with lines so funny, it will bring even Confucius to tears (and shame).

Let me share an example with you.

During my hospitalisation stint, the room I occupied at Mount Elizabeth overlooks a garden. This garden is exclusive for in-house patients to go take breather in the open air. All day long, I can see patients (dressed in our standard green gown) being wheeled around by their family/friends around the garden.

One particular afternoon, Dailytoe came to visit me and both of us are staring blankly out of the window. I pointed out to Dailytoe that the garden resembles a scene out of a typical Channel 8 TV drama where "important" conversation takes place - especially between lovers, when one of them get into an accident or became critically ill.

Putting on her Channel 8 Director hat, Dailytoe immediately came up with a script and acted it out - in her half-past-six Mandarin, no less.

The Scene: A girl with long rebonded hair, fair complexion and flat face (think Fann Wong) is being wheeled around by her long-term boyfriend who live in the next HDB block from her.

Girl: "Wo you hua yao gen ni shuo" (Translation: "I've got something to tell you")
Boy: "Shen me?" ("What?")
Girl: "Wo men (dramatic pause) fen shou ba" ("Let's break up")
Boy: (Alarmed) "Wei shen me?" ("Why??")
Girl: "Ying wei wo de yan jing (dramatic pause again)...huai le" ("Because my eyes... are spoilt")

*Gasp*

I immediately stop her to ask what does she mean by her eyes are 'spoilt'. Apparently, she meant to say that the girl has gone blind.

Undeterred by me rolling around with laughter, Dailytoe continued with her dramatic Channel 8 story:

Girl: "Ke si, dang wo bi shang yan jing, wo hai huai kan dao ni" ("But whenever I close my eyes, I can still see you")
Boy: "Jiang ni man man kan ba" ("Take your time to see then")

I laughed so hard I nearly pulled my intravenous drip off.

Dailytoe, ni de 华语 Cool! I will definitely nominate you for the next Star Awards.....

My milkshake

At the climb gym this morning, Dailytoe was telling us that she ate like a pig during her date the night before.

Apparently, she wolfed down every morsel of her three course dinner PLUS half of her date’s main course, washed down by three glasses of wine.

“Am I a pig?” she asked.

I oinked.

That was not all, she said. On her way home, she stopped by her friendly neighborhood’s MacDonald drive-through to get a helping of French fries and a chocolate milkshake.

Upon hearing the magical word, I immediately felt the urge bubbling up my throat.

“I was still hungry! The milkshake is damn good…,” she begins

[I took a big gulp of air to stop the words from tumbling out]

“You know McD stopped the milkshake for a while right? Now they brought it back,” she continues.

[Breathe, frou, breathe]

She went on, “Wah, the milkshake is damn sweet….”

Ok, that’s it. I have to sing it out:

“MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD, DAMN RIGHT IT’S BETTER THAN YOURS!

(Yes Dailytoe, I can teach you but I have to charge.....)

I AM NOT MISS MARE!!!!!!!!

.........but thanks for the sms-es, anyhow.

Magic + two lonely souls + alcohol = ..............

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful horse. Sorry, make that a mare. A pure white mare.

Miss Mare is extremely gorgeous and because she is gorgeous, she is lonely. Yes my friends, it is often lonely at the top of your game. All the other stallions just wants to get it on with her because of her looks but after that, they ditch her to be with the other not-so-good-looking-but-more-useful mares and fillies. Not to say that Miss Mare herself is useless but she has far better things to do than sit around, graze grass, conceive ponies and grow fat.

Miss Mare often wander into the woods with a bottle of gin, just chilling by herself. Sometimes she stops to climb a tree (cliff also can), gallop across a field of dandelions or waddle across a gentle flowing river. Nothing too strenuous, merely to keep in shape.

In her solitude, Miss Mare sometimes wonder whether she will ever meet the perfect mate. She often pass by other small furry (and useless) animals such as squirrels and beavers and watch them play in pairs. But often these small furry (and useless) animals get a bit too serious in their play and club each other to death and feast off the other’s decaying flesh. So Miss Mare is not that envious after all.

One day, while Miss Mare is walking in the woods, she saw a strange animal.

This animal is fully grown and looks beefy, rock hard and grey. What is most striking about ‘him’ (yes, his gender was rather obvious from where she stood) is that he has a gorgeous…..long….big… curving.... horn (what were you thinking??) on his face.

“What the HECK are you?”, neighed Miss Mare.

“Which rock have you been under? I’m a frigging rhinoceros.”, replied the unimpressed Mr. Rhino.

I forgot to mention that Miss Mare is rather ignorant of worldly affairs. She is after all beautiful. The ugly ones should be smarter, she thinks, because they need it more. God is fair.

To cut long story short, Miss Mare and Mr. Rhino became fast friends. Mr. Rhino is pretty much a vagabond and he finds the other female rhinoceros too large for his taste. He likes having this pretty, slim and rather bimbotic mare hanging around him. Miss Mare, on the other hand, finds him very interesting and funny. Furthermore, he is muscular and strong and she feels… protected around him. Bless her.

The inevitable happened, of course, one particularly drunken night.

The next morning, the two dare not look at each other in the eye.

“Do we need to talk about this?”, Mr. Rhino ask nervously.

“Well, what do normal animals do under such circumstances?”, Miss Mare ask in return.

The two of them didn’t know. Also normal animals don’t usually do things like smoke weed, get drunk and ravage one another. So they decided to just see what happens.

Many moons passed. The leaves grew green and began to fall. The snow fell too but the sun rises to melt the icy white blanket.

Come summer again, Miss Mare had a gigantic stomachache. She wonders if it is something she ate, monthly cramps or even UTI because she has been working out quite a bit lately while intoxicated. Alas, it was neither of the three. She went into the bush to have a dump but instead, a strange creature emerged from her.

She stared at it. And she screamed.

Mr. Rhino, who happened to be nearby (like in most drama series, the boy is never too far away), came trotting over (is it trot?). He too, was shocked.

“What the frig is that?”, he ask Miss Mare.

It turns out that their particularly drunken (and stoned) affair has resulted in a lovechild. But what a strange little creature it is! It has the beautiful form of a slender white horse but....

“It’s a… it’s a…”, they started in unison.

And the little creature suddenly raise an absolutely amazing curvish greyish horns just above its head.

“…….a UNICORN!!!”

Magically conceived between a mare and a rhinoceros - this creature HAD to be magical because there is NO way, under normal circumstances, those two species would have been able to procreate.

And that is also my answer to Dailytoe’s question on how unicorns came about......

:)

Night come smell*

I for you sing song.
Night come smell,
I for you ding dong.

Ahhhh ahh ahhhh......

I for you sing song,
I for you ding dong

- Sebastian Tan
"Broadway Beng Returns" (I laughed until cried. Go catch it!)

*Please translate to Mandarin

Pet Peeves

Do you think that you are a single, fabulous and absolutely wicked individual who is extremely curious, up for anything and only slightly confused about your life and what to do with it?

Do you think that you have been very brave in leaving the comfort of your hometown to live on your own so that you can discover what you are capable of only to find out that it is definitely not in doing your own laundry or whipping up a decent meal?

Do you drag your arse out of the house every weekend nights so that you can blow hard earned money on overpriced greygoose martinis and airkiss with various crowds of people you barely know just because it's expected of you young hip things?

Do you don the latest workout gears (spandex, dri-fit, heatgear or whatever) to run like a hamster in a swanky gym facing the busiest road in the city while sipping evian from a limited edition millenia bottle?

Do you complain about petrol prices, smoke cigarettes to the butt and religiously get a stamp for every Starbucks coffee you purchase?

Do you get so sick of your regimented lifestyle that you sometimes throw caution to the wind and run off for a short weekend getaway trip to neighbouring islands to get boozed and sexed up and then fake a sickie on Mondays to recover from a sunburn or hangover?

Do you imagine having witty and intelligent conversations with a good looking member of the opposite sex, completely believes that you are capable of doing so and inevitably end up a blabbering idiot when faced with the real thing?

Do you watch entire sagas of flirting, dating , wedding, cheating, crying and divorcing and then smile politely when others ask when is your turn?

Do you have your grubby hands on your mobile phone at all times - from the toilet to the treadmill - and uses it to communicate all your emotions, arrange dates, break dates, flirt with strangers as well as vote for your favourite Singapore idol?

Do you vote for your favourite Singapore idol and refuse to admit it?

Do you go to the supermarket and only buy enough groceries to last you for just two meals because you cannot think ahead of what you would like to eat for the rest of the week… and end up going back every other day?

Do you get sick sometimes and lay in bed alone wheezing and coughing all night long, wondering if you died there and then, how long does it take till someone discover your corpse?

Do you sometimes while brushing your teeth, look up into the mirror and suddenly realised that you don't recognised that fatso staring back at you?

Do you sometimes get so bored on Sunday nights that you start binging on mooncakes while rambling mindless 'do you?' questions in your blog hoping to sound vaguely profound?

I don't. Do you?

Missing: MOJO

It appears to be just another ordinary morning. I woke up late as usual and stumbled into the bathroom to wash off the grime from running around all night in my dreams. I proceeded to obediently brush my molars and put on my face. As I look up at the mirror, I realised something has gone terribly wrong. I let out a blood curling shriek..... AIYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeks!!!

It's GONE! Missing. Ran away. AWOL. If it is sophiscated enough, migrated. Or if it is desperate and broke enough, eloped.

My mojo.

And I stared into the bare face in the mirror, slightly crumpled from too much sleep and bleeding eyes. My face no longer beams with the glimmer and glow of a woman in the primal stage of her 20-something life. Overnight (or maybe nights, weeks, months), my mojo has decided to abandon its useless owner in search of a better being to nurture.

I should have noticed the early signs of its unhappiness. My reluctance to stay out past 11pm ("It's schoolnight lar!"), my TV-dinners for one, my dwindling alcohol tolerance, my laziness in holding conversations with new people ("To find out more about me, please log on to http://www/....."), my inboxs of unanswered sms and the road rages to rush home to my taiwanese drama series.

Well, it doesn't help that I am a fag hag and if I have to be dragged to clubs, it is more likely to be a gay one owing to my group of absolutely fabulous 'girlfriends' (yes, I'm talking about you three DUTS aunties). However I suspect I have overstayed my welcome at such joints. The diva emcee at last weekend's drag show announced that girls with big boobs shouldn't be there - wasting space only.

Got you excited didn't I? Haha! Ok I lied. I don't have a problem with space wastage.

My point is, I am getting *gulp*.... bored and boring. Gone are my halycon days of being an energiser bunny filled with unbridled passion in pursuit of a "full life". I don't mean just partying all night long. It is that feeling of "Damn, I can do anything I like because I am so fabulous". It is the recklessness, the snobbish confidence, the lust for optimum living...okay and the men.

Or maybe Mojo drowned in my past perpetual Sunday hangovers??

Sigh.

I know it is just a phase and one day Mojo (if alive) will realised that wherever it has gone to, I am a MUCH better host. If not, I hope it has leeched itself onto a bleached-white, tall, lanky anorexic Singapore girl (everything I am not) who is starving it to death.

Hah!