I Never Cry For Storybooks or Fairytales. Maybe It Was Just Too Perfect.

I bawled my eyes out until there was no more water left in me ... after which, I drank a litre and cried some more.

It's not a dude, people. I don't cry over dudes. Well ... I might now, now that I've said it. Goddamn Murphy's Law.

It's a book.

... oh, so you think the dude sounds more important? OK then, go touch yourself.

Well, it's not just any book. It's the last instalment of the Shopaholic series. And mind you, I type 'last instalment' with a very, very heavy heart. I think, apart from Sidney Sheldon, Sophie Kinsella has the greatest set of novels I could ever read. Perfectly catered to ditzy can't-tell-if-I'm-coming-or-going kind of chicks.

And probably from the point of view of that young girl who just wants to have everything - I just want to have everything.

I want the flat, I want the shops, I want the money, and most importantly - the man. I am so sorry, Becky Brandon, but I am hopelessly in love with your husband. I have already cultivated that shopping habit so that's not really an issue. Everything else is though.

Just when you think life is going to fall apart for her, she does something diabolical to bring herself right around. And it always turns out so peachy for her.

I've become her - I embraced the character. She's the smartest, bravest and kindest person I know. But then again, she's fiction. In a book. I must be positively bonkers for relating to someone in a book.

But I am positively bonkers anyway for dreaming of things from a book.

I just have one thing to say : I never imagined myself hoping for a fairytale life. Neither being a hopeless romantic.

And somehow, I want everything to go just as it's been written.

-No comment-

Oh, I Forgot.

In a sudden attempt to take control of my life, I swept out the bad dust and opened the windows to let some fresh air through. I cleaned out my closets and buried the skeletons deep in the dirt I stood on. I went outside and let the rain wash away my pain, and I just lay on the grass - sorting out the mess I had created for myself. I had done everything to completely purify myself.

Well, at least I thought I had.

If you didn't know before, it's time you did. I am a junkie. Addicted to things that give me pleasure and somehow make me forget all my problems and lapse into total peace of mind.

It's not crystal. It's not crack. It's not booze. Neither is it sex.

It's retail. And it's also the phone.

And it certainly isn't funny.

I am beyond depressed because I basically squandered my entire cash supply on useless outfits that I probably will never wear. And the other half of it : I used to pay my $300 phone bill. Yeah, because I just couldn't go to sleep every night without spending at least an hour on the phone. It's not like I was tired and forced myself to stay awake.

I just couldn't put down the phone. Maybe I wasn't tired because I was fuelling my body with the adrenaline rush from the addiction.

The worst part of it is I still like shopping. Even more in fact. It's as if I have a stronger urge to purchase things when I have no more money than ever.

The only things that remind me of my painful and bitter experiences are my full closets of shit - and my empty savings box.

I could kill myself now, or die from this addiction.

-No comment-

Persona Non Grata.

Thee shall have no communication with those inferior.

Thee shall not give praise to nor receive praise from those who are evil.

Thee shall not be vulnerable to those who mean harm.

Thee shall not give a total fuck.

Moving on was a crucial part of me taking control of my life, and everything beautiful I had in it : friends, fun, and family. I feel somewhat silly because I never knew what I had until ... it was gone.

Okay, no - it never left to begin with. I meant to say - I never knew what I had until everything else superficial - crumbled. Into tiny toxic little pieces. Leaving behind the most resplendent jewel ever found, once caked with mud and silt that used to shine under light.


At the end of everything, I feel totally free, totally liberated. Like as if a burden - that I had layed upon myself - was lifted, and destroyed.


The only thing left to do now is to maintain that degree of nonchalance. Oh, have I practised - playing out scenes in my head just to see how my mind, and my heart, react to them. And I can confirm that in a hypothetical situation, I am pretty prepared.


Playing out a scene where Sheep and Skankman are touching each other and making out, I am totally void of feelings for him. And playing out another scene with me and someone else, I feel nothing. All I have to do now is to put it to the real test. In a real situation. Where there isn't any other thought or vision I can focus onto to avoid any feelings.


If I have to learn one thing from any of this, it is that there is no room for forgiveness.


I must not forgive.


I must not forgive.


-No comment-

Move Along. And I'll Make It Through.

My favourite movie seems to have become the story of my life. I had embraced it so much that my social life fhad followed it To The Tee. I had a real-life Regina, a real-life Janice and most of all - a real-life Cady Heron.

I was Cady Heron. Entering an institution with no knowledge of how its student population was run. I imagined everything to be just peachy.

People who looked at you admired you; they didn't wish you were better off dead.
And when they smiled at you they didn't think you were the dumbest little thing they had ever seen; they thought you were a beautiful person inside and out.
And when the boys watched you walk by, they thought they would get a chance for your heart; not your virginity.

I was Cady Heron, who thought that the only way to enter the system was to surrender your dignity and your soul to the sinned rulers that will do nothing but feast on it and in return, pretend to have instantly mounted you on a pedestal of supreme popularity. And supreme popularity is something that someone truly naive will make their ultimate priority.

And that's just what I did. I was that home-schooled freak in a way, totally unaware to lies and betrayal, and believing everything little thing told to me. I trusted so many - and was fooled by so many. I give the benefit of the doubt like whores gives pleasure. Except I do it for free.

So what happens at the end of the movie? Cady has to suck out all that poison from her life, just like when a venomous snake bites you. I do too. I have to suck out all the poison so I can heal myself and move on. Move on to something that SHOULD be my priority and I hope to seal myself off from that jungle I entered a time ago because I thought that's where I had to be.

The irony of it all is, as many times as I saw the movie : I had failed to see it play out before my very eyes in real life.

And all I want to do now is to move on. To totally leave the mess behind in a locked vault and lose the key. Because I am so content with what I have.

I am content hanging out with Miss Turqouise in college and going shopping with her at the end of the week.
I am happy spazzing about Dark-Hunter men at ungodly hours to Athi.
I am content being with Feesh and doing totally insane things together.
I am content talking to the Slayer of Broken Truth because he makes me laugh for the silliest of things.
I am content going to concerts and losing my voice, screaming out the songs.
I am content helping out people with their love lives, eventhough my own is messed up beyond redemption.
And I am happy talking to my Bitch - about all the old times, and the things that make us smile.
And I am content with myself for being strong and making this change, and finally realising why I should be so content.

I just hope I am not stupid enough to believe things change. And stupid enough to do it all over again.

-No comment-

*To all the people mentioned above, I thank you for being there for me when it didn't seem like I needed you. I'm sorry for mistakes I have made in the past. And just as someone at near death is beaten down to the ground has to rise and walk on, I need all of your help once again through this change and to push me of my feet when I move along. Thank you. I love you all. *

My Heart In Panic. Part Two.

6.29PM : Miss Turquoise comes running through the entrance, nearly skidding across the polished floor and landing right next to me. This is followed by Feesh, who looks like an airplane that has not been cleared for landing - but is going to do it anyway. And well, she crashes. Into me.

Well, One Buck Short is doing their soundcheck and we were basically screaming whatever we wanted at them ... 'cos we're allowed. Nyeh. Anyway, I am just going to mention some of the things screamed at the band, trying desperately to do their soundcheck through the noise. Too bad, too sad :

1. Feesh : Hey, you're hot!
Bassist : Sorry?

2. Crowd : Throw guitar picks please! Drumsticks too! Guitars!
(Drummer waves his arms in the air to motion that he promises to do so.)
Me : Just throw yourself!
(Drummer laughs.)

3. (Lights come flashing on after a second of darkness.)
Crowd : Wooooohooooo!
Me : Why are we so jakun?
Random Person in Crowd : 'Cos we're Malaysian!

Ok, 'nuf said. Let's continue.

Anyway, the sound check is finally over and the band returns after a while to perform. They were quite good, in fact. And oh yes, the hot bassist throws his guitar pick and thank god for Converse because I caught it right under my foot (Mua-haha-haha.)

Finally, they retreat behind the tall black curtain. The Panic roadies come out on stage for a while to set up the instruments and we being ourselves (totally random and high) start yelling out random guy names to them . You know - Bill, Jon, Dan, Carl, Matthew, Taylor, Bob (my favourite) ... etc. And then suddenly one of us says Kevin.

One of the roadies looks up and smiles at us through the crack in the curtain. Hence, we proclaim that heavily-tattooed gentlemen as Kevin. We know your momma named you Kevin! Oh yes, one more thing - I forgot to mention :

Miss Turquoise found her husband. The only roadie not wearing black (well, he was wearing black ... boxers that is, and upon sight of them I screamed that I liked black too.)


Suddenly all the roadies walk off the stage and the crowd is submerged in darkness once again. To which the chicks scream blue murder. Now, these chicks scream blue murder to lights that turn off. I asked myself what they would do when the band actually walks onto stage.


And I was sorry I asked.


We suddenly see figures walking out and the girls go crazy. The only indication I had of myself screaming was the feeling of my throat disintegrating. And I don't even want to begin on my ears. A few girls passed out and they were carried out by the guards. So, let's forget about the bitchy girls now - let's talk me. Heehee. Deal with it.


When Brendon Boyd Urie walked out on stage - I died. Simple as that. Oh wait, I was reborn because I hadn't even seen him with the lights on. So then when the spotlights turned on, I died again ... and then I was reborn because they hadn't even started playing. So when Brendon started singing, I died another time. And I pretty much stayed like that - lapsing in and out of death - throught the show. And I repeated the entire thing with Ryan Ross.


Death By Multiple Simultaneous Orgasms. Interesting.


So anyway, throughout the performance I had one main aim : Get Ryan Ross To Wave At Me. Frantically, I was either waving my poster in the air or shaking my arms as if drowning in the sea of rabid bitches. Then, finally I see Ryan Ross's head slowly turning towards me. I increase speed of Mad Hand In Air. And just at that moment, he turns and we lock eyes for a brief moment. He steps back, smiles with his head cocked to the side and waves. Mission completed.

That gorgeous motherfucker sends me to the skies.


And Brendon is always doing the most adorable things. Like grinning and singing the song at the same time. Like shaking his head violently everytime there is a break in the song. Like opening his eyes wide at us while singing. Like rolling his eyes and moving his head like a bubblehead doll instead of saying 'fuck' in the song, and smiling at us when the crowd screams it out anyway. Like singing out the keyboard intro to a song with us. Like play a tambourine using your head. I mean - who does all that??


My Brendon. XD


So, basically long story short, after attaining partial deafness and throat disintegration - not to mention a few thousand orgasms - they play their last song and leave. Yup, they don't even stay long enough for an encore. But it's alrite. The roadies brought goodies.


At one point, drumsticks flew out into the air and as soon as I touched one of them, I grabbed hold of it - no matter how slippery my fingers were. And I didn't let go. I had a slight problem however. There was one other pair of hands on them. And they were holding on just as tightly.


OK, if you haven't established by now how bitchy and skanky I can get when I want something, you shouldn't even be reading my blog. So I clawed and I yelled and I screamed and everyone around us was creating space for our catfight. Until ...


Miss Turquoise : Bix! It's just Feesh - STOP! Feesh, it's Bix!


... oops. Well, we regained our composure and god bless Feesh for eternity because she let me have the drumstick. I love you. <3>We follow him in and it leads to the backstage. We see the roadies in the corner, all packed up and ready to leave so here, our newfound friends decide to take a few shots. But ... when it comes to our turn, one of the roadies comes from behind to put his arms around Feesh and I.

Ooh baby.

Anyway, turns out that Kevin is actually Basil. And he just looked and smiled at us because we were laughing and screaming. Thanks for the misleading information. We're gonna call you Kevin anyway.

And I would post those pictures up - if I had them. But they're gone and I really don't want to talk about it.

Conclusion : Panic at the Disco were fabulous that night. All four of them.

I hope you know what I mean.

-No comment-

My Heart In Panic. Part One.

Yes. I am talking about the most Fuckingly Diabolically Superbly Fantasticly Fabulously Phenomenally Awesomely Greatly Tastefully Stellarly Amazingly Brilliantly Godly Superly Graciously Gorgeous ... *breathes* ... performance. Phew. (Thank god for vocabulary.)

And baby, I am talking about Panic at The Disco live in Kuala Lumpur. And I don't fucking give a fuck if there wasn't 'really anyone there.' So fuck those who said that. It doesn't matter how many people were there. What matters is how loud the few true fans (or the ones who had managed to get last - minute free tickets) actually were. I mean, if you just closed your eyes and heard the crowd screaming - you'd think the whole goddamn stadium was packed with fans.

So let me just start with everything. And I am going to attempt to explain everything in profound detail in this short space here, given that my memory has the capacity of that of an octogenarian - and I really just like to keep talking. So I begin.

3.00 PM : Feesh, Ms. Turqouise and I dutifully arrive at the scene of maybe about 10 people sitting outside the locked doors, on the stone floor. We take our spot comfortably about 3 inches from the door - believe me, distance matters - and wait. Munching on stale chips and bland water to pass time.

5.00 PM : A distinct tune of a familiar Panic song fills the air. The Panic Soundcheck. As vital as the concert itself. Feesh and I make our way to the 'toilet' (OK, we really needed to pee but Panic was calling so our bladders had to be sacrificed.) And then we found a magical unguarded door. So just as we sneak in, we're submerged in complete darkness. And at this point, I succumbed to panic. No, not the band - the feeling. And I run out. Apparently Feesh manages to catch a glimpse of four of the most gorgeous men in band history. Without permission. Goddamn that panic feeling. Oh, and how the irony is killing me.

6.12 PM : Somehow, something tells me there is something wrong with our tickets. Thankfully, Feesh goes over to the ticket counter and yes, there is something phenomenally wrong with the tickets. Stupid fucking don't-know-if-I-am-coming-or-going whore who pretends to know how to sell tickets. Heck, blindfold me and put me there - I'd sell a hundred in a day. Anyway, it's as if the ticket printer is ruled by the devil and it takes 15 minutes to reprint them. And just as we recieve the tickets, the entire crowd previously tacked to the ground - rises. I'm sorry that this is so cliche, but yeah - Feesh and I panic. And we race to the entrance.

6.27 PM : The three of us are squished in between fat wannabe chicks. But baby, as soon as I am past all three checkpoints, I run. No - fly. I think it was the Olympic hype that got to me because I swear to you, I was running like I never had a lazy day in my life. And amazingly I am actually No. 10 or 11 into the Rockzone. And as soon as I get there, I grab onto the metal grating as if my life depended on it. Well really, your life did in fact depend on it; you'll know why soon.

... To be continued.

-No comment-

Friends - What They Really Mean.

Hmph. Friends.


The term is so casually thrown around that now it lacks all substance. When we call someone a friend, it doesn't really mean much. It's probably why it's so hard for me to say I have a best friend when I know I do - it's just that I can't admit it.


That person means so much more to me than what the term deems; the word just doesn't do any justice.


And then again, you have others carelessly branding others as their 'friends for life', when they don't really understand what it means. So let me enlighten you a little. Ima gonna breach to you what a friend fucking means.


A friend is that person who never judges you. Yeah, as cliche as it is - you probably don't even understand it. Even if you had the most annoying voice in the world, or if you made a big-ass fuss about something that was nothing, it's your friend who is there to take in all the shit. And you would expect her to be there as well when you need to spill your guts about something stupid.


Friends always see the good and overlook the bad. They're like your family (clearly to some extent) - except that you can gain 'em and drop 'em when you know you went wrong choosing 'em.


A friend is a person that through extreme exhaustion, can force themselves to keep their ears wide open to listen to your sobs. Even if it's just a hangnail. But then again, the severly-decapitated friend should behave like one as well and allow her close-to-coma counterpart some sleep.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Just how the toughest, strongest man you know - can break down like a sandcastle by the sea and crumble to tears for his best friend. Someone who seems so undaunted by challenge and unwaved by fear is quickly reduced to nothing when it comes to his friend.

There's none quite like this love. And no one should have to work hard for it. No one.

-No comment-