If I were a guy, I’d so be an effing tripod.
How often do you get random strangers coming up to you, and asking those common questions that we’re obliged, due to social niceties, to answer?
“Excuse me, how do you get to this location?”
“Do you have the time, please?”
“Sorry but, do you have change for a dollar?”
And my personal favourite;
“Hi. Are you a girl or a guy? My friend here thinks you’re a girl and I’m betting otherwise. You’re a guy, right?”
This is when my self confidence starts to waver and I start wondering just how many piggy banks I have to smash to pay-off silicone implants.
Though as far as random strangers go, it’s less insulting than when relatives mistake you for your brother. Before I start off on my whining inner-reflective rant, let me clarify something;
I do not look like my brother. You shall find my justification in Exhibit A:
Can you deny such irrefutable logic, crumbling mortals?
And Exhibit B;
On the right, you may witness über cuteness and shall be saturated with the mystical force generally known as kyaaaa-ness whereas on your left, you may wonder what grand misfortune has befallen this unfortunate mortal, uh, judge for yourself.
I have come to acknowledge that the crux of the problem lies in the way I dress myself. This knowledge is due to having four out of five acquaintances enthusiastically telling me such dire information that before this has been withheld only by geniuses in fields of brain surgery and nuclear science. They have, matter-of-factly, imparted said wisdom by sharing with me a powerful secret;
“When you dress like a boy… people can sometimes think you’re… a boy!!”
No shit, Einstein. How old are you, nineteen? Does your age reflect how many times you were drop on the head as a baby?
Six years, people.
That’s how long I’ve endured annoying remarks on my dressing style. How long I’ve had to sit and listen to people giving suggestions and advice on becoming more feminine, how to sound more demure and how to walk elegantly.
If I feel like arching my back and giving people the impression that I intend to poke their eyes out with a super-nipple-attack while jutting my ass out to refine my ability in hip dislocation, I’ll solicit your advice, thanks.
That’s also six years of birthdays in which I receive at least a feminine garb, gaudy accessories or a pink… something. Which were, by the way, delightfully received by my other friends for their birthdays. Why, I’ve always wanted something to cut my cost on future birthday present purchases! How could you have ever known?
But then, after six years of incorrigible dressing habits, six years of mentally committing acts of unspeakable nature on ass-jutting, nipple-eye-attack individuals and six years of mastering the suitable facial expression and intonation for ‘What, really? A girl should actually dress like a girl?! Wow do I give a fuck!’, I’m finally revamping my wardrobe.
Don’t think this is thanks to those that have continually assaulted my mental health with their incessant ramblings and vast knowledge on dressing like you’re;
a) Dressing in the dark
b) Colour blind
c) A hooker; and
d) A colour-blind hooker dressing in the dark.
This is only due to the person whose good opinion matters to me. When it boils down to it, I guess what my Mak Long says makes a lot of sense. It’s time for a change.
When you mull it over, it’s not normal for a nineteen year old girl to only own;
a) Shirts at least two sizes too big, with two thirds belonging to her brother and the remaining ones purchased at least five years ago / were gifts from others.
b) Pants belonging to god-knows-who (Dear god-knows-who… thanks for all the pants! :D).
c) Shoes salvaged from the storeroom or were gifts from her bargain-hunting sister.
d) Freebie caps, wallet and socks as a gift from her aunt, and two watches that were stolen borrowed from her brother.
I don’t even know whose towel I’m using and I really hope both my sisters never realise they’re missing a significant number of Baju Kurungs…
To sum it up… total amount I spend on clothes or accessories annually: RM0.00.
I can’t say it’s totally my fault. When you’re talking about stylish designs, CPU casings have me salivating and not the latest Jimmy Choo’s. The only thing I’m interested in when going into shoe stores is the realisation that high heels are the progenies of Lucifer’s minions (The length of the heels is proportionate to the amount of condensed evil imbued in your soul) and how when shopping for clothes, females lose about three quarters of their cerebral control (Oh my god! I can’t decide to choose either this top that looks no different from the other one #1 or this top that looks no different from the other one #2!).
And not to say I’m a spendthrift or anything. Last year, I burnt a hole in my pocket the size of Pamela’s beach balls to get new RAM sticks, few SoundBlaster audio cards, Phillips headphones, a Belkin modem, at least 400 DVD+Rs and many other random computer paraphernalia. Recently, I got a 120GB laptop harddisk, a 500GB desktop harddisk, a 30GB Zune video player and 200 more DVD+Rs. I’m also daydreaming about building a computer from scratch (9800GTX… quad core processor… piano black casing… 22” widescreen monitor… *drools*…) once I’ve settled my accommodation problems, getting better Phillips headphones and a DivX playable DVD player and stereo set by the end of this year.
<daydreaming mode> When I start working and when I’ve finally amassed enough of zee moolah… I’m gonna get a 40” LCD TV… home theatre set… super computer with high-end rig… Blu-Ray player… Game consoles… Portable DVD player… a super ergonomic swivel chair… a chicken… </daydreaming mode>
Damnit. Must find rich, dying husband with a flexible will. Work hard and earn all those through honest blood, sweat and tears!
Money’s definitely gonna be a problem. Unless I’m a particular multi-billion dollar business magnet with a limp animal on my head and a last name that rhymes with Hump, I’m not going to be able to afford the stuff I really want anymore. The only reason I can afford one expensive item is because I don’t spend on several cheap ones. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
Let’s set a month-end resolution. By the end of this month, I’d have at least two (cheap) f… fem… femi… famine… feminine shirts and steal borrow p.. p.. pur… purge… purchase… something pretty and flower-ish for my feet. I promise this to you, Mak Long!
…Looks like it’s not going to be easy though. Lord please have mercy on me. I shall pour my heart out for this new project and keep focu—
Hey look the latest Asus Maximus II Formula series motherboard is out!