you know how a 5-star hotel like ______________ (
i do not want to get sued) gets compared to a cheap lowly hotel like _________ (
i still do not want to get sued) because the type of guests that they take in are very.. *insert cricket sound here*?
like how a high-class, expensive condominium's reputation gets tarnished if makciks and nyonyas hang their clothes to dry outdoors, parading multi-coloured flags as they do so?
sigh.
i'm not getting anywhere, am i?
basically, in the cruel evil social life that we live in (or some refer to life as a "game we play"), looks matter. it doesn't always matter how smart you are. it doesn't matter how creative you are. it doesn't matter how hardworking you are. it doesn't matter how well you can sing/act/dance. well, the above mentioned theory applies here. (but i won't say how. use your own damn fucking brain, dammit.) because in the end, what matters is how you look and how well you can be packaged - to be sold.
and right now?
the package that you're offering, isn't attractive, at all.
so could you please:
1) primp yourself up,
2) get a job (boys who are cashless are really, really unattractive to me right now. especially since i'm not. oh, don't get me wrong, i respect the fact that you're broke. i just don't get why you don't do anything about it and STILL expect money from your parents at such a mature age. heh, no offence.),
3) get a vehicle (especially if you stay 2139084284 miles away from me. absence does not make the heart grow fonder. ugh. whoever thought of that statement is cheap.),
4) wear different clothes (=.=),
5) smell nicer, and
6) involve yourself in debates or something - so we actually have something to talk about.
and excuse me while i stay out of love as i'm trying to lose the flabs and find myself again. (:
again i repeat, don't say you love me when you don't even know me. and no, i will not allow you "to get to know me" through illogical chatting. an extract of such a conversation would be:
you: hey. so what's your name?
me: umm. it's the heading of my profile, you know.
you: oh. yeah. i'm *************.
me: i'm not illiterate. (:
you: what's that?
me: nvm.
you: so what school are you in?
me: nyp. it's in my profile.
you: i see. taking what course?
=.=
WHAT THE FUCK.
iunno about other girls, but i seriously find this irritating because it's just dumb. dammit bitch, i put my information up on my profile for you to read it and not ask me about it. i mean, unless you ask reference questions such as: "so what type of dance do you like?" =.=
and just because i accepted your friend request, doesn't mean we're going to get into a relationship, get married and go to venice overnight. no, it doesn't. =.= it's impossible for you to say that you love me, or you're "starting to fall for me". that's not what love is about, in case you haven't noticed. fuck it, you don't even know the size of my feet.
do your research.
research helps. (:
sorry for the feisty entry. i'm just really irritated right now. especially because i'm not in the mood for anything right now. blueargh.
whooh.
holidays, here i come. (:
p/s: oh. i will never, ever, ever like you if you think i'm full of flaws. no matter how my flaws make you love me. (: i can't love you if you don't make me love myself. thankyou.
p/s 2: sorry for the entry. i couldn't help it. *shrugs*
