Please bear with my randomness.
I should probably start charging people for powerpoint presentations.
If I keep touching my hair, it's not cos I'm vain.
I love to touch hair. Especially men's hair. They have such nice textures!
Bloody unfair! @!#@!$
So don't be surprised if I suddenly seeked permission to touch your hair
Oh, and just because I love hair, that doesn't mean I love hairy men.
Right, I do not know why I just said that. Let's move along, shall we
Went out with 3 crazy kambengs today.
SAM-ed. Man, I hope someday my painting can be hung there =/
I'm an artistic person RIGHT?!?! :O
But I don't like it there. Cos I saw tons of "Touch me! I'm meant to be touched!" artworks
But I can't touch any. HOW CRUEL IS THAT?!?!
Texture is my soul. And by doing that, it's as if constraining me from visiting my blood sister.
Hence I shall cut the melodramatic sense of behaviour I seem to adapt whenever engrossed in my own thoughts.
To tell you the truth, I actually touched one *sparks* :D
And that's when the curator / volunteer or something told me not to.
And that's ALSO when I sulked.
Anyhows, walked like shit, ate like shit, laughed like shit, enjoyed like shit.
Oh yes, Dad's happy.
And so he began throwing punches in the air.
I thought he was torturing some poor soul trapped in between realms.
Hey, Dad. I don't need to know what you're happy about. As long as you're happy, I'm ecstatic.
I need to learn how to look pretty in pictures.
I need to take lesser UNGLAM pictures (of myself. Ahem).
