The Impossibly Happy Ending

Before the dust finally settles here...

Hi. I am glad I still remember I own this space. This private little space. This private little polymorphous space of mine which I've been keeping for five years. Happy 5th anniversary virtual insanity. To kick off things better... I have to share that I had an abstract piece of mind a few nights ago before sleep. I somehow managed to transform my sanity into somewhat a limbo state, dreaming about the impossibilities or the inevitabilities, fully in control and in a very relaxing motion.

The Impossibly Happy Ending

And so, the plane has touched down. Right before my eyes, I stood in the midst of a crowd. A place no less than a stranger to me, where I finally felt that I stood out conspicuously. The focus was hard to obtain, especially when you are a chinese in white land.

He didn't come to pick me up. So I made my way to Brighton Place in my first Caucasian chauffeur's ride. Oh.. Careless cheap taxi talks, how much I loathe them and how hard it is to avoid them.

What greeted before my eyes was a white house with a brownish red roof, a two and a half kind, where the garage was actually the half floor beneath the two floors.

I sat down in the dining room around the, of course, dining table. The Dentist had shown his hospitality and taken my luggage into his son's room. Now came The Lawyer. The only woman whom I felt intrigued by and obliged to meet and adore. The only woman whom I have heard so much nastiness about, whom I cannot hurl any form of abuse ever known to mankind to even if she starts to get on my nerves. Her eyes were as striking as a python's, screening me naked, shredding every piece of armor I've had on, piercing and most probably venomous. And if this is Hogwarts, she must be a student in Slytherin. Her lips parted... the very first word which came out from that intervening space in between two lumps of wrinkled cocktail sausages, "So..."

Damn.

The Bitch IV

Now we are all familiar with The Bitch. And she is a very prominent part of me which I don't wish to lose. Because we all know, that good guys always finish last, and do not necessarily go to Heaven to chase hopping bunnies or soak in the sun with hues of a rainbow gently beaming down from the clear blue skies.

And if anyone ever reads this space and cries because, yes, so I indeed wrote about you. But try to understand why I did. Because I am too kind to say this in your face, I had to switch on my laptop, log onto fucking blogspot.com in order to make sure I don't forget the experience, the anger, the soreness, and well, because I am a bitch. If no one ever tells you what's wrong with you, you'll never learn, correct? And if you never learn, you will never grow, no? So here goes.

My awesome colleague who's supposedly to be the head of the team, the writing team, does not write well. Well, I cannot say she can't write well, the truth is, she can't. There was an idea between another colleague and I to set up a SMLJ page on facebook to showcase the SMLJ English we have to bear our eyes to everyday. And you know, most of the times, they are motherfucking hilarious, eyesores nonetheless. And the reason why I am angry, upset and tickled or even amused, is that no one knows that she cannot write.

Take what happened today for example.

"Bag is in a prestige condition except for minor scratches..."

/rubbed eyes and affirmed myself I didn't drink. Ctrl F and checked through the entire thing, and realized there were a lot of "Prestige" being used in the same context, in an assortment of writing styles... and almost fell off from chair when 20 matches came on highlighted.

Now, can anyone point out to me what the unpardonable erroneous mistakes are? Let me list down the mistakes. Plural, mind you.

1. Prestige is a Noun. Prestigious is an Adjective. And in this case, you use an Adjective.
2. Prestige means reputation arising from success, achievement.

So I discreetly reminded her that the usage of the word was well of course, ma'fucking wrong. And I asked her politely whether she meant "Pristine".

So I waited for ten minutes or a good fifteen. And she finally replied.

"Duh! Of course it's Pristine! I took it from the R09 (history; company's lingo). Thanks for highlighting,"

Now this made my blood boil like the molten lava underneath a dormant volcano because she 'duhed' me.

1. I have an IQ slightly above average and I know you used the good ten to fifteen minutes to come up with a (in your sense) perfect way to shirk this blame and avoid embarrassing yourself.
2. You did not check through your work (and you've been the one nagging us to).
3. If you really did indeed copy and paste from history, enlighten anyone why are there 20 matches of Prestige being used in the same context, in an assortment of writing styles?

If you're handicapped, do not try to sell me your wheelchair and tell me it's a skateboard. Thank you.

A sadist's week.

• Brownie passed on on 4 February 2011
• My grandpa passed away last Friday
• My youngest sister almost drowned at Redang Island

Tell me not to be paranoid.

Brownie, My Love.

a blooming flower upon fields of barley,

a sunshine which never fails to make one's day...

and when heaven decided to take you,

they know you're going to make it a better place.

July '2006 - 4th February '2011

wherever you are, you are free.

you'll always be missed dearly.

Me VS Rabbit Year

Ahh.. Skies been raining hell. Did you just hear the thunder roared "UNSTOPPABLE?!" Now now, how many kills do you have to have before that even appear... I don't even fucking remember.

I am a bitch, officially one big one. Because I have a short fuse and quite a temper. Simon can vouch for this. So screw you if you don't agree with me.

I am going to tell you I need to go for my hip-hop lessons and my DJ-ing lessons. Because I am too cool to be a writer. :O Hahah! Kiddin nah.. insane. I love my job. I seriously do. I honestly do. I do not deny my love and I do not lie. I fucking love my job. Yayyy!

P.S Never knew too much of whiskey chocolate cake can get one tipsy. And screw clubs. Screw those bitches who just know how to hog onto floor space and fucking can't dance. Screw intoxication and screw everyone around me who's younger than me. Or look younger than 23. I am 26 soon and I look like 23, this is depressing. I want to cry.

Week of Insanity.

I have been dead busy, brimmed busy and yes, madly crazy.

With the last-minute slot-ins of events (each with hefty quantity, mind you) everyone in the office went into a red alert. Gone are the 2-hour long lunch breaks, and unfortunately, no ice-cream trips to Udders ( :( ), and I have seen a significant drop in the number of smoke breaks. Tomorrow is the judgement day; tomorrow shall determine whether or not I get to get a full face threading treat; tomorrow will be the day which we can decide whether or not to release the lever from the panic mode.

Man, I want Ritz Apple Strudel! And tons of ice cream please! Let's go girls! After this saga, let's do our ice cream buffet lunch!

Dear God,

If technology works for you at wherever you are and I think with the speed of internet, words penned here could reach you faster than a verbal prayer. I know it's hard to locate my voice amongst millions of others', so please, note the IP address.

There is something which I need to tell you, ask you, consult you and seek your kind advice:

I am severely half-hearted in everything I do.

That.

What kind of advice could you possibly give me? Imma try to sleep and hope you'd convey it through dreams.

Thank you!

Whenever someone tells me that he/she enjoys traveling, I would ask, who doesn't? Unless you have a fear of heights, fear of flying, fear of being confined in a metal container flying fighting against its own weight, on fuel, 600 feet high up in the air. Or perhaps, fear of meeting new people, fear of sitting beside a completely unknown stranger, fear of over-friendly air crew, fear of eating lousy pre-done food, fear of not having enough leg space and the list goes on.

As for me, none of the above mentioned ever bothered me. Because I am a big fan of heights, I am not afraid of meeting new people (I just don't fancy talking a lot unless you are dead interesting to talk to), I am not a fussy eater (well, sometimes I do crave for better), I am really quite short and to confine me within metal for hours, I would call sleep, rest, read, 'me' times to think a lot or to dream a lot, doodle a lot or just observe the surroundings. What normally bugs me is the aftermath of touching down. The pain of trying to bring myself back to whatever surreality I have managed to slip into during the flight. The pain of having to move fast, the pain of having to move actually, the pain of having to fight for your luggage (if there's someone who insists your luggage is actually his and is blind), the pain of queueing for customs clearance. In general, the pain of having to be in reality with a short notice period after having drifted off to somewhere amongst the sea of clouds.

I have never had a great company for travel. I've travelled with two of my ex-boyfriends, flown with Mr Chelsea an ex schoolmate, and Miss Leech who's a long time friend. Nice people all are. But of course, not to my preference. I am sorry if I have offended you here. But what I am trying to say is, I seriously am not afraid of being alone, anywhere and everywhere. In fact, it's nothing but an enjoyment and a route to self-discovery, I would see it.

And for the record, countries which I have been to are a handful - literally. Taiwan, Macau, Zhuhai (just a customs clearance from Macau) oh... darn. That is all. I am not taking in account the states in Malaysia and Batam. This is so embarrassing. None of any countries with rich heritage are being named here. And especially for someone like me who has absolute no interest in Chinese heritage, who is not thrilled by ancient torture chambers, I have only flown to chinese countries.

If I could be a travel-writer, what kind of travel-writer would I be? Would my style be identical to Samantha Brown's? Anthony Bourdain's? Or even Janet Hsieh's? I do not have a gigantic dictionary bank, I do not have the guts to try exotic flavors, I do not have the sociable trait in me which calls everyone a friend, what's worse, I absolutely do not know any other third language. I would say I'd be a quiet one, one who gets too absorbed in the loneliness of things and perhaps what I'd pen down, would be callous, caliginous, and morbid. So this is to say, I will never be a travel writer. Because I certainly do not find a lot of intriguing factor in a lot of things.

I am in a nympholepsy to have found "Come On Eileen" by Dexy's Midnight Runner And The Emerald Express (what a long name for an artiste) and have been playing it for the umpteenth time now. Why I adore this, is that it trickles this nostalgic feeling of youth, something which can never be vividly recalled now. It's not too distant, but neither anywhere near. However whatsoever, the most common conversation at work which you can find my name being mentioned a couple of times or more, is that how I don't look my age. Younger, thank you. And don't hate me cause everyone is starting to notice those subtle (or coarse) lines along the corners of your eyes, or when you frown.

Write - writing is a passion. To be able to write is a dream. To be writing countless products which errr, well, dances to and fro to the same tempo and progression - humdrum. Humdrum is definitely not a set of drums and neither does it mean drumbeats. I was sarcastically reminded not to use big words every so often this afternoon which seriously had me doubted my indifference. Maybe when I start to replace "happy" with "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" whenever one asks how I'm feeling and only until then, I can assure you I have "dictionary" as an app on my iPhone and it's bookmarked on my browser and it's always around whenever I need to do a little writing here and there.

So I told Simon I need a spiritual guru cause I'm starting to think the world hates the world. And the world thinks its problem is the world. And that the problems from Venus, Mars or Pluto are of no concern to the world. But the world wants Venus, Mars and Pluto to hear her out. But Venus can only provide a listening ear, Mars can only offer solutions and Pluto can only gives her opinionated advice.

Okay, I am lost here. I don't want to write anymore. I need a voice, really.

I've moved on to my new job.

First day was great. Besides getting to know everyone, the day has been packed with typing... and endless typing. There are only 5 of us in my team including myself - three really experienced ones and another new mate is joining us on this coming Monday. Really nice people! I think I must have been a lil too quiet. Well, I would have to admit this but who would believe? I'm really shy. My laptop isn't here yet; I would have to be stuck with mine for close to a month. And I'm receiving a macbook/pro/air. Currently, I have no stationery on my desk. Sucks.

I miss Simon. He's been really busy doing up this event for the opening of an overseas bank for the past three days. And I think he's a terrific person! He is capable of producing results which I don't think I would be. I hope his job hunt would do him some justice soon.

For the Almighty One, thanks for watching my back. =)

The Eve.

Don't laugh at me, I went for a fortune telling session this morning with Dawn. I am supposed to be incapable of working for the rest of my life; Master (shi fu) had said that whatever I'm going to do, I am not going to be happy. A very wise piece of advice on the eve of work.

Tomorrow is the day which I've been dreaming of. At the sudden request of reebonz, my date of commencement has been brought forward to the 3rd instead of the agreed 8th. Because they have so many events coming up and is seriously short of manpower. Since I am bumming at home, starting work on a Friday sounds ok. But this TGIF is making my heart beat a little faster. I have a good hunch I will be rushing to meet deadlines throughout the weekend.

While having coffee with Simon this evening, I asked him, "Babe, am I really good enough? Why do I feel that I am not good enough now that I've got the job?"

"This is not the right time to be thinking whether or not you are good enough! It's time for you to be thinking about how to live up."

"Why do I feel so lousy about myself suddenly?"

"They hired you. If you aren't good enough, why would they?"

"Perhaps because I am good at acting and bragging to others how good I am?"

Can I pray to God still when I just went to a chinese fortune teller?

My Concerns.

Finally, a breakthrough! What seemed like a very exciting proposal dawns into a series of concerns, worries, and of course, the meter in the stress level bar hits a half ding-dong!

Am joining Reebonz as their fashion writer. How glamourous and how nice! It is definitely one of the many which I have been dreaming to do. I've been checking out their website every day and have been trying to apprehend their writing style and in hope of getting a better grip of it. Psst. Am I really good enough?

Work is commencing on the 8th because they are in the midst of shifting and are setting up my laptop. Hmmm. Will be at Paya Lebar (Tai Seng to be exact). So peeps who are reading this and happen to work around this area, we could do a meet up!

I have a lot to say. But from where do I begin? I have no idea. As queer as the weather these days, from the never-ending splatter of rain on my window panes to the sudden outburst of blinding sun rays, the tidal waves inside began to roar again. With age, I have become greedier. I am no longer able to seek complacency from things which used to complete, or seemed to.

Life still daunts. The thought of living it makes me want to hide under my covers. It's a whole lot of stress chasing pavements, yet I know I have to advance. Is this, my life, meant to be savored this way?

16th September 2010,

I became S's.

Still am.

And I'm glad.

Because I haven't felt this way for a long time.

In fact, better.

Incidents of new embarkments happen all the times. It is fear which nevertheless, never fails to prevent us, the ourselves from taking first steps when how ironically this is, after all our very own life journey. How we can be such hinderance to ourselves, and who we really want to be.

We could pretend we do indeed own everything. And so often, I feel that this 'everything' which manage to get me by through each day, is as hollow as a bone. I wasn't created to care a great deal about a lot of things, and yet this armor of normality just needs me to.

Having to leave again suggests such unspoken pain of leaving behind yet a few relationships I've established in the recent couple of years. I might just turn back and look on from a distance, wondering about the 'what ifs' and start pinning yearns. Or I might just leave without ever turning back to look at this long shadow which trails silently behind. I really do appreciate the so much everyone has given me, the routes which I've been guided to follow. And through guidance, I've managed to emerge as someone stronger and wiser. This is something priceless.

I do not ever wish to look back, and realized that on the 26th year of life, I haven't been able to achieve something greater.

I hate you, mother. Because you are so weak, and I'm strong, I will never succumb to your way of life. I will never ever be the person you want me to be. And I assure you I will never ever become you. If you don't respect others, no one will to you.

pears and dreams with t rex.

"don't be mad at me.."

LMAO!

pray tonight,

there'd be a rainbow

carrying a shooting star,

so you can make a wish upon.

I was involved in a road accident last night.

No, I didn't fly.

No, it wasn't Ain's fault.

No, my iPhone 4 survived.

Yes, I'm typing this in Hell.

The sky's the limit.

My name is C.

I didn't just happen to have this name out of pure coincidence.

Nor did I give it to myself.

I was born with it.

And no way am I going to die, just like anybody - a nobody.

I want to leap onto the moon.

I've decided to rid the butterflies because I somehow don't really feel comfortable with them.

Yet another day of humdrum existence. I have been living a monotony for the entire day. Nothing seems to thrill or send a upbeat to my insides. I woke up as commanded by my bio clock. And besides reading up a little, watching Nat Geo a little, did the laundry, I had let today while itself away like it should. A few too many times, I've dozed off on the couch. Only to be awaken to nothingness again. As stoic as it is, this is never a cup of my tea.

Thought of going out alone to take some pictures. But with the weather pouring and all, staying indoors seems like the clearer better option.

Doesn't my life revolve around something else besides work, guinea pigs, books, lomography, booze, family and friends? I am so inadequate! Something is missing. My mojo is! I need to work on a change. Any adoption of another attitude is good. I just need a breakthrough.

I dislike this feeling of a walking dead. My jokes are getting colder, everyone around me is boring me one way or another. Meeting repetitive people and talking repetitive talks. "I think I need a boyfriend Dawn." "No, you don't. You just need to go out with your friends." Is this true? That after hanging out with someone for quite some time, both of you somewhat drain yourselves out of topics? And the only common topics which used to hold both together will eventually evolve to differences which will inevitably intervene both? Ideas and opinions are such tricky businesses. Especially when obstinacy and adamance play such omnipresent parts.

As I age, why does it seem tougher than before, to get closer to someone? Could a guarded heart be the cause? Could naiveness be a fundament to trusting? Is it impossible for all to take me as guilelessly as they could because I am quite aware that if I bestow you my friendship, I am never too selfish on my sincerity. Then again, do not reproach me for not being trusting, because being trusting and sincere are two wholly different matters.

"...all of the world's misfortunes stemmed from the countless untruths, both deliberate and unintentional, which people told because of haste and carelessness."

*

You,

me,

how special could we be,

if we hadn't got you and me.

Glee

I don't watch tv. So when I said a serial is good, it means it's damn good. And it has to be Glee. I ain't even this mad over South Park. Why I love Glee:

• There's someone whom I would really want for a boyfriend - Puck (Mark Salling)
• There's lotsa dancing
• There's lotsa singing
• There's music (All genres and it's awesome!)
• It ain't draggy
• It makes me laugh
• It makes me cry (especially so bad, when they didn't win sectionals)

And now I couldn't imagine one night without watching a new episode of Glee. So while waiting for season 2 to be out, I am going to re-watch season 1.

This is called the Glee Syndrome. Everyday, fucking four hours of sleep. And super hectic work schedule with absolutely no time for a breather. Now they are asking me to Butter Factory. God.

Why am I getting so popular these days? Lol.

"You know what I'm looking forward to? My so very hot next boyfriend, with a bod as crazy as Salling's, romantic, smooth, intelligent, deep, funny, and the crazy sex we're going to have. Lol."

Neon lights, tell me about it someone.

I reckon Movida is the only place where you can find practically everyone there, all ethnic groups, men and women from all sizes, heights, with different body odour. Most of them smell like shat there. Standing in front of the bar at the back, I felt like I was having a graphic motion picture of a circus, with clowns not in their usual outfits and wigs. But nevertheless, funny, hilarious and tummy rumbling. One girl danced as if she has got ants on her body. So I laughed, and I kept laughing.

I was wearing sandals with a tee layered with a sheer dress looking thing and so were the other girls wearing sandals. We were not dressed up for clubs, but thank god, we all have gotten a pretty face, the counter staff decided to let us in. Now, that's not true.

We tried to re enter at Powerhouse. It was a shittish feeling because everyone around us looked as if they were barely legal. Youngsters around, doing things I used to do, talking on top of their lungs, sleeping outside the entrance, quarreling, blah blah blah. Then, we gave up on the never moving queue because I didn't manage to see any Mark Salling lookalike. And went back to Movida, the place for the old and the fucked up clubbers.

We parked at the round bar adjacent to the entrance, this short and stout humpty dumpty came up to me and asked me for a dance, I shoved him away by doing such a rude gesture that upon the recollection of it now, I think I could have been slapped across the face. No, I didn't gave him the finger, put your right hand in front of you, pretend you're shoving someone away. That's that. And fuck the crowd, for dancing so badly. This group of chinese girls who went up to the stage just to scream and bent a little should be tied to the trees outside.

Movida, you suck. I have no idea why your clubbers seem to have more trouble coordinating their arms and legs together than wherever I've seem em from. I really can't seem to find someone who's at least a decent groover. And I thank God for being so unfair to em, because he made me someone who's a ownage at dancing. I thank God for giving me such a great voice too. I thank God for giving me straight hair, decent facial features, and I thank God for not making me stupid. Okay, since these are what I can list down about myself, which I nevertheless think they should rightfully belong to a category which I believed it's called "pros", I strongly believe I'm going to grow old and die alone.

How I got fucked today? The moment I got onto the train, I started reading, and strapped on my iPod. The moment realization struck, I was at Bishan. From Orchard to Cityhall, then from Cityhall back to the Orchard route again. Fugged. Fugged x570284707 times. How cock can I get.

I'm still waiting for my confirmation letter from M1. Where the fuck is my iPhone?

Mark Salling

If you look like this, and you can/are:

Sing,

Dance,

Very Intelligent,

Speaks good english,

I WANT YOU!

Great Expectations.

Equipped with nothingness on hands except for time, I'm attempting to write something of absolute surrealism which of course, makes no sense, to some that is.

When the rain came almost abruptly this early morning, strong winds were howling at their loudest. And like a romantic, I stood where I stood, when everyone was fast asleep, I lit up a cigarette in the midst of it all. I felt the winds vigorously sweeping through the gaps of my fingers, every strand of my hair. I felt complacent at the thought of the sight of me standing under the sky before it rained. The crimson skies on me, my feet on the ground, everything which I was unsure of myself came to a realization again. That me, was such a love, and I do love myself, and it's not anyone's fault that they don't, because they do not know me. Or perhaps, like what some has said, that I'm too hard to fathom in order to be loved. I will not forget this moment.

The almost touching lips, you could have been much more than a dream. Alas, you are a reality, but a reality which I could not hold onto. Because my ticking minutes are precious, and we do not and won't walk well on each's path. So I have to bid you goodbye here, once again. Let it be another three years if it shall cost. Your simplicity interests me, at the same time, it bores me. I can't understand the complexity within your portray of simplicity. That, I do not say you are not bright. That I meant, perhaps not my field of studies, neither my league to love. I didn't wish to kiss you, because I was unsure what would have come after just one kiss. I need someone more, someone whom quite a lot thinks like me, functions more logically than me. That I've yet to known any, who is capable of protecting myself from me.

I feel as if I have so much to do, on a more noble note for this world instead, all the times.

Very so often, the life of an artist is short-lived. Their emotions were often over intense that loving themselves evolved to a submission to their own fantasies and indulgence in their own emotions - narcissism, depression, rather than caring for their basic needs - the human touch with people, behaving like a normal moral being, and think like one.

You can always read me like a book, but I would never tell you that to completely understand this book, you would have to observe the spine first. That again, is perhaps another forte of mine, lying.

I want to dress up for the winter;

and listen to the silence,

where snowflakes fall on a hot stove,

in a whim, it burns,

-alluring.

Perfect.

My solitude is perfect.

When I'm alone,

just being me,

shines.

At least, that's what I think.

=)

Carpe Diem.

One thought which came to my mind this morning was, "Fuck, I think I ran out of cigarettes". I seriously have no idea how I managed to pull through a month (I give credit to my inner strength) of not smoking. Smokers are cool people, because we do not actually use the fact that we're non-smokers and feel a hypothetical superiority over smokers. That's for you the non-smokers and always kpkb-ing about us, smokers. We are paying more taxes than you, so shut the fuck up. Below is a list of activities which I strongly feel cigarettes should always play a part in.

Clubbing

How can you drink and not smoke at the same time? Have you ever seen someone sipping vodka and running on a threadmill simultaneously?

Coffee

The another which I cannot fathom why cigarettes shouldn't be involved. How the fuck do you sit around starbucks all day with one or two friends, yakking non stop and not smoke? Don't go telling me how the coffee and cigarettes are going to stain your teeth. Because as of now, my teeth are so pretty and white compared to most of the non smokers around me. What I'm trying to convey is, if you happen to be a little aesthetically handicapped inside your mouth and you aren't a smoker, then you should really reflect.

Mugging

Enough said, I would rather be smoking while mugging than to feast on snacks.

After sex

This is crucial - the first smoke after you got your orgasm. This is ritualistic because nicotine has the ability to calm your nerves down. Or if your partner behaves like a dead fish on bed, having a smoke after, gives you 10 minutes to decide whether or not to dump her.

Suntanning

The sun, the sand, the sea, the ice cold beer, the cigarettes. Enough said.

Does not smoking actually makes one healthier? Is smoking really associated with cancerous diseases? I have so many relatives who passed on because of some cancer shit, and they don't smoke. Not smoking doesn't actually prolong your life and not all who died of cancer smokes. If you're fucked up, not smoking does not make you any better.

I am not trying to be discouraging if you're quitting smoking. For the non-smokers who accepted the way we smokers choose to lead our own damn lives, you're just alright the way you are. Don't be some cultural baby and go around dissing the smokers. And for the globe lovers, don't go around disseminating that smoking does aid on the damaging of the ozone layer. This is fucking hilarious. Please compare the size of a fucking stick to one industrial chimney. I use a recycle bag whenever I shop and I smoke, what does it make me?

Now a note to us, the smokers. Don't be rude and go blow in someone's face. I assure you that the only blow which won't piss them off, is a blowjob. Please stay pretty while smoking, don't go behave like some lousy ah lians. Please refer to Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Do not act cool and flick butts wherever you go please. How I remain fine-free till now? I play by the rules.

Life is really short to be refraining from everything. You would never know when a major flood decided to hit Singapore and kill all of us. Why can't we all live the way we want for ourselves and quit being cultural-fed? =)

*chrissy is 25, and she has been smoking for 12 years. An average of 7 sticks per day, she still has her teeth intact, white and very nice. She has no wrinkles yet. Her fingernails are always very pretty because she bothers to take care of them. As for her lungs, they are still proven to be functioning quite properly whenever she hits the dance-floor. If you have never seen the way she dance, you can ask around.