…because it could be worse
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www.mylifeisg.com
A Post From The Future - woooooooooo….
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Greetings Earthling Manisha! I do not know why I am regarding you as an Earthling especially since all plans to live on the moon ended up in the violent and tragic death of the following volunteers who decided to be NASA’s monkeys: Stephanie Meyers (the author of Twilight), Heidi Montag, Spencer Pratt, Megan Fox and Paris Hilton and all the other douchebag celebrities i abhor…coincedence? i think not.
It is 50 years into the future! unfortunately you are not the supreme ruler of the world. Sadly. So all the slow painful deaths of ex boyfriends and other nemesis you have been planning since the time you were a mere pubescent young lad, have also been obliviated.
You are also very fugly. Your kneecaps dropped off 4 years ago. The years of coffee drinking, martini guzzling, cigratte smoking, coke sniffing, splif rolling fun you had in your childhood started taking its toll on you and by the time you reached the age of 25 you look like a dried up fruit. And not even the nice looking dried up fruit, no. You look like one of those cucumber cross bred with an aubergine which was left too long in the Moroccan heat and, yeah, thats pretty much how you and your lady bits look like.
You are not married either. Not now anyway. You never kept your rage in check and then you killed your first husband but got away with it by pinning it on your father and were very proud of your “two birds one stone” maxim HOWEVER by the time your second husband came around, you had eaten the wealth of your first husband and one day, in the act of fornication, you sat on your second husband and he died too.
You have no children! You tried to breed many young spawns with your first husband (the second one couldnt get it up for you because you were sexually unappealing having acquired 5 chins) but they grew frustrated with not having names (it was never ok to call them Cyborg of Death I and Cyborg of Death II and Sunshine. not cool.), and with the abjectly humiliating treatment they were subject to under your regime as a parent. The years of physical and spiritual abuse left them as distorted as your lady lumps and they ran off to join the circus before, again, you accidently squished them while doing your morning squats.
You have no career! You started out your career as a young intelligent and sophisticated lawyer but your quest for money and recognition destroyed you. Your career finally reached the nadir of your career when a judge chided you for hissing at your opponent during a gruelling cross examination and you ripped your robes off your body, let out a blood curling scream “SPARTAAAAAA!!!” and proceeded to jump over the bench and claw the judge. Needless to say you only reached “SPART….” before you were tackled to the ground.
You have no family! you pinned the death of your first husband on Satan! You tricked the Wench into going swimming in the open sea and she was run over by a large ship! The Inheritance Threat was…well…she was never really a threat…i know. shocker.
Your friends started resenting you for your ridiculous good looks, immense wealth, cold and reticent mannerisms and maglomanic tendencies. After the final threat you delivered to have them bull dozed they left and never contacted you again. Then you tried calling them, enticing them with the drink. But they refused and slammed a restraining order on you.
Change your ways Manisha….stop being so angry…cease your unhealthy lifestyle…open your eyes to the world which once was yours. a world where law and career was not the all and everything. the little things still matter Manisha. the sun still shines. Your family still love you. Your friends, as far as they may be, love you. Dont leave it. it can change…it can…it can…woooooo
UPDATES:
1. Exams in 2 weeks. freak out! awwwwww freak out!
2. Work 2-3 weeks after exams. salary! fingers crossed for an increment!
3. some wicked parties are on the charts!
UPDATES
Nottingham v NUS
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i wont say anything defamatory hear. this is the new promise i made. wont say…will be nice…fuck it. NUS sucks hairy sweaty balls. i hate studying here so much, every second here i want to stick my boobs in a paper shredder.
in NOTTINGHAM going to the library entailed the incentive of looking at delicious ang moh men who, in turn, found me ridiculously attractive. in NUS i sit in the study room checking out the rack on some hairy Indian man.
in NOTTINGHAM there was Starbucks in the library, where i would treat myself to the occasional caramel macchiato while i went outside and sat in the “sun” while burning one and crying my hear out listening to Foo Fighters not because FF moves me in that way just because crying is something im prone to doing when im angry. in NUS its the nasty nasty “kopi o c” which has stained my teeth so much i look like a leper with stained teeth, while i sit in the sun, staring at the fugly Indian man’s breasts while crying over the lack of my own.
in NOTTINGHAM the library was full of dark sided cynics like me from all walks of life, with whom i would have a fleeting conversation with about anything. in NUS its some Dior totting, Cartier wearing, flippy haired bimbo talking about how cool her new nails are.
In NOTTINGHAM it was me and Oya giving some English whore the evils. in NUS its me sitting by my lonesome self, apart from the terrific company of Daphne who would kindly advice me on the most useful position to sit in order to expedite poop.
in NOTTINGHAM home was merely a 3 minute downhill walk before i have a comfortable bed, beautiful privacy and silence to hear the voices in my head, and a steaming plate of the turd they call English food. in NUS its a 20 minute bus ride which entails a 20 minute wait and 20 minute walk in the Satanic heat.
all the side effects of stress are revealing themselves. this includes incessant scratching - absent mindedness - staring into space - soirees at N0.5 into oblivion.
skee skee motherfuckers.
Diwali et al
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when i was a wee child the Brown People Holiday used to get me so excited i swear i passed out at some point. This included countdowns, cookie baking, card making, temple going, Indian clothes wearing, sparkles playing fun. These days, my soul having been swapped for an iPod 4 years ago its just a day when i do the following:
wake - say hello to Satan and his Wench - stick to a vegetarian breakfast - get my big honking mug of coffee - shut out the strains of my parents arguing over the potatoes - stalk off to my room and lie in bed until im forced out to say hello to relatives - always Satan’s side for lunch whereupon the kiddies are stuffed in my arms because ‘they just looooove their big cousin, dont you?!’ - i very quietly ditch them in the pond before i disappear into my room for the ancient customary Diwali nap - woken awake by Wench to go her mother’s house - spasming “happy diwali” at everyone - receive the Diwali money from the 20 million uncles, aunts and the ‘whats up’s to the 30 million cousins - gambling ensues (on a religious holiday. the Gods must be horrified) - sneak out for a cheeky cig with the older ones - head home - dinner with Satan’s side - my only consolation is the presence of Para whos mother always provides the most generous Diwali cash - go out to play sparklers - this year entailed convincing the kids Para was Shrek (“but hes not green!’ “oh kids hes green INSIDE”) and chasing him with fire - everyone leaves - try to rid the house of the curry smell - shower to rid myself of the curry and onion scents - cuddle up in bed remembering that this was last year and this will be next year and really im not complaining because some consistency is always nice.
this diwali i was mostly hungover. my relatives think i have a drinking problem. i assure them its not a problem in the literal sense before snuggling into my bed still reeling from my martini induced daze.
i have realised i have become so jaded, that men i meet are now “this guy i once had a thing with”. and at some point i even forget who they are in every sense of the word.
i realised i despise the academic pursuit of law.
i have realised, until i qualify, i will always be a little bit dissatisfied with life. 14 months.
on Friday i went out with Chalmydia to a new watch launch at Shangri-La and embarrassed her by bursting out laughing when their main spokesperson was an ex national swimmer who, by the looks of it, may have forgotten what his penis looks like having not seen it in a while. since it is probably blocked. by his tummy. which is funny! because he was a swimmer! i hate explaining my jokes to you idiots.
mates came over on Sunday night for Diwali dinner. broke out 2 bottles of wine. i did a Snake dance which mainly entailed me rolling on my back and hissing at Gwailo. Jong brought brownies. by the end of the night i realised they were not hash brownies. we drank wine, we laughed, we toasted to the Greek gods.
A Brief History of Singapore
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In the midst of studying the law and while mastering Land, Company, Criminal and Evidence just takes time and perseverance and chasing my seniors for their notes, Singapore’s Constitutional Law is just a little pickle! Daphne came up with the ingenious idea of MAKING UP SINGAPORE LAW. here is my version of how Singapore came to be:
Singapore was originally known as Galactica 3-B until about 20 years ago, in circa 1645, when it was colonised by powerful Congolese armies of cyborgs accompanied by Chinese Pandas. The Congolese ravished our men and produced a strange hybrid of citizens who have though retianed their Asiatic features, have also inherited their large African dingdongs. Our women on the other hand were rejected by the Pandas, which explains the current day animosity which exists between Singaporean, as we are now known, and Pandas.
Galactica 3-B was re named Singapore in 2013. Its etymology is rather peculiar. “Singapor” meaning ”awesome” and “e” meaning “the large conquerers who like to mix mayo into almost any dish even those dishes that dont go with mayo and for whom coffee is a staple and who has a work related drinking problem and a very unapproachable demeanor and trouble pronouncing certain words in the English language” in the ancient Panda language.
in the 7th century, the Pandas, bored with the lack of conquests, left Singapore and instead occupied parts of urban India. Left with its Congolese rulers, Singapore was a happy place with a thriving port contributing to its rich and vibrant economy. Its port was central to Singapore’s ancient success. Singapore’s main exports in the 25th century were items essential for voodoo and imports were largely from the region consisting of raw materials like “EXIT” signs, which are pivitol to Singapore’s modern infrastructure as it offers invaluable assistance in Exiting buildings - something Singaporeans would never have known if not for these imports.
Singapore is now a multidimensional, multisex anarchic state. it is no point talking about law because, as i said, there IS no law. The laws which largely govern Singapore traditionally are “Shotgun Rules” which are an ancient set of rules of Panda origins, and “Beer Pong” rules.
Singaporeans are largely sexy people who like to eat other Singaporeans.
Fuckmi! Im back!
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No excuse for my hiatus but screw all that because im BACK baby!
nothing of relevance to type as of this moment apart from the realisation that i shouldnt expect pity by rubbing my body and saying “my pancreas hurts” and also, i cant feel my brain, which bothers me.
on a more controversial note: I am not exempt from the human frailty of prejudice. however, far from being a homophobe or racist, i have come to some sad epiphany that im a “class-ist”. and i dont like stupid people.
my mother’s handphone case is the Jamaican flag with the silhouette of a marijuana leaf on it. this is in addition to her “Addihash” T shirt.
Why Manisha Needs A Husband
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http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8142104.stm
1. To fry and fertilise my eggs
2. To sit with me while i watch horror films, hold my hand and keep on telling me “Manisha there is a camera there. No no…nobody is going to come out of the tv and kill you. No, you wont die in 7 days if you watch this. yes im sure. because i watched this 5 years ago and im still alive. uhm…no Manisha, im not dead inside. Fine fine yes im a useless husband. Why are you giving me this gun? No im NOT going to blow my brains out. because thats SUICIDE! You go to hell for that! What do you mean im going there ‘anyway”. Please dont cuss at me. I just said…Manisha…put the gun down. Where the fuck did you get a bazooka from?! ahhhhh noooooo…..!!!!”
3. To aleviate my trichophobia by unclogging drains.
4. To visit my mother once she becomes a paraplegic (because im going to break her legs after she tries to deny me my inheritance. it has to be done. its just the way…its just the way it is)
5. To help me destroy The Inheritance Threat and steal her beauty
6. To cook for me because i do not enjoy cooking
7. To carry me home from No.5 after my usual 10 martinis
8. To provide me with fruits of his loins so i can produce an heir for my REIGN OF TERROR as a a law-yah. (isnt this already at no.1)
9. To make me honey and ginger tea when i have a sore throat.
10. To throw petals at my feet whenever i walk into a room.
SEE…Men DO serve some purpose.
tyra banks my father
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What a great week this is turning into! Mr Boss randomly leaves the country and since he is the only person i work for, i have basically the next 10 days to NOT wake up at 645am to reach work by 830 to do as much as a i humanly can and leave, very grudgingly, at 7 only to bring work home, which i ABHOR, which i resume at about 10. NOT FOR another 10 days!
Tyra Banks annoys the crap out of me because, firstly, she scares the living shiz out of me with her big eyes, and secondly, if any of you have watched The Tyra Banks Show, you will note that it is chronically IMPOSSIBLE for Tyra Banks to talk about someone else without somehow relating the story to herself. There was this episode with some sob story about a poor black woman, and the scene cuts away from the protagonist of the story to pictures of Tyra as a “poor” black “woman”. ANYWAY the point is she is a self absorbed little man and i ceased watching that show. HOWEVER it turns out Satan is exactly like Tyra Banks in this respect. His other nickname IS actually Tyra simply because of this attribute. it is virtually impossible to talk about anything without him somehow drawing a reference to himself or someone he knows.
I recently derived a scheme to fix this about him. I am going to come up with a list of topics he simply cannot contribute to:
1. Periods.
“i had my period today and it was not fun.”
likely response: “If i were a woman, and if i had my period, what i would do is to go have my womb removed.”
likely sarcastic response from me: “IF you were a woman?”
verdict: unlikely to suceed. fact - Satan is alot more emotional then myself, Strumpet and T.I.T put together. With his wide and deep emotional range, similar to that of your average woman, he is likely to contribute to this topic. it is hard to imagine him as an ex military man who can most likely execute a man with his bare hands.
2. Breasts
“hi.i saw a woman with big boobs today”
likely response: “in court i see alot of slutty lawyers with big boobs.”
sarcastic reponse: “what? you dont get that looking at a mirror?”
verdict: fail. Satan has moobs.
3. Sex
“i was running past some secluded spot and i saw two people having sex in the car”
likely response: i love indian food.
sarcastic response: ???
verdict: even if there is no connection he will somehow forge a connection. I give up.
Its a bit rich that im complaining because, next to Satan, i am the most self absorbed person i know. BUT unlike him i actually pretend to give a shiz about what people have to say, ask them the mandatory questions before smoothly shifting the conversation back to ME. What he does is “ME MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEEE” while i am more subtle. His is a flaw mine is a GIFT.
PLEASE READ THIS NOW
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Hey! why arent you reading this anymore! Dont. it hurts when you do that. and you dont want to hurt me because i react very violently to such things.
anyway:
H1N1
Been in Singapore a few weeks now. Thus far largely has kept out of my way but Singapore being the size it is and being as dense as it is, its bound to reach home soon. Its inching its way to me, i can feel it. Already Nini’s cousin has it. the cousin was with Nini’s gran when she caught it but not knowing anything, the Gran went to visit Nini on Saturday evening. We saw Nini on Saturday night. Now Nini…has the flu. And Beverly who was also out Saturdy night has the flu. And Chlamydia feels sick too. Im perfectly healthy of course, because i have the immunity of Zeus himself! You think something like a mere virus can take down the Manisha?!
Rain
and offering salvation from this evil Satanic heat…there was a torrential monsoon downpour this morning. I woke up to thick fat grey clouds and felt sad because i love being in bed when it rains. Then i ran the fuck off to the train station and, quite literally, as i put one foot into the MRT grounds, it started absolutely pissing down. I brushed it away as a fleeting storm but when i reached the work station 15 minutes later it was still bitching down. What chaos rain throws us sun worshipping Singaporeans into! The train entrance was packed with people with but a flimsy newspaper to offer any iota of protection. I was intending to use my Draft Closing Submissions but instead approached a lady and asked her if she was going across and she offered her umbrella, which was a bit wonky on my side and my head was basically wedged under the umbrella, for which the lovely lady apologised but i brushed it off thanking her for her kindness.You see there are 2 kinds of rude, the way there are 2 kinds of manslaughter,: the act and the omission. Singaporeans aer rude not explicitly but are rude by failing to act polite. And in this girl offering her umbrella i was deeply touched and i pray karma blesses her the same way karma is going to kill Toby with a lethal combination of AIDS and dysentry.
Gyming
i now do High Intensity Interval Training. I used to do regular interval training which was 2 minutes at a base speed of 8.5km/h at a 1% incline with intervals of 1 minute of sprinting at speeds ranging from 9 - 10km/h at inclines ranging from 3-6% all for 30 - 35 minutes. NOW with HIIT its the complete reverse keeping my base speed of 8.5 for 1 minute and lengthening the intervals to 2 minutes. LET me tell you this…its HARD. My body hurts and its only my third try. FURTHERMORE near the end of my run last night my chest tightened and started hurting followed by pain shooting through my left arm. I think thats an affliction which the commoners describe as a “heart attack” but im still alive! woo hoo!
Work
last 30 days before i start my HOLIDAY!!!
well technically its 3 months of school. But its a holiday! School takes the PISS compared to work. im just sad about the 3 months of salary im going to miss out on but on the plus side i spend more when im not making any money. i dont know HOW thats the plus side…
My Last Words
i want a book on famous last words. i have been satiating my curiousity by reading last words on Wikiquotes and i have realised maybe people are the most sincere on their death beds and i have also realised i think most last words are bullshit because its IMPOSSIBLE that people are so fucking eloquent and erudite on their deathbeds. Wont most people be screaming “WHY ME WHHHHYYY MEE???! BEGONE DEATH!!!”
So i have decided since im probably going to be screaming “WHY ME WHY MEEEE” on my death bed or asking for a cigaratte and a martini, stirred not shaken, i should decide on my last words PRONTO, write it down and maybe tattoo it on my forhead. i think, what encapsulates me - that is depraved, sullen, misantrophistic, cycnic, beautiful, sexy, intelligent, mostly perfect, really i should be canonised - is:
Manisha: Ah.
So what they say is true.
Followers weeping around my death bar (you think im going to DIE on a BED?! fuck off!): and what is this my Lord? Oh Wonderful Rai? Thou art as beautiful and sweet as a sweet and beautiful rose-like object…
Manisha: Shut up! my ass is dying so stop kissing it!
Followers: sorry. what is true O Queen Of Perfect?
Manisha: what they say is true. life is a bitch…and then you actually DO die.
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oh my work is so hard…i hate my life…wah wah wah
toby doesnt love me, hes stinking his thingy into some English whore’s va-jay-jay wah wahh wah
oh no my life is SO hard because, you know, im not poor, im so attractive, i get anything and everything i want, i have a great job, wonderful family, amazing friends, a terrific solid education…wah wah wah
oh i went out and i got drunk oh how ORIGINAL
sweet mother of chicken pot pie…there are other things to talk about in this world.
Now. here is a DILEMMA. what if you are on the train, sitting down because you ruthlessly fought for your seat and then this woman appears in front of you and you are about to stand up and give her your seat because she looks pregnant but you have a nanosecond of a pause because she just MIGHT be fat? Then you sit there staring at her belly deciding your options: if she is fat and you give up your seat then she might think you think shes fat or old or disabled. BUT if you sit down and not move and she actually is pregnant then you are a bad human being. so i got up anyway since i was 2 stops away and nodded at her and then at the seat. Then i was a bit horrified when she hesitated in taking the seat and i was all like “OH SHIT shes just fat!” but she sat down anyway and i thought “ok maybe shes pregnant but im going to check anyway” so i was staring at her belly, until she realised i was staring at hery belly and she put her bag over it and then i just felt weird and skipped out of the train. DONT tell me there is a difference between fat and pregnant because i have some days when I actually look pregnant. on the few days before my period i BLOAT up so much i look very unattractive and very pregnant and i have to resort to wearing my fat clothes. and some women can look disproportionately fat…like having a skinny upper body but a little pudgy on top? then what are you supposed to do? i contemplated and gave up because my head hurt.
