i'm just going to retype the main stuff again.

sans the cursing. and the curses that i threw at you.

55 minutes left as a 16 year old.

the last year of my teenage life is going to start off with a bang.

with pw.

to all the friends that had planned my party.. thanks.
i'm sorry i couldn't have been there.

i was forced to go for pw.

it's becoming disgustingly irritating.

eve's 17th was held at the grand ballroom of some posh hotel.
200 guests.
pretty expensive gifts.
formal invitations.
professional photography.
3 almost identical designer outfits and a proper tiara to change into during the night.
a 5 star chef and his sous.
waiters.
a dj.
and a dress code.

for my birthday..
i will be sitting in some small crammed room in some bustling area trying to do pw.
surrounded by the rest of the world who would be enjoying themselves shopping.
no gifts.
with only a "you'd better come or else" in the place of an invite.
wearing worn out slippers, a fushia tank top and crescent black shorts.
in the company of an innocent bystander, a rugger,
and a woman who's face i'd want to scratch till all her blood runs dry.

with 40 minutes to her birthday she was having fun at her birthday party on the arm of her boyfriend... radiant and disgustingly happy.

with 40 minutes to mine i am sitting her retyping an erased blog entry. with nonexistent memories of an ex boyfriend. eyebags and dark circles. feeling horrendously grumpy.

and she will be loved.


to all the friends who tried to cheer me up..
thanks.
i'd probably have jumped out of the window by now if not for you.



[and if i probably did, we all know who to blame.]


but i guess that's what's important.

i would have had my yatch party if some things hadn't taken "precedence" over others.

then my party would have rivaled eve's.


but i guess it's the friends that are willing to make the sacrifice.


the ones who burn 6 hours of their life after school waiting for you to be free..
the ones who take the mrt down all the way to bishan to meet you right after french.
the ones who sit in mos burger listening to you complain for 2 hours about rasha and your irritating french tutor, upcoming assignments.. bitchy irritants and pw.. and just listen.
the ones who drag you down to orchard road, cause they, like all good girlfriends, know that retail theraphy solves anything.
the ones who are reading this now and smiling to themselves cause they know that i am talking about them.

the high that make you forget about all your problems until you sit on the lonely bus ride home and reality hits you again.

the only birthday song today went to jimmy mctay.

when the clock strikes twelve she had balloons falling from the ceiling. and we were all singing her birthday song for her.

when the clock strikes twelve i'll be staring at my computer screen trying to finish pw... as microsoft word stares back at me with maroon 5 playing in the background.


26 minutes.


happy birthday.