Yesterday was a superhappening day to say the least.

I finished my exams (for good, I hope! Next sem, as I’ve been gloating continuously ad infinitum, I haven’t got any exams bwahahaha *snooty face*), waking up at 4am for last minute mugging and drinking the free Tongkat Ali 3-1 coffee my Dad brought back one day (‘Power Root’ it says on the sachet, haha double innuendo!) and having the caffeine and Tongkat Ali high wear off an hour into my PR exam resulting in me almost falling face-flat onto my half-scribbled exam paper. Followed up by a lunch/goss session with my fave Singkie (if Hong Kong people are Hongkies, Singaporeans are Singkies!) Farhanah a.k.a. Bonch-Bonch.

Home home home, just as I was about to pass out my mum called me downstairs to go to Glenmarie, which can only mean one thing.

Test drive new car.

But today it wasn’t a nice car or anything, so pause the excited exclaimations. It’s only a Proton, which at RM26,999 is the cheapest brand new car in the Malaysian car market. Now also before you start slagging off Proton, let me just say that beggars can’t be choosers, and I only plan on using it for a year or two.

Le new car. I have decided to call it Black (Scrap) Metal when it arrives

There were two colour options, black or orange—obviously I took black. What with my midnight curfew and a pumpkin orange car, I’d just be itching to be called Cinderella.

I can get it within two or three weeks, which is just in time for the new semester. The new campus being so bloody far from the bus stop, let’s just say I’m grateful to have a car at all! I mean I know Proton’s been getting all sorts of shit from everyone (most of it well-deserved) and it’s prices are unjustifiably high…like I mean, come on, the new Iswara’s car doors are hollow. The speedometer, aircon, everything looks plastic and tacky, tacky, tacky.

But?

Ok, I actually don’t have a point, I’m just grabbing at strings here. But I will maintain however that a car is better than no car! Hee.

I was listening to this song yesterday while I was studying for my PR exam and it made me break out in giggles. Heh.

I’M SO POST MODERN
BY THE BEDROOM PHILOSOPHER

I’m so postmodern that I just don’t talk anymore, I wear different coloured t-shirts according to my mood.

I’m so postmodern that I work from home as a surf life saving consumer hotline.

I’m so postmodern all my clothes are made out of sleeping bags, I don’t need pockets, I’m a pocket myself.

I’m so postmodern I go to parties I’m not invited to and locate the vegemite and write my name on everyone.

I’m so postmodern that I write reviews for funerals, and heckle at weddings from inside a suitcase.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to adopt a child, and teach him how to knit, and call him Adolf Diggler.

I’m so postmodern that I break dance in waiting rooms, play Yahtzee in nightclubs, at three in the afternoon.

I’m so postmodern I only go on dates that last thirteen minutes, via walky talky, while hiding under the bed.

I’m so postmodern I invite strangers to my house, and put on a slide show of other people’s Nans.

I’m so postmodern I went home and typed up everything you said and printed it out in wingdings and gave it back to you.

I’m so postmodern I held an art exhibition – a Chuppa Chup stuck to a swimming cap, and no one was invited.

I’m so postmodern I make alphabet soup, and dye it purple, and pour it on the lawn.

I’m so postmodern I request Hey Mona on karaoke, then sing my life story to the tune of My Sharona.

I’m so postmodern I only think in palindromic haikus – “Madam, I, Glenelg, I’m Adam!”

I’m so postmodern that I sit down to wee, and stand up to poo, at job interviews.

I’m so postmodern that I dress up as Santa, in the middle of August, and haunt golf courses.

I’m so postmodern that I cut off all my hair, and knitted it into a beanie, and threw it off a bridge.

I’m so postmodern that I stole everyone’s mail, and cut them up into a ransom note and hid it in a thermos.

I’m so postmodern I take my lego to the supermarket and build my own shopping trolley, and only buy one nut.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a letter to the council – .I think it was ‘M.’

I’m so postmodern I bought a round the world plane ticket, and stuffed my clothes with eggplant and pretended it was me.

I’m so postmodern I’ve got a tattoo of my pin number in hieroglyphics on my neighbour’s guide dog.

I’m so postmodern I fought my way into parliament and made a law banning Nuttelex, and then moved to Spain.

I’m so postmodern that I iron all my lettuce leaves, put my shirts in the crisper – they’re real crisp.

I’m so postmodern I give live mice to buskers, dirty tea towels to the Mormons, and pavlova to crabs.

I’m so postmodern that I live in a tent, on a platform of skateboards that’s tied to a tram.

I’m so postmodern I write four thousand-word essays on the cultural significance of party pies.

I’m so postmodern I recite Shakespeare at KFC drive thru, through a megaphone, in sign language.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to watch the Olympics on a black & white TV, with the sound down.

I’m so postmodern I go to the gym after hours, push up against the door, then cry myself to sleep.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a trilogy of novels from the perspective of a possum that Jesus patted once.

I’m so postmodern that I marry all my friends, soak myself in metho, and tell them that they’ve changed.

I’m so postmodern I bought every book written in 1963 as a reading challenge, and clogged up a waterslide.

I’m so postmodern I think I might be a god in my undies rolling in sugar, in the carpark of a rodeo.

I’m so postmodern I prerecorded this song, and laced a message subliminally telling Shane Porteous to buy a smock.

I reckon the Communications lecturers would be shaking their heads incredulousy while my classmates would be sniggering. I’m tempted to send it to Dr.Yeoh for laughs.