Tuesday, March 08, 2005

grow boobs, grow.

Every time I have to do an essay (I'm in the midst of one), my waist will grow and expand exponentially. This is due to all the extra junk I eat, in order to concentrate on my readings.

Thing is: after an essay, my waist is never the same again. Never. It goes past the elastic point, and undergoes deformation (yikes, I forgot all my physics terms) and is permanently stretched. No chance of it shrinking back to its original size. Now I know how pregnant women feel. Ugh.

Of course, I try to console myself it's all for your own good, it's your essay you know, 3rd year already, so it's okay to eat jumbo-sized bars of Galaxy chocolate and I have an excuse to buy new (but bigger) clothes.

Now, if only I can apply that to my boobs. I'd have bigger ones than Jordan. Au naturale to boot. Check it out below:

Introducing Jordan/Katie Price:

Damn, I also want (part one).

Either that, or a slimming package at Marie France Bodyline. I can always try to look for one of those corsets which push up all the flab to your chest, plumping up a non-existent cleavage, giving you a wasp-like waist, and a concave tummy. Woohoo.

Laetitia Casta. She's so pretty.

Damn, I also want (part two).

Just think, I would never ever need to exercise again. Not that I do, but that's not the point. It's the thought behind it.

I think I've procrastinated long enough, it's time to get back to my essay (I have a grand total of 13 words - it's the title), switch from bimbo to geeky mode, and try to impress my tutor with convoluted-but-intellectual-sounding sentences.

Stretta: This time, I hope my boobs will grow alongside with my waistline.

Coda: I suddenly recall the advertisement back home for some instant milk formula, with the little kiddies belting out: "We love 'Grow'! We love 'GROW'!"
Okay okay, out of point.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

belated wishes.
Is it just me, or are stockings made of the most d...
some of my sch mates.
unbearably awake.
all ye lesser mortals, bow down before mitsuko uch...
missing lens.
pineapple high!
schumann and what not.
the problems of being Lynne.
why me?

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.