  hello. i am rich. today was uneventful. we made our one and only stop to first auntie's house (since, unfortunately, my uncles have all shuffled off their mortal coils).
she lives one bus stop away from shiqi, the ever youthful moon goddess. and anyway it's so weird to have cousins who are already breaching forty five, and my youngest cousin on my pa's side got married last year and was conspicuously missing today. and as usual we had this ayam pongteh and chicken curry, in typical urlLink nyonya fashion. but i think i've lost my sense of taste. i demolished all the "special" chilli at reunion dinner without a whimper, and three whole green chillies with my lunch. really. and i ate almost two tablespoons of belachan chilli made with the hottest chilli padi my maid could dig out. i think it's because i've been eating tasteless meat with tiao hua jiu + pepper recently. it helps make food a lot more eatable, actually. but if i can't enjoy my chilli any more, then i guess i'd rather not be alcoholic. nig wanted to introduce to me his cousin who is about the same age as us, and i said something stupid to her on the phone. i stopped short of proposing to her on the phone, and she said i was a disgusting creep and hung up.
i may not be good at urlLink stalking many girls simultaneously , but i am on an individual basis. i think i've still got biology and chemistry homework. both undone. woo! and on saturday, SAT test. i've been screwing up all my practise stuff. everything. i think not a single question correct. i refuse to memorise vocabulary, or to integrate one hundred new words into my vocabulary by daybreak.
i'm not one of those jackasses who get by every test by memorising and sitting down by my desk doing the same kind of exercises and questions. i kind of feel like lye hwa now. argh. i even like her favourite wuthering heights. not really. it isn't a great book, actually: the only truly well fleshed out character is male (heathcliff). it ends abruptly. (although i like my books like that. ) and this book is written by emily bronte. but stories by female writers excel in two things: a great ending and ghosts, and wuthering heights showcases the near pinnacle of both with a storyline that barely hangs together. barely. so much for wuthering heights. i am going. bye. 
