Why Do We Have 26 Alphabets?

Alphabets make me angry.
Alphabets make me bawl.
Alphabets make me cuckoo.
Alphabets make me depressed.
Alphabets make me excruciating.

Alphabets make me faint.
Alphabets make me grumpy.
Alphabets make me horrific.
Alphabets make me ill-tempered.
Alphabets make me jumpy.

Alphabets make me KO.
Alphabets make me livid.
Alphabets make me miserable.
Alphabets make me nuts.
Alphabets make me work overtime.

Alphabets make me puke.
Alphabets make me quiet.
Alphabets make me rant and rave.
Alphabets make me speechless.
Alphabets make me tumble.

Alphabets make me unbearable.
Alphabets make me vulnerable.
Alphabets make me worry.
Alphabets make me X.
Alphabets make me yell.
Alphabets make me zombie.

My job is soooooooooo FUN! Yay!

Disclaimer: The story you are about to read was created based on my imagination and is not suitable for those self adsorbed. You have been warned.

I work in a modeling agency. I am surrounded by beautiful people. Girls with legs that reached their neck and guys with eyes so sexy that will make me faint by simply looking at them.

Our Public Relation Director is the coolest women I’ve ever met. She walks into the office at 12pm everyday (while my boss comes in round 8.30am) and everyone else sort of has to bow at her. She even has a private jet to bring her to everywhere she wants to go. And of course she’s sleeping with the hottest model around. Rumor has it that she’s also sleeping with another hottie from another modeling agency. Hmmp.. I guess that’s what PR is all about.

Our Fashion Police Department is lead by the moodiest guy I’ve ever met. Geez.. I thought only girls PMS. This guy PMS 24/7. His mood swing has actually caused this girl to cry once when all the girl wanted to do was to do her job. Poor girl. Apparently, he’s even harsher to guys. I heard he kicked this guy out of the company because he wears the same beige pants for two days in a row. Sigh. I never want to be near him. Just in case he roars.

Our Bimbo Director (yes we have a Bimbo Department) is of course the most bimbo women I’ve ever met. The position says it all.

We even have a bar in our office. And of course we need a bartender for that. But our bartender prefer to be called a mixologist. Ok, whatever makes you happy mate! He has this thing against the CCC. He once made this cocktail for a CCC that caused ugly blonde streaks on her hair. But no worries, the CCC thought it was so cool that she’s made no effort to look for a remedy. Well, what do you expect from a CCC. Thank God I’m not one of them or how am I going to get my daily fix of orange juice everyday. Hehehe..

My job is soooooooooo FUN! Yay!

This entry is to be continued as I am lazy to type now.

I Have No Freaking Idea

One of the few things I find it really hard to do is to say sorry. “I’m sorry.” The words just won’t come. I’m not talking about those “I’m sorry I accidentally knocked onto you” kind of sorry. I am talking about those “serious sorry”.

I have no idea why. Would it be my ego? Or would it be my stubbornness? Or would it be my… I have no freaking idea.

Sigh. I am not proud of it. I am learning. Please bear with me.