I just heard this on Class95. Gwyneth Paltrow might be pregnant again. So what is she going to name her child now? Orange? Papaya? Mango? Semua boleh, asalkan jangan Langsat / Durian / Lai sua... Can you imagine if the kid is a Chinese called Lai? It will sound like "Lai, come and eat laiiii..." Hurhur...

I realise (well I've known this all along but I'm only beginning to really think about this) that there might be people, (who are not my friends, who are not friends of my friends, who are not friends of my friends of my friends) who are secretly reading my blog. It's disconcerting to know that they are reading my blog at night and knowing mundane things about my life such as what I had for lunch or the colour of my underwear, and then see me the next morning and smile at me. Urgh! I mean, honestly. What do you expect me to write about? You? Office gossips? 10,000 reasons why I want to kill my boss? (Whom, by the way, is in a very good mood these past few days. I heart him. Must be the year-end mood).

Ok seriously, I don't mind people reading what I've written. I mean, if I had wanted this to be a secret affair, I would have written all in the diary I've kept since 1992, right? But what I CANNOT stand is when you IMPLY you know something about me and make it look like as if I have something to hide. Something I should be sorry and guilty about.

Do me a favour, my common comrades. If you want to be in my good books, just say it as it is. Give 'em to me. I've gotten enough shit. I can take more. I think I've come to that (st)age where some things will shock me, but most things won't. Take everything with a pinch of salt, I say. So come. Give it to me.

(Was in a foul mood the whole of this morning. Feeling better now. Must have been the nasi lemak. Or the promise of a whole body massage next Tuesday.)

Anyway, was reading a fellow blogger's entry where she wrote about attending Malay weddings every Sunday. And I am thinking about the same thing!! Just yesterday, I was having lunch with a poly-mate and she rattled off the names of people I know who are getting married soon, or already engaged - herself included.

I'm like... Disturbed. Yeah I'm only 22 but STILL! Ok don't get me wrong. I'm not gonna do the "Jom kahwin Sunday" she-bang. It's just that 22 is like SO young to be tying the knot. And so is 23 and 24 and 25 and 26. I'm thinking more like, 28 - 32. But what if by 32, I realise that:

(1) there are no more good guys. The remaining good guys are either gay, married, married with 2/3/4 wives or have bad habits like scratching their groins while smiling at me / have bad body odour / have a fetish of smelling my pits.

(2) I am 32. The age, I think, where I am in 'danger' of reaching the expiry date. Where I am not as dateable as someone who is oh, say, 16? Where my laugh lines, white hairs and saggy breasts are gonna show. Where guys ask me for my age and I lie, saying "Oh I'm younger than you think, dah-link! I'm only 24!!" accompanied by my shrill, girly laugh and flipping my hair flirtatiously (IF I have long hair. If not, imaginary long hair also can).

(3) there is no one who would love me for who I am. One who would tolerate my nonsense, my whines, my tantrums and my uneven breasts size.

What if by 32, I still have not found my one true love?

Or worst, what if by 32, I realise that I HAD my one true love, but that he's gone when I was 22? :-/

Never mind. 32 is in 10 years. That means, I have 10 years to do these - climb mountains, skydive, deep-water raft, read the 9.30pm news at ChannelNewsAsia, report a world-breaking story (i.e "Farzuin Zainal reporting LIVE from Gua Buta in Kalipongkakakkaupunyalaki").

10 years to grow my hair. 10 years to even out the size of my mammary glands by plastic surgery. 10 years to realise that maybe, there is no such thing as One True Love, and just go marry that mat who sells VCD haram at pasar malam.

Gimme 10 years. And see what I can do with them.