Monday, June 1, 2009
hello, old friend.
7:01 AM
got them bedroom eyes on
and you're looking dirty sweet;
----
because you find you need a stimulant to survive
and the street's ours. seventeen but with nine lives.
"Vida, la Cienne!"
...roughly translated?
"live, bitch!!"

Showed up in costume.
Blair Waldorf, Asia's answer to Serena VDW, Gypsy Grrrl, Lily Allen, Marilyn Monroe, Aphrodite.



Sunday nights: no pews no cathedral bells no choir girls with dirty knees.
Just this, the now, the here.
Headed down to Clarke Quay and walked the streets with our alibis.
Siren-red sunglasses at ten o'clock at night? Anything goes.
"the best thing about nighttime and adrenaline and places like this is that you can be whoever the hell you want and nobody cares. nobody knows."
It was funny, we walked the quay and attracted lots of curious gazes- step left right left, all we were missing was the grrrrrl-empowered soundtrack. Move overrrr, SATC; new kidz on the block and they're coked up on cooped up friday nights and too much grey.
Coaxed the little man selling Turkish icecream to come out from behind his pushcart stall and pose for pictures with us. He was adamant at first and I only realised why AFTER he stepped out-- he was shorter than me!! ...Like, a head shorter, or two, and considering I'm not exceptionally vertically endowed, that's saying quite a lot.
Tbf I do have Steve Madden to thank, in part; but stillll.
"you need to grow to be five foot three", poppycock, Lt J.Rolleston, I defy you.




*points upwards* Picture taken at the (in)famous Hooters.
Amrit even went as far as to enquire about job requisites.
Hooter girl: "oh yes, working at Hooters is fun, loving, and enjoyable".
...yeeaah, I'm sorry. VERY loving, and VERY enjoyable.
Lisa was giving us the "...ohhh God will make you atone for your sins" look almost the whole way through, and clutching onto Lynna's hand.
Lisa darling we're not bad people! La vida la vida la vi-bloody-la, petite cherie. :D
So after a while, Lisa headed back off home--
Lisa: Bye!
Us: Bye!
Cara: Be safe!
Amrit: Call us if you get raped!
Lisa: *gives us the how-the-hell-is-that-supposed-to-reassure-me look*
-- and the rest of us continued on our way.
Persian restaurant, nightbreeze, the waiter with the dark brooding gaze and the swarthy exotic complexion and the moody, silky voice whose name was...wait for it...
...Sam.
:/
His name might as well have been Bob, for all it was worth.
Whyyyyy Sam whyyyy. You deserve to have a way more glamorous name like Aladdin Bin Mohammed El Shakur Azlair. Or something.
Aaanyway. I digress. So we sat down, ordered drinks, realized the Flying Dutchman was sitting two tables across from us, brought out the bloodred lipstick and the redundant sunglasses, spent the next half hour/hour? or so being dragons and generally acting stupid.
Especially Amrit.
"WOO WOO WOOOOOOO"
...yes, lovey.






Moving on: Sunday night jam session at the Crazy Elephant!!!
I love rock n'roll.
We got up to dance in the middle of everything and then suddenly this odd guy came gyrating over to us and gave us his sunglasses to wear in return for Kirstin's cute checked ones; we were more than happy to make the swop since his were D&G and Kirstin's had cost her about $5.
At first I thought he was just a chappie in a really good mood, and then I realized he was pretty drunk. That was around the time he started dancing around our table while the rest of the patrons watched (...oh yeah, better than late night telly, us) and demanded that we all put red lipstick on him, and mascara, and "makeup I want more of your makeup".
...Ew.
Never touching that tube of lippie again.








---



worn out from the night's events
city girls drape like tired paperdolls over each other's laps--
curls wild, sleeves dishevelled, fire-engine red lips smouldering and smudged from too much laughing and latenight Red Bull.

La Vida, Cienne.
...Seventeen and immortal; or at least till midnight.