***
Allright. Art is alot of work.

Met Sunday's Photographer (Ley) for a little chat, and a viewing of the photos he took for me. He hasn't got the time to duplicate the set though, so no new shit till two days later I'm afraid. But they ARE beautiful. The ones I look the best in, so far. It was also alot more work then the others I've taken though, but that just goes to show that all the best art takes effort, and alot of it too. But I still won't say they're anything amazing. I thought the photos would come out souless, and I still think they are souless. Well, if there's a soul in the subject of the pictures, it cannot be mine. I am not whatever that's in there. And that's really important to me, and that's why I love Suicidegirls so much. Because you can see the person the girl is in her sets. And that's everything.

We talked alot about his drinking problem (2k on net drinks every month is a little extreme) and the makeup artist and her fucked up love life. There's this French vetenarian whoes in love with her (believe it or not, she used to work in the zoo), but alas, religion has once again taken precedence over happiness. So she's stuck with another bastardy Malay dude. Well, I'm sure there are some nice ones out there *coughcough*, but it's such a pity that religion has to limit her choices. I suppose it's different when you're Muslim. You can't just denouce Allah like how people forsake Christ or Buddah, or whatever.

***

I walked past Mr. Big's place last night and thought I'd stay over and just popped in without warning, and he was all, oh happy and stuff. Sometimes he gets pissed when I do that. I don't know why. It never fails to freak me out. I wish there were some way I could wring out more consideration for me from him.

Mr. Grant's never like that though. Goddamnit. But he's always busy. Well, you can't have everything. But royalty treatment is always preferable.

Ley tells me Singaporean people are so American. I can't help but think so too. For one thing, they're always thinking about money. Secondly, they're rude. Well whatever. I think they sold their culture so wholly to us, we're like them now.

Anyway, Mr. G was all guilty for bailing out on the poetry SLAM (gasp) and me last night. He called me today *grin* well, that really kinda shows he's thinking about how I feel. And that feels good. Ah, these little triumphs.

We had a nice long silly chat about his roommate whoes shagging a 21 year old Dutchie (she's 33). Apparently she thought she was pregnant and had asked him to grab a pregnancy kit on his way back from work yesterday evening; he said her hands were shaking when she told him about the whole mad affair when he came back for dinner. But anyway, she isn't pregnant, and they had alot of Movenpick chocolate cherry ice-cream after that; she was still under the impression that her hormones were imbalanced, apparently, and thought she had all the right to crave for it. Oh well. Even women that old can make still make ill choices. (No condoms? Bad! -See, I advocate safe sex.)