Tuesday, September 12, 2006
That's so Moreish
I went to talk to the counselor today. She made me feel a lot better, but really, half an hour is not nearly enough to unload my... my what? Stress? Disappointment? Rejection? Unhappiness? Disappointment? Disappointment? Disappointment? Yes, disappointment. Yes, all that, and more.
I think my sense of humour has become non-existent. Or at least very warped. I was walking along Southbank Boulevard on the way back home when I passed this enormous rubbish crate (?) filled with dusty maroon office chairs. On the side of the crate (?), the word Baxter was printed in bold white font.
Baxter? Like, the detention centre? This thought niggled me for the next five seconds. Baxter immigration centre. At least the detainees, legit or otherwise, get to sit on something comfortable.
That's not a joke by the way. Or if it is, it's a very twisted one.
You could call it a bizarre, random observation.
I also learnt a new word today. "Moreish".
Chips are delicious and very moreish. I am told (in fact sworn to) that it is a real word. I looked it up in the dictionary. I couldn't find it on dictionary.com. But AskOxford was kind enough to inform me that it means "so pleasant to eat that one wants more." That's cute, isn't it? Compliment your mother's cooking with that. Tell your canteen uncle his noodles are 'moreish'. Tell your grandma her fried rice or nonya kueh or whatever is 'moreish'.
But don't sue me for any black eyes, dirty looks or sore bottoms received.
Ah wait, my sense of humour is returning. A thought just hit me. What if I got over D---- by rebounding back to Andrew? That woud be the funniest thing ever, because I got over Andrew by rebounding on to D----.
I think my sense of humour has become non-existent. Or at least very warped. I was walking along Southbank Boulevard on the way back home when I passed this enormous rubbish crate (?) filled with dusty maroon office chairs. On the side of the crate (?), the word Baxter was printed in bold white font.
Baxter? Like, the detention centre? This thought niggled me for the next five seconds. Baxter immigration centre. At least the detainees, legit or otherwise, get to sit on something comfortable.
That's not a joke by the way. Or if it is, it's a very twisted one.
You could call it a bizarre, random observation.
I also learnt a new word today. "Moreish".
Chips are delicious and very moreish. I am told (in fact sworn to) that it is a real word. I looked it up in the dictionary. I couldn't find it on dictionary.com. But AskOxford was kind enough to inform me that it means "so pleasant to eat that one wants more." That's cute, isn't it? Compliment your mother's cooking with that. Tell your canteen uncle his noodles are 'moreish'. Tell your grandma her fried rice or nonya kueh or whatever is 'moreish'.
But don't sue me for any black eyes, dirty looks or sore bottoms received.
Ah wait, my sense of humour is returning. A thought just hit me. What if I got over D---- by rebounding back to Andrew? That woud be the funniest thing ever, because I got over Andrew by rebounding on to D----.
# posted by me lah @ 5:42 pm 
