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I AM HAPPY
Thursday, June 23, 2011
6:33 AM
I slept very early last night. Woke up in the middle of the night feeling hungry so I ate whole pack of Duh! Tomato Twisties. Favorite. Okay I need to exercise. Anyway I can't get back to sleep after reading Bel's message. SHE GOT IT FROM MILAN! Left pink but she requested to see it and the assistant came back with black from the store! YAY! *jumps around* I can stop seeing it from my computer screen. This is what I have been staring at:  Yay! This is to go with my wallet. Baby says he is going to pay for me. OMG love the both of them.  Chanel earrings as birthday present from Baby. ❤ I was still thinking whether should I get it and he straight away told the assistant, "we'll take it." Fucking man. I LIKE. I no need to say how much I love these. On my wishlist for quite some time. Things I got for myself for birthday:  Ran out so I replaced it.  This makes you feels sexy. I tried it at the counter and got it later from a friend who can get me discount. Lovin' it. And I bought tons of clothes online. Giving Baby the excuse it's my birthday. If not he will say buy clothes again! hahaha. Cause I have way too much clothes.  And I got Swarovski Crystalline Ballpoint Pen from Bel. I love love love love it. And she knows me very well, she got this black and fat one for me. The slim one is a bit girly. |
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Bearbear after haircut
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
4:19 AM
So much cuter right?     Superdog ❤ |
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My boys
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
2:38 PM
My boys were sent to groom. Lol! They gonna look like rats later. And they going to be upset over their hair for a few days. I don't care you smelly dogs.  - Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone |
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Do you guys realize?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
5:17 PM
Do you guys realize that ugly people have ugly friends? I am not judging ok.. But I find this is quite true. Actually this leads me to think that they are actually judging themselves and thus mixing people like themselves. I mean someone actually created this group Ugly People Have Ugly Friends on facebook. So at least I know someone agrees with me. But most ugly people are kind or are smart as offsets. So that's totally fine right? I mean it's hard to find down to earth people these days. I totally cannot stand those who are ugly and fat and trying to act all bitchy and think they're super hot. I feel like giving them a slap and buy them mirrors on their birthday. I know all girls love attention but HELLO~ Are you serious? Don't you find yourself disgusting? Because everybody else does. This theory applies to guys too. Do you feel like slapping Steven Lim? My point proven. I somewhat think I don't understand girls. *check my genital* Okay I am a girl. I might have more male hormones or maybe I have a hidden kukubird. Another thing I can't stand is people who put you in the bad light so they can shine. Stepping on someone's ego so you can get your confidence boost? People who knows will just see you as weak. So no need for me to say much and I can't be bothered. I am who I am and I love myself can already. I love myself so much that I might have OCD with myself. So zero damage done, save your energy. Feels all crazy today. Random. |
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Cath Kidston iPhone 4 case
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
9:37 AM
 You can them at $24.90 instead of $53 on outlet.com.sg. Okie I'm gonna buy G and H. But if I have the money I'll get A, J and K as well. Boo~ I need more moolah. |
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TRONDHEIM by Jeremy Tiang
3:20 AM
Wanna share this short story because I simply love it. Written by Jeremy Thiang, winner of NAC Golden Point Award 2009 - Short Story. Source: http://www.nac.gov.sg/eve/eve08.asp I was on the overnight train from Oslo to Trondheim when I heard another Singaporean voice, which took me by surprise. I had already spent a week in Scandinavia without encountering any of my countrymen. It might have been too early in the year for the inhabitants of a tropical island to venture this far north – it was barely spring, and there was still snow on the ground. The voice belonged to a young woman of about my age, twenty-seven, who was trying to persuade the conductor that her ticket was temporarily missing. She had a great deal of charm, but was obviously lying. She must have realised he was unlikely to let her off, and switched to explaining with great fluency that her credit card had been stolen the day before, so there was no use asking I hesitated – it was very inconvenient, I enjoyed my solitude and besides, had just come to an exciting point in my book – but finally decided I would have to help, and called to the conductor. I knew very little Norwegian, and his English was far from perfect, but we understood each other well enough for me to indicate that I wanted to pay for her ticket – billett – and hand over a large amount of kroner. Train tickets always cost so much more when you haven't been organised enough to book them in advance. After that, she felt she had to come and sit with me, even though there were a great many empty seats in the carriage, and I couldn't think of a polite way of asking her not to. She had very little luggage, just a small bag that she swung gracefully into the overhead rack before slouching next to me. She had long hair that stopped me from seeing her face properly. There was a pause, longer than I would consider polite – so long, in fact, that I had almost gone back to my book – before she said, “Thank you.” “You're welcome.” I could feel that my voice was a little stiff, and tried to sound friendlier. After all, she was a pretty girl. “Where did you lose your ticket?” “I never had one.” I had suspected this, but felt a little angry that she wasn't even bothering to pretend. “You didn't have to do that,” she continued. “I know you're being a gentleman, but I thought, what could they do? They surely wouldn't stop the train just to make me get off.” “It's not a non-stop train. Didn't you look at the timetable? There's a stop at Lillehammer, at 3.07 am.” “Lillehammer!” she laughed. “Why not? I've never been to Lillehammer.” I decided that she was a bit crazy, and turned to look out of the window at the snow, which was falling again, in heavy drifts. I knew we must be passing beside a fjord, but it was too dark to see anything except the clumps of falling white, skewed by the wind. We were only just outside Oslo, yet it felt like the end of the world. Maybe she felt some of the dull loneliness that Norway seemed to be swathed in, or maybe she thought I was angry to have bought a ticket for someone who didn't care where she went, but she started to explain that she'd lost her Rough Guide, and was happy to cross the country by boat and train, looking at pine forests. “Why Trondheim?” she suddenly asked. “I'm just staying there for a day,” I replied. “A chalet in the mountains outside the city. I want to do some skiing, and then another train further north.” “Why?” I shrugged. “Reindeer. The Northern lights.” “Why?” I didn't know what to say to that. Surely no one has ever needed a reason to see the Northern lights. “So which are you?” She looked at me appraisingly, her eyes narrowed. “Singaporean or Malaysian?” “Singaporean.” “I thought so. Civil service?” I nodded. “Engineer.” “You don't have to tell me. Glasses and checked shirt. Plus you have two ball point pens in your shirt pocket.” I laughed, trying not to sound uneasy. “You've studied here,” she said, making me feel uncomfortable with the way she was looking at me, as if I were a specimen. I felt like I was once again in the army, and everything important about me could be deciphered from the little tags sewn onto my uniform. “You've studied here,” she repeated. “In Norway?” “In Europe.” She gestured impatiently, taking in the whole continent. “Let me guess. London, Imperial College?” Wrong,” I said, childishly pleased that she was capable of making a mistake. “Munich.” “Government scholar?” I nodded. “Your German must be very good.” “It's all right,” I said, trying to be modest. “I lived there for four years. That's why I can speak a bit of Norwegian, they're quite similar languages. And you?” “The same.” She smiled, a sad smile which made her look older. “Singaporean, government scholar. Leeds, English.” This didn't surprise me, she had the look of someone who read a lot of storybooks. “So you're not an engineer.” She laughed as if the idea was ridiculous. “No, I'm a teacher. They make all the English grads become teachers.” This was probably true, but then I couldn't imagine what else you would do with an English grad. She didn't look like a teacher, or rather she looked like the teacher who was different from all the others, the one who wore fashionable clothes to school and once a year went bowling with her form class. I decided that all the boys in her class had a small crush on her, and all the girls went to her for boyfriend advice. Singaporean etiquette suggested that I should ask her which JC she had gone to, especially as we were about the same age and probably had friends in common, but that conversational route seemed unspeakably boring just then, so instead I asked her how long she had been travelling. “About ten days, I think.” Her brow wrinkled, as if she was searching her memory. “I wanted to go somewhere cold. I found some cheap fares to Germany on the internet, and I kept heading north. I didn't realise that everything here would be so expensive.” I nodded with feeling, having just paid fourteen Singapore dollars for a sandwich a the train station. “And I wanted to see a fjord,” she said. “I thought it would be like an Ibsen play. Pine forests, despair, cold water. Trolls in the mind.” “I know Ibsen,” I volunteered. “The Doll's House. About women's rights?” She looked at me like I was stupid, the same look the girls in JC used to give me when I hadn't heard of the latest boyband, or turned up at Zouk wearing unfashionable clothes. Trying to reach safer ground, I asked, “Which of his plays do you like best?” She paused before replying. It was a teacher's pause, designed to make sure the class was quiet and paying attention to her. “When I was in Oslo, I went to see a play at the National Theatre. It was by Ibsen, Little Eyolf.” “In Norwegian?” “Yes. It doesn't matter, I know the text well enough to follow it. It's about a young couple who have a crippled child, and they blame each other for the accident that caused his injury. They still love each other, but she's from a rich family, and he's obsessed with his work, so they're beginning to drift apart. Then a strange woman comes to visit them. She lures their son falls into a fjord and he drowns.” “What happens to the parents in the end?” “They get on with their lives, somehow.” “That sounds a bit depressing.” “He didn't write cheerful plays. Life isn't like that.” “That's why I seldom go to the theatre. So depressing. Why not cheer up a bit? I prefer comedies.” Again, she looked me like I was an idiot, as if she was tired of explaining things to me. I suddenly felt very angry. Of course she knew more about plays than I did, she was a girl, and a literature teacher. If we were talking about torques and pressure gradients then she would be the one to look stupid. “I feel like Little Eyolf sometimes. That's why it's my favourite play, I feel like I'm crippled, and nobody understands what I really need. Sometimes I think I should drown myself.” I was starting to realise what kind of girl she was. “You come from a wealthy family, right?” “It's okay.” She looked a bit startled. Maybe I had changed the subject too abruptly. “And you live in a big house. Sixth Avenue?” “Toh Tuck. How did you know?” I nodded, and didn't bother to reply. I had met a lot of girls like her. The pretty ones in the arts stream who giggled and wrote notes in their maths lectures, if they went to maths lectures. In their spare time, they read a lot of Sylvia Plath and wrote indifferent poetry for the school magazine. Knowing where to pigeonhole her comforted but also puzzled me; girls like that don't end up in faraway countries, scamming train fare off strange men. She looked annoyed that I wasn't answering her question, then threw her hair back and pouted in a way someone must once have told her was quirky. “Do you travel a lot?” was her next line of attack. I felt like I must be gaining status in her eyes, she sounded like she was really interested in me. “Whenever I can,” I replied. “I have a lot of annual leave, and I'll lose it if I don't take it.” “Most people don't go so far away. Everyone I know just goes to Langkawi.” “I want to see every country in the world before I die. I have a big map on my wall at home, and whenever I go to a country I colour it green with highlighter pen. Anyway, aren't you quite far from home yourself?” “It's different for me.” I thought this was patronising of her, but she didn't seem to notice. “I don't really think of Singapore as home any more. I don't really know where I belong, but I like to be far away.” I could tell that she thought she was being controversial, but I've met a lot of people like that, especially amongst overseas scholars. Some people spend a few years living outside Singapore and then think that gives them the right to criticise everything. I've seen them talking and laughing during the national anthem, making fun of the National Day Parade. Normally I try to avoid these people, but something made me snap at her, more fiercely than I had intended, “Why do you bother living there if it's not your home?” “I'm bonded,” she said. “You must be too. I'll have to keep working for them for a few more years. I don't have a choice.” That was true, of course. I had forgotten that she had said she was a scholar. “It's a prison,” she went on. “I can apply for a transfer to a different school, but I can't get away. I've asked my parents to buy me out, but they need to pay for my brother's studies. He's doing medicine in Australia.” “It's not so bad being bonded. I quite enjoy it. It's a nice job, the salary's quite okay, and it means I don't have to think. Why spend time worrying what to do? Jobs are all the same anyway. Just work hard and you'll have time to enjoy life afterwards.” She sighed. “I don't mind teaching. In fact, I really like the kids, some of them are my friends on facebook. But I don't like not having a choice about what I do.” “You knew the conditions when you signed that bond. Didn't you read the deed? Why would you expect them to pay for your studies and then not get anything in return?” “I was eighteen. Who on earth can think long term at that age? I just wanted to get out.” This must have been an argument she had used effectively many times before, because she was looking at me as if expecting me to nod and agree with her. “Do you think little girls dream about becoming teachers when they grow up?” Something had been bothering me for a while – a vague sense that her story did not quite fit – and now I realised what it was. “You're a teacher.” She nodded. “English and English Lit. And I'm in charge of the cross-country team.” I looked at her dubiously, and she blushed. “I used to like running. Anyway the new teachers always get the unpopular CCAs.” “If you're a teacher, what are you doing here?” She tried to laugh, but I think she knew I'd worked it out. “What, who says teachers cannot go Norway?” “You said you've been travelling for ten days now, but the March holidays are only one week long. How come you're still here? Don't you have to go back and teach?” I realised I was pointing my finger at her and quickly lowered it, in case it looked like I was accusing her of something. “I'm not supposed to be here.” “What do you mean?” “I was supposed to go back four days ago. Nobody knows where I am now, I haven't turned on my handphone or checked my e-mail. They probably think I'm dead.” She laughed her crazy laugh again, and I wondered if she had actual mental problems. “No, they probably think I've run away. Everyone in the school knows how much I hate it there. I'm always complaining in staff meetings. I don't mean to make a fuss, but they provoke me.” “You've run away?” “AWOL teacher!” She was still making funny noises that could have been laughter, or small cries of pain. “Are you in trouble?” I found myself saying, aware that I was talking like a character from a film. She didn't seem to hear me. “I was in Germany first of all. I did A-Level German so I thought it would be a good place to start. I took the train from one town to another, without any plan, just drifting. When I started to run out of money I knew I should go back, and my week was up anyway. I was in Hamburg, standing by the harbour, looking out towards the Baltic Sea. The sky there seems too big, all sunset, it made me feel like I was lost, Like I was nothing. So instead of going home I brought a ticket on the ferry to Oslo, and then I couldn't afford a hotel so I thought I'd try my luck with this train.” “Are you going to go back?” “I don't know.” She looked impatiently at me. “Don't worry. I'm not going to sit under a bridge and kill myself.” “It's not that,” I protested, annoyed that she found me so easy to read. “Your parents must be worried.” She frowned, but was saved from having to reply by all the lights going out just then. The conductor must have finished checking tickets for the whole train, and now we were settling down for the night. Around us the other passengers were yawning, putting their books away, finishing conversations. We reclined our seats, and opened the hospitality packs we'd been given. These contained a blanket, ear plugs, eyemask and inflatable pillow. I tucked myself in, but didn't use the earplugs or mask - I had the feeling she still had more of her story to tell. My glasses were tucked into my shirt pocket, so she was now just a blurred silhouette against the greater blur of forests rushing past the train windows. For a while we stayed like this, silent, just the thrum of wheels and sharp splatters as bursts of snow landed against the windows. The carriage seemed to become a single, warm, breathing mass as we sliced through the night, the only human beings for a hundred miles. I felt myself sinking through layers of something dark and thick as people pulled down their window shades and even the moonlight waned. When she spoke again, her voice seemed deeper, as if she was pulling at something within herself that didn't want to come loose. “I've travelled to so many countries. My family likes taking holidays, ever since I was a small girl we would go somewhere different every year. Australia, or Canada, or Korea. One year we went all over Africa. Then when I was a student I spent all my money inter-railing, all over Europe. I always feel like I need to escape.” I was now starting to feel sorry for her. “You shouldn't run away.” I tried to make my voice gentle, so it wouldn't sound like I was scolding her. “Why don't you tell your parents how you feel? If you're really so unhappy, I'm sure they'll help you.” “I talked to them. They told me not to be silly, nowadays you should be grateful that you have a job. Teaching is an iron rice-bowl.” “Maybe you can ask MOE to transfer you to a a different school, sometimes a change of environment can make you feel better.” “Can you find a school where I don't have to go for three hour staff meetings, or spend all my time filling up forms, and all the other teachers don't tell me how I should behave?” “I'm sure it's not that bad. Maybe you just need to change your thinking?” She turned away from me a little. “Why do men always think they need to have an answer? It's okay. I don't expect you to solve my problems for me.” We fell into silence again. I had never met a girl like this before, she seemed contained in herself, but behind the stillness she was an open wound. I didn't know what to say to her. Normally when I go out with girls we talk about movies or food, but I didn't think she would be interested in these things. Then her voice came again. “You must think I'm very selfish, only talking about myself. Tell me your problems, Calvin Tham.” I wondered how she knew my name – for a moment it seemed like she could really read my mind – then remembered that it was written on the side of my book. I hate people stealing my books; if you write your name down the side, then it's on every page. She must have taken note of it earlier on. “What kind of engineer are you?” “I trained as a electrical engineer, but to be honest, I haven't used a lot of that. I seem to be doing mostly admin work.” “Where are you?” “Ministry of Manpower.” “You tell me people what to do.” “In a way, it's not that simple.” I started to explain to her exactly what my job entailed, but the air between us seemed to solidify, and I realised I wasn't sure myself what I did. I tried to remember my working day, but Singapore seemed unaccountably foreign, like a previous life. I had only been sitting at my desk ten days ago, but it was a blur - I didn't know where the last few years had gone. What did I do when I got into work every day? I turned on my computer, checked my messages, then – what? For the next few hours, what? Day after day clicked by in activities I could no longer list. Perhaps I had always been on this gently creaking train in the dark, all my life, and Singapore had only been a dream. At this moment, anything seemed possible. We stopped at Lillehammer. The conductor passed through, like an angry ghost, roughly shaking awake passengers whose tickets only brought them this far. The lights came on, very dimly, so they had to grope for their luggage as the remaining sleepers stirred and murmured. On the platform, two or three bleak individuals took final drags on their cigarettes before letting them drop, and stumbled on board. I wondered how deranged your life would need to become before you found yourself waiting for a train at three in the morning. The train started moving again, very gently, gliding at first and then picking up speed. It was not a new train, the upholstery, like so much of Norway, appeared to have been preserved intact from the late eighties. Unlike our sleek MRTs, busily covering short distances with the screech of metal wheels, Norwegian Rail was stolid and dignified, pistons churning, wheels turning steadily and cleanly along fixed tracks. I readjusted my inflatable pillow and wondered if sleep would take me. Looking across at my companion, I could see from the reflected gleam of her open eyes that she too was wide awake. Out of impulse I whispered, “You should come home.” “Turn myself in, you mean?” “I'm flying back in three days' time. Why don't you come back with me? We can make up a story for your school, I'll say you were sick, too sick to get in touch with them, and I had to take you to hospital. I'm sure they'll understand.” “You want to lie for me?” “You can't keep running forever. What are you going to do? You don't have any money.” “You sound like my mum.” “At least call your mum, so she knows you're alive. You don't have to tell her where you are. Do you promise to call her?” “All right.” “Why won't you come with me?” “And do what? Come with you and look at fjords, and then go back to Singapore like a good girl? Tell my students I was sick, check their holiday homework, and then stand behind them at assembly making sure they don't talk or fidget during the principal's speech? I can't, it's like being buried alive.” “Then what will you do?” “I don't know.” “You're just being spoilt. No one likes their job, why do you have to be so special? You think anyone really enjoys what they do all day? Just try to do your best, if you don't think about it then time will pass very quickly.” “I don't need you to be angry with me.” “I'm not angry. I'm just trying to help you. You say you feel trapped, but where do you want to be? Life isn't so bad, after all you have a good salary and Singapore is so easy to live in, low taxes and low crime and nice food. Isn't that enough? Where else do you want to be?” “Anywhere. Anywhere except where I am now.” We were in the far north now, dark and cold for half the year. I was prepared for the roads, which would be treacherous, with spiked shoes and a foldable walking cane. I didn't know what she would do when we got to Trondheim. She seemed so utterly unprepared for anything. Even her clothes didn't look warm enough. I hoped she would be able to steal the blanket from the train and use that until she managed to get hold of a waterproof jacket. I'm not usually the sort of person who talks to strangers on the train. I've seen people who do it, just sit next to people and ask them where they're going, leading into hour-long conversations. I don't do it, and I had no idea what to say next. Nothing seemed suitable. I shut my eyes and tried to rest. It was almost four in the morning, and we only had three hours before reaching our destination. I didn't think I would feel human the next day if I didn't sleep at least a little bit. I had planned a full day of sightseeing – the cathedral in Trondheim is the largest medieval building in Scandinavia – and I wasn't sure if I would be up to it. I had almost drifted off when I heard her voice, low and clear. At first I thought I was dreaming it. She was telling a story, maybe to herself, maybe to me. I listened with my eyes shut. She wouldn't be able to see my face in this light anyway. “I met him in Hamelin, in the town square. I was only supposed to be there for half a day. There isn't very much to see there, pretty houses and a million tourist trap things about the ratcatcher. But it happened that day—“ “The ratcatcher?” “You know the story? The pied piper of Hamelin.” “Of course. He got rid of all their rats, but they didn't give him the money they'd promised him. So he came back.” “And took away their children.” “Serves them right. They should have paid him.” “So, that day there was a parade in the town, a pageant telling the story, and I stayed to see it. I don't normally like fairy tales, but the costumes were so pretty. Little children dressed as rats, and other children being stolen, then the ratcatcher himself, tall and blond, all dressed in strange clothes. I started watching and couldn't stop. I followed them, and by the time it had finished I'd missed my train.” “Was there another one?” “Not until the next day. And the hotels were all full because of the parade. I hadn't realised, so many tourists come specially to see it. I walked around for a while wondering what to do next, it was too cold to sleep outdoors, and then I met him in the town square. The ratcatcher. Without the costume he was just an ordinary man, a bit thin, but I didn't know anyone else so I went to talk to him. I told him I enjoyed his performance. He's not really an actor, he just does this, normally he works in the town hall. He had small grey eyes, like a rat's. When I told him I had nowhere to stay, he told me I could come home with him.” She was very soft now, barely audible. “I don't want you to think I'm the sort of girl who does this, I'm not a bad girl, but I followed him. When he touched me I didn't ask him to stop, it's been so long since someone touched me. It got dark very early and we stayed in bed for hours. We didn't use anything. I think I might be pregnant.” The train was completely silent now, moving deeper into nothing, into the dark, no sounds at all except the wisps of her voice. “It wasn't him, not really, when I saw him the next day he was older than I thought, he's starting to get a bit of a pot belly, his hair falling out. Blond hair thins so fast. He bought me some food and put me on the train. I didn't care where I went, I asked him to buy me a ticket for any city, any city far away from Hamelin. He stood on the platform for a while, with his hands in his pockets, but then he became impatient when the train didn't leave, he just waved and walked away. It's too early to use a pregnancy test, so I'm just waiting. I can't stay still while I wait.” She seemed to expect me to say something, but I had nothing, no words would come into my head. “I would do it again,” she went on softly, almost in my ear. “Even if I had a second chance. I wanted to hurt myself, but instead of that I made myself feel alive. I can't go back now.” She spoke a little more, about how there's always a price to be paid, and if you try to escape it will be gouged out of you somehow. I stayed still, hoping she would think I was asleep. After a while, I did drift off, though it was an uneven sleep. I thought I heard her weeping during the night, but it may have been some other sound. When I woke up, the conductor was shaking me and she was gone. We were in Trondheim, a watery sun coming in and lighting her empty seat, abandoned blanket and a few of her long hairs. She had taken some kroner from my jacket; I had expected her to, and had left the money in an open pocket as you would leave food for a stray kitten. The rest of my holiday was uneventful. I took pictures for my facebook page, and then came back to work. From time to time I wonder what happened to her, and if she ever made it back. Whenever I'm in my younger cousins' house, I flip through their school magazines, wondering if I'll see her face. So many different English departments. Once, I don't know why, I hacked into the MOE server to see if I could locate her, but this proved impossible because I had forgotten to ask for her name. ----------------------------------- After reading I have this song stuck in my head. |
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HDB IN SINGAPORE
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
1:33 AM
Mr Mah commented that a couple earning a combined income of 4,000 a month can work for half a year and buy a new four room HDB flat with no cash upfront. However, only 23% is credited to the Ordinary account of CPF out of a combined 35.5% (the rest goes to special account and medisave account (5.5% and 7% respectively)). So lets do a quick calculation. 23% x 4,000 x 6 months would mean $5,520 for six months in the ordinary account and assume you can use all, a 5% downpayment regross would mean the 4-room HDB flat is about $110K (excluding other charges). You mean HDB BTO flats for a four room is so cheap? A look at the newly launch Sengkang BTO where they price their 4 room flats at about $303K to $359K (Compassville Ancilla). This would mean the couple earning a combined income of 4,000 per month has to work approximately 1.5 years to pay a 5% downpayment for a BTO in Sengkang. I wonder how Mr Mah work out the $4K a month combined income and able to pay the full downpayment within 6 months. I AM GLAD YOU'RE GONE!  |
I'm obsessed with chain necklaces, studded stuff and suede shoes.
Date created: 8 Jan 2011
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