<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2479842461274560058</id><updated>2011-12-30T11:30:47.523-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We all need hugs.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10668042121071272946</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1i_F7Qj_yU/TmWU4sF-GKI/AAAAAAAABX8/MfE3NEA0VZg/s220/SAM_1721.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>5</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2479842461274560058.post-5070047746606877011</id><published>2011-11-13T04:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-13T04:34:43.524-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I am hopeful</title><content type='html'>Let's hope that with my new phone and hence a blogger droid app downloaded, I'll be able to pen down(key in, in fact) whatever that comes to my mind and blog on the go  :)  &lt;br/&gt; That has always been my dream, being the lazy blogger that I am.  &lt;br/&gt;  &lt;br/&gt; I'm not apologetic, because I blog for myself. That's if I bother to launch the app and type on the virtual keyboard that I've not grown to appreciate very much yet. I probably never will. QWERTY FOREVERR.  &lt;br/&gt;  &lt;br/&gt; My old blackberry, which has been tortured and abused to death by me and only me, is now a very honoured member of my cave as an alarm clock cushioned comfortably in a mini mousey plush toy.  &lt;br/&gt; I thought I couldn't love the bb more, but yes I do, and it's now when it's purely an alarm clock THAT RINGS EVEN IF THE PHONE IS SWITCHED OFF hell yes. In so far as I know, blackberry alarms are the only ones that ring when the phone is off, not locked! Either that, or I just haven't figured out android phones.  &lt;br/&gt;  &lt;br/&gt; Since I'm on the topic of alarm clocks, let me be :B  &lt;br/&gt; When it comes to setting a perfect/ effective alarm, I only have one rule that I live by: make the song that ANNOYS your brains out of your skull the alarm ringtone! &lt;div style='clear: both; text-align: center; font-size: xx-small;'&gt;Published with Blogger-droid v2.0.1&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2479842461274560058-5070047746606877011?l=a-mandaness.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/feeds/5070047746606877011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-am-hopeful.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/5070047746606877011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/5070047746606877011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-am-hopeful.html' title='I am hopeful'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10668042121071272946</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1i_F7Qj_yU/TmWU4sF-GKI/AAAAAAAABX8/MfE3NEA0VZg/s220/SAM_1721.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2479842461274560058.post-4644979630405785032</id><published>2011-09-16T07:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T07:44:32.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PILING ON THE CALORIES</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Ladies,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;it's that time of the month again. The &lt;i&gt;period &lt;/i&gt;of time that makes us rethink if we really do fancy being a woman, and in which men once again reassure themselves that they would never in any lifetime want to BE us. However, if you're a man with burning desire to experience a woman's woes, we can talk :)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;BACK.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Every clothing that I wore today, I HAD to hand-wash. That's how agonising it can get, even though you and I know that this is obviously not the worse that can happen because basically, everything can happen. And &lt;i&gt;that &lt;/i&gt;has happened. This monthly bodily cycle of the womb's preparation for an egg has the ability to drain all the colour out of you. Figuratively and literally speaking. At the end of the day I end up limp and lethargic because this.. this thing requires a significant amount of effort and energy to tend to; that is what actually really bothers me, but not the ongoing process per se. I'm not going to deny, though, it itself never fails to horrify/ amaze/ surprise/ do all of the above to me. All the time. Even now.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I need somebody to lock up this desktop and secure it with a 1000 kg heavy duty lock and throw it into the pacific ocean.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;My sister is crazy. Now, when she has the time and if the kitchen is fully equipped, she will launch into a baking frenzy. Cupcakes, marble cake and chocolate lava cake, though the latest creation hadn't been successful so far. She bakes, I lick, she eats, I eat, we eat. EMBRACE THE CALORIES. I, in particular (actually, change that to solely) love to lap up batter. I'm just drawn to naked raw batter. Flour and eggs and sugar and vanilla essence and butter all whisked together into one bowl of creamy goodness. Obviously, that's for Amanda. I've been trying to figure out what my problem(s) is (are) all this while too. When my mum makes pancakes, I dip my fingers at least thrice into the batter. When my sister makes buttercream icing, I literally polish off the bowls AND spatula. When she makes chocolate lava cakes, which ended up semi-cooked and all weird and gooey, I poked my fork at it anyway. In my defence, my sister started digging into the bowl of "lava cake", so I followed suit. I loved it.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;My mom tells us that our eating preferences are more or less affected by her diet when she was pregnant with each of us. When she had my brother and sister, she ate everything, so they aren't choosy. When she had me, she loved cakes (probably because she could afford to do so more), so I love pastries. And batter. I believe it's all-encompassing. When she had my little brother, she fed on bread. So he loves and eats only bread.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;According to my mum.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;My mum, she's the greatest woman in my life.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2479842461274560058-4644979630405785032?l=a-mandaness.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/feeds/4644979630405785032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/piling-on-calories.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/4644979630405785032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/4644979630405785032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/piling-on-calories.html' title='PILING ON THE CALORIES'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10668042121071272946</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1i_F7Qj_yU/TmWU4sF-GKI/AAAAAAAABX8/MfE3NEA0VZg/s220/SAM_1721.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2479842461274560058.post-1815219049279424400</id><published>2011-09-15T08:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-15T08:48:51.371-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I wish I wish I wish</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I wish my brain could blog on its own.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;EOYEs are 2 weeks away, and I'm positively, absolutely fearing them. History's gonna be hard, Chem's gonna be hard, THEY ARE NOT GOING TO LET US OFF IN MATH AND NEITHER ARE THEY DOING SO FOR PHYSICS, EL would be hard and chinese would not be easy. How the heck are we supposed to make out of Year 4 alive? There is just SO much you can (not) do. Inferiority, mild depression, paranoia, battling of the conscience. Down an emotional smoothie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I only worry that when everything has ended and I&amp;nbsp;&lt;i&gt;can &lt;/i&gt;finally allow myself a breakdown, I'd have no more energy left to do just that.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I hold on to books for dear life, literally, during periods of lousiness (can't think of any other words at the moment, ought to slap myself). A page away from escaping from the mess that is my life which I refuse to face currently. Of course, I wouldn't have it any easier when I descend back to earth. But still, I can't imagine not doing that.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I have no means on what to write. bye. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;It's a cold night, which makes for a good night in bed :) Finally something to look forward to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2479842461274560058-1815219049279424400?l=a-mandaness.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/feeds/1815219049279424400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-wish-but-i-cant.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/1815219049279424400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/1815219049279424400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-wish-but-i-cant.html' title='I wish I wish I wish'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10668042121071272946</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1i_F7Qj_yU/TmWU4sF-GKI/AAAAAAAABX8/MfE3NEA0VZg/s220/SAM_1721.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2479842461274560058.post-5811291785372475755</id><published>2011-09-10T11:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T21:22:32.795-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More than Clerks of Course</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Met R and V at bpp macdonald's for breakfast. Stupid me thought that macvalue breakfast was valid even on weekends, so I rushed both of them to reach before 9. At 0850 I was queueing up and still willing both of them to hurry up, not wanting the hour hand to strike 9. Finally it was my turn, I placed R's and my orders and the grand total SHOCKED ME. I stared wide-eyed at the cashier, trying hard to figure out how my changing of a coffee to milo added up to so much money, or if they hiked up the price!? I looked at the overhead board bearing all the prices, and back, then there, and back. Could feel my cheeks starting to flush. Me being me, started to panic, though pretending that it was no big deal.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;"erm.. then forget the milo, I'd take the coffe."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;TOTAL: $11.5256824&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;"erm.. erm.. then give me a mcsausage with egg.."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;TOTAL: STILL &amp;gt;$10&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;This was when I felt so helpless and utterly embarrassed, but still had to do something because I only had $10 with me.&amp;nbsp;Finally, the cashier who became as panicked as me because there was still a long queue behind, said "Sorry ma'am, macvalue breakfast is only on weekdays 6 to 9am.. should I cancel one order for you first?" I think it took me 10 seconds to register what she said, and all I could do was to nod stupidly at her again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;In the end, V got the happy meal because she wanted the smurf toy and R reached later (but still was as fast as a ninja. She amazes me sometimes.) and I did arrive before 9 but made a fool of myself and gave the cashier a hard time.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;We sat through breakfast to lunch time eating and talking about everything and nothing. Across us sat two women, later came another, with 6 children, and they shared 3 sets of something. "Let's not do this in the future, it's quite scary." I love these two people. They make me think. I like people who make me think.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;About 2 hours later I ended up at Toa Payoh Swimming Complex, about 20 of us went there as volunteers for the Community Sports Club Swimming competition.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Fact #1: Toa Payoh was the official venue for the YOG2010 swimming events. WHO ELSE DID NOT KNOW THIS UNTIL THEY SAW THE PLAQUE?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Doreen, Michele, Chloe and I were the &lt;b&gt;Clerks of Course&lt;/b&gt;. I like the fancy names that they gave us:) We were actually just "helpers at the reporting area". One person to register, one to usher, one to double check the swimmers' names and one to tell them to move to the waiting area. We switched roles but I loved doing the last jobbecauseitwastheeasiest. HAHAHAHA it was, how hard is telling a row of swimmers (you call them a Heat) to "stand up and move to the red baskets"? It certainly required a lot less effort than facing multiple swimmers telling you their names at once, ushering them to their seats when some were purely blind and when the rows were constantly moving forward, or saying out their names and looking like an idiot going "Is this your name?" to the same swimmers over and over again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I say that we landed the most exciting/ interesting/ engaging job the event had to offer. Timers weren't bad too, but count your luck if you ended up at lane 8 which apparently isn't popular with neither the organiser nor the competitors.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I'm more than happy that I got to be a part of this community sporting event even though technically mine is far from there and my heart belongs to Bukit Panjang. I love that area. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;For some reason, yours truly has a high tendency of being emotionally attached to &lt;i&gt;inanimate &lt;/i&gt;or &lt;i&gt;abstract &lt;/i&gt;things. Those include: my pencil case, umbrella, SPONGEBOB CARD HOLDER*, books, ezlink card, keys, my neighbourhood, my handphone, the park near my house, my grandma's house and the list is endless. It makes as much sense to me too. When I say emotionally attached, I mean I'd &lt;b&gt;literally &lt;/b&gt;feel pangs of hurt and grief when something happens to them.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;WHY AM I SO NORMAL? Beats me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I finally understood how the countless swimming events flow, what en "event" and a "heat" is, and that it is in fact anything but easy to manage one event, let alone the entire competition. Allow me to enlighten you, swimmers get disqualified for the most absurd-sounding reasons ever. The (usually) old uncles wearing hats and the official shirt with the Singapore flag holding walkie-talkies, who you see walking up and down the pool sides following the swimmers? THEY DO THEIR JOB. And they're apparently experienced at what they do. From what I heard and remember, a swimmer gets disqualified when "he started before the signal", "hands pulled back to (somewhere)", "did not surface before white line", "length of stroke abnormal", "swam in the wrong lane", "swimming attire violates the Finna regulations (what the heck is this anyway?)", "more than one dolphin kick underwater", "did not touch the wall with both hands"... You, like me, may already have some second thoughts about competitive swimming huh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;FACT #2: According to the Finna(?) regulations, males' swimwear (i.e. bottoms) must start below the naval. Again, WHO KNEW?! As much as we refuse to admit, we are actually still pretty ignorant about the world. It IS vast.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;THE MOST EXCITING PART WAS THAT WE GOT TO WITNESS EACH EVENT LIVE and observe what different swimmers do before each race. It's been a LONG TIME since I felt exhilarated and nervous and jittery at the same time. The outburst was too much so that I had to release the energy by screwing and unscrewing the bottle cap and rubbing my fingers against it. I LOVE HOW IT FELT LIKE, I felt like a fish. I'm suchha sucker for swimming competitions;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Obviously I wouldn't not mention this, not forgetting the chance to meet a million guys dressed in a mini piece of fabric. (and girls) As I would have noticed, swimmers are actually generally good-looking. I like to think that that's partially because of the sunlight that they get.. maybe the chlorine? I should put it this way, swimmers from the toa payoh-moulmein-yewtee-sengkangwest-punggol-serangoon-chongpang-mountbatten side of Singapore are generally good-looking hehe. I am certain I missed out some areas. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Then again, I hate to refer to guys as "hot". Correct me if I'm wrong, but when you say someone is "hot", you're actually sexually attracted to him/ her right? .. So that is weird for me, because I certainly aren't going there yet. Hence I prefer calling them good-looking, cute, (and I'm aware that I have to go expand my vocabulary in this aspect.)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I have always wondered about this: why are girls so bent on looking at "cute guys"? Sure, when good-looking guys look at you, especially when they hold your gaze, I WOULD feel jittery, blush a little and feel like I need to carry myself more properly. At most, they make me fluttered, which is what I reckon most girls like to feel. (makes sense? no, not to me, but I won't deny it. LOL. Women.) But after that, what? Unless you're a man-magnet and can befriend all the smoking guys, or you're on a manhunt for god-knows-what, I don't actually get girls' rationale behind "looking for cute guys". If you actually THINK about it, you'd find me a friend. After all, what matters to me is really the stupid, old, cliche "electrifying feeling" I get. Even though I somewhat believe that good looks may trigger some sense of electricity, though not for long if the person is not meant to be who you're looking for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I sound like a hopeless romantic, but I'm not alone ;) R, I'M TALKING TO YOU.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;AFTER A DAY'S HARD WORK, the one thing that made the back aches all worth it, was the DINNER. UGHR. I love people in Toa Payoh. Thank you for the dinner :) My stomach says that it's pleased.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Looking at all the swimmers, regardless their age (there were 70-somethings! Inspiring is an understatement), I realise that they worked hard in one way or another, to get to the finals. I was impressed that so many people actually forked out time and put in effort to accomplish this thing that they can finally proudly declare DONE. Some, accompanied with the glory of their medals. Others, an invaluable lesson of any sort that would never have occurred if not for today. I clap for all of them. They bothered to try to achieve something for themselves. Never mind how childish some boys were, how some smug-looking ones made me want to kick them in the face, how some got disqualified because they slipped down the board.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Then I look at myself. Sometimes, I wish that I can be a little more serious about something. I wish that I can be a little bit more ambitious for just one day. I wish that sometimes my parents would be a little more like the parents I don't like and push me a wee bit harder. Make it clearer that they expect more out of me. If you haven't realised, it always boils down to that little bit more of everything. Then MAYbe- when I was 9, I would have had this tiniest thought of swimming competitively, maybe as radical as be on the Singapore Team. It could grow, be nurtured, and one fine day I'd burst and pester my mum to do something about it? You never know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Sometimes, all you need is the most seemingly insignificant spark of blah to take you somewhere. Sadly, that's not my story. That is why I took so much time to pen this down. I want to remember today, remember how inspired I felt, remember all the images linked to that, remember all my thoughts and my emotions. I don't want it to be an "I wish" anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I have been blogging since 2330, 10 September. It is now 0202, 9 September.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I hope what I've written actually inspires some people, because I am. I won't mind if you're inspired and you're an alien.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;*This deserves a story on its own. Another day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;p.s. will blogger step it up and import the Microsoft Word features already? Footnote, page number, bulleting, yadaddaad.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2479842461274560058-5811291785372475755?l=a-mandaness.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/feeds/5811291785372475755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/more-than-clerks-of-course.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/5811291785372475755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/5811291785372475755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/more-than-clerks-of-course.html' title='More than Clerks of Course'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10668042121071272946</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1i_F7Qj_yU/TmWU4sF-GKI/AAAAAAAABX8/MfE3NEA0VZg/s220/SAM_1721.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2479842461274560058.post-2216913082272394161</id><published>2011-09-06T08:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-06T08:18:20.213-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Restart</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;*inhale, exhale*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;GREAT. I love this new space. Took me about two hours to figure out how the new blogger works and then come up with this.. Even though right now is the worst time ever to be doing this. I am aware, but I still don't stop. WHY ARE HUMANS LIKE THIS!? We just HAVE to cross limits don't we.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Rach, vernice, me, library, tomorrow. I'm excited;)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Who else are????&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2479842461274560058-2216913082272394161?l=a-mandaness.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/feeds/2216913082272394161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/restart.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/2216913082272394161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2479842461274560058/posts/default/2216913082272394161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://a-mandaness.blogspot.com/2011/09/restart.html' title='Restart'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10668042121071272946</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f1i_F7Qj_yU/TmWU4sF-GKI/AAAAAAAABX8/MfE3NEA0VZg/s220/SAM_1721.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
