19. After Gotham.
A dead lover.
I woke up to gnomes having a fiesta in my head, jackhammers relentlessly pounding out the rhythm to Sean Kingston's "Beautiful Girls". My eyes stung so bad I thought I was going blind. If that was how hangovers feel like, I could've sworn I was experiencing one; only that wasn't possible since I didn't drink. And one couldn't possibly get drunk on water and strepsils.
On another note, Alumnite at Gotham was a blast. That is, minus the fact that I did a sloppy job as the emcee. Many a time I wished my dress would blend so well with the curtains on stage that I could disappear altogether. Oh god, embarrassment city here I come. Ah well. At least now I can blow on the tip of my finger like it was a smoking gun and say, "one down". Thanks to all who showered encouragement my way anyway, especially my co-host, Risma. I'm so darn glad it's over now. (:
Moving on, I tried my hands at baking
again and not surprisingly, I failed miserably
again. Next time I get the urge to bake, somebody,
ANYBODY, cuff me to the bed posts or shove icky tasting food down my throat till I feel too sick to get out of bed, please. I'm wasting good-quality ingredients.
Chocolate Mousse Cake my big fat ass! And I thought nothing could go wrong today, especially since Nic did all the washing up for me. Haha!
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