And it all goes downhill from here...

I turn 22 in approximately 0.5 hours.

But I haven't accomplished what I was going to do when I turned 21.

1.) Learn how to fucking drive.

Because I have procrastinated enough for our solar system and other galaxies too.

2.) Dance on a tabletop in the middle of happy hour in a busy hip club.

And I still do not understand the meaning of hip. And if dancing on a tabletop can be considered hip.

3.) Be smart and sophisticated and more importantly, the 'A-word'. (hint: Adult but not porno please don't think that way, I am still innocent and pure.)

I still feel like I am playing grown up. And still doing stupid things (e.g.: arguing with my colleagues at 8 am in the morning over whether penguins lay eggs or give birth to little penguin babies).

And childish things. (e.g.: annoying my parents. I still get a kick out of it.)

4.) Be halfway to being on Fortune 500.

The mama shop (corner-shop) on the corner of that-insignificant-street-that-is-too-pathetic-to-qualify-for-a-name owner's son's dog's brother's owner has already gone up to 1st place, drink his celebratory kopi (coffee), shower, coma, written his memoirs. While I languish somewhere in the depths of Fortune ZERO.

5.) Travel to far-off, distant exotic lands.

I think I went to Malaysia earlier this year.

And if you are thinking of Japan, please remember I have not crossed the equator yet.

Also, far-off, exotic places are places where you can't pronounce the names of the far-off, exotic places. E.g.: paris, which everyone must pronounce like (pear-reese). Actually, listening to how the ang mohs (people who live in exotic, far-off places) say it, it is something inherently more complex, you have to strangle your vocal cords to husk out 'par-reeeees'. And obviously, me being unable to perform Rs rolling, it will sound comepletely pathetic, like 'pear-reeeeeeeese'.

6.) Read complex novels by established writers and build on my cultural foundations.

Considering my cultural foundations are essentially Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew and the all popular SVU (Sweet Valley High), I really think my foundations are a little shaky.

Also, I have tried reading what'shisname ooh wait I know his name.. the fat old indian guy... yes! Salman Rushdie! well fuck me, but I have more interest in Salman Khan than Salman rush-bloody-die.

Sorry if I'm not intellectual enough - but I nearly died of boredom while reading his novel. No sex, no romance (even though the blurb proclaimed ' ...this is the story of a love that stretches across continents, across Vina and Ormus's whole lives, and even beyond death.') Does it not sound like it was going to be a fabulously romantic love story.... so I can dab my tears sorrowfully at verso, before shaking my head at the intricacies of life, marvelling at the sheer beauty of indian poetry by the master on words of love, Salman Rushdie?

Bloody hell. Bugger that.

7.) *bloody brain dead at this point*

Ok my brain is FRIED.

ooooh! I'm 22! ^&#$&^@!!!!! ( Just looked at my watch and it says 12 pm.)

Ok. going to crash now.

Take care, all you lovely people.

Tomorrow I celebrate. ;)