zero: actually, i think i'm one of those nutheads that are oblivious to anyone liking me until someone holds a sign up in front of my face. so i remain completely oblivious to anyone's affections until his ardour fades off, then its like nothing ever happened.
sometimes i wonder why i torture myself and sign up for all sorts of humiliation. like volunteering to be in FOC creative com, digging my brains apart for a camp theme, frying myself to come up with a video script, and when no one wants to play the slutty bimbo chief concubine i end up being immortalized as the hysterically giggling thing onscreen.
then i end up an OGL, and i suffer acts of inhumanity like being held down and tossed into mud puddles, getting pelted by little toilet plungers shot from cheap plastic pistols, made to dance like a performing monkey for the amusement of the freshies and evil creatures by name of Ho Ze Fa, and not to mention having to sleep half frozen to death.
but nothing beats having to do costumes for Rag again this year. why was i so dumb to volunteer last year?! why did i feel sorry for the Rag team, and allow myself to be bullied into stitching pieces of cloth together to clothe the dancers? now i'm stuck with drawing thousands and thousands of lines, drafting patterns for costumes that can't be too revealing (sorry to break USP tradition) and yet versatile enough to be worn under another costume, and having to endure the fits and tantrums of a certain person.
i know i'll probably survive (but barely), and come out of Rag victoriously but blearily with my satin shirred frocks, handkerchief tops and wraparound skirts. i dont really want to think about the guys' costumes. i really dont want to.
then next year.
you'll probably see me at my sewing machine again, weeping at the weakness of my susceptible heart.
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