I know, it's been nearly 4 weeks.

That's how long I haven't been blogging. That's still pretty acceptable.

But you know what? That's how long I haven't been ONLINE too.

I don't know how it happened, but I just sudden;y got really really turned off by computers and the Internet.

So I just totally withdrew from touching any of these dreadful machines.

And now I'm back.

A week ago, I went book shopping.

Yes, books. Me and books. Very strange, right? But most definitely true.

My affinity with books became apparent when I decided to abandon the machine.

I like my books to have exciting visuals. I love instruction books. I love graphic books.

Just that novels are not my kinda thing..

Anyways, I spent a whooping sum on three books.

One graphic book, one designer book on vintage denim, and one on Tim Burton's Corpse Bride.

I bought my designer book at "Actually...". YES!!! FINALLY!!!

Obviously, it had a designer price tag to it too.

Anyways, I'm so damned ecstatic that I'm now included in Actually...'s exclusive clientele.

Then I was kinda labelled 'brand-whore'. Which is not particularly true but I kinda have to agree that it's true to some extent when I think back.

I get excited when brands are exclusive. I love designer stuff. Designer stuff that are one of a kind.

Therefore, Ed Hardy has lost it's charm. Guess? is not that impressive after all.

But Actually..., that's a whole new different thing.

You should at least check it out, can? It's along Seah Street, opposite of Raffles Hotel Shopping Arcade.

On Monday, I kissed "Best Customer Service" goodbye when I freaking screamed at a customer. This fucking disgusting female yuppie was making a very big fuss. She was very accusing in her tone too. And I wasn't going to be all nice and goody to her. She truly gave me shit and so I gave her shit too.

Before she left the cinema, she even gave me a 3-minute crash course on 'Customer Service 101', but not before telling me, "I'm actually a very nice person."

You bet I wasn't listening to her at all.

The climax of the whole incident:

I was making many sarcastic remarks and publicising my displeasure for the fucking yuppie.

Yuppie looked at me, said, "You say that again?!"

I gave the "I-despise-you" look and rolled my eyes in the meanest way. It was so damned mean that it was beyond your imagination.

Yuppie, all fuming, asked, "What's your name?!?!"

I stood up, hollered my name, shoved my name tag out, and arrogantly spelt out my name.

Yuppie was so mad, she walked off saying, "I know how to spell very well, thank you very much. I don't need a spelling lesson."

Throughout, I was seething with anger, though.

But I'm glad I stood up to her. She was probably making false claims right from the start anyway.

For me to go ballistic takes a damned lot of shit. Therefore, you can safely conclude that the fucking Yuppie was brimming with shit.