men and rings

Finally, I got to watch the extended DVD of Return of the King. On Christmas day itself. Whee. Plenty of additional scenes with yummylicious Faramir and his Hush Puppies eyes. Whee. Strangely enough, after trying to share my joy with my colleagues and some college friends... I discovered that none of them seem to be as smitten as I am (and the whole bunch of my church folks) with this fascinating trilogy about a group of men and a ring. How can it be? How can someone not catch the LOTR fever?

Men and rings. I have freaky experiences with the combination. Ex had this simple gold ring around his finger for as long as I could remember. His dad gave it to him as a reminder of what his priorities in life should be, of what he can or cannot do until the day the ring is replaced with a wedding ring. Very sweet and amusing, yes. And he did keep his side of the pact. I was proud but at the same time, jealous like hell. The ring, his precious, would be something I could never conquer. Sometimes, our of sheer boredom, I would take it out of his finger and toy around with the ring. He'd quickly demand it back. He felt naked without the ring. I felt crestfallen to be playing second fiddle to Gollum's precious. When I had to let him go, the ring haunted me for a long time. The ghost of the thought of never being the one to replace his ring with something of our own scalded like a branding iron. One that brought forth tears and fears for months.

Current has a ring too. A simple gold one. Deja vu. I have thousands and millions of questions but I dare not ask. Most probably it was from a previous relationship. I don't like it at all. The look of it, the feel of it when we hold hands. Bad memories, doubts and insecurity seep right through between the tightly clasped flesh. I see it as a sign of unreadiness, of unwillingness to totally let go of the past. And I don't think I can survive being with someone with the upper torso stuck in a time machine heading towards 1997 and lower body heading towards 2005.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid. But I know I have enough of my share of men and simple, unengraved gold rings. You can't blame me for being oversensitive. Blame it on the LOTR trilogy.

aftermath

First of all, let me express my immense disappointment in my readers' level of intelligence. That or you guys are total lazy asses. Not even a person replied to my yule-tide puzzle contest. Isn't Japanese food enticing? Isn't any free food enticing? Sigh. Only KC got it right. But then, the entry was disqualified based on grounds such as (1) I didn't get an email, just a text message; (2) KC usually pays for food; (3) KC knows me and my cheekiness/wittiness side too well.

Anyway, this Christmas weekend had been all about FOOD. Lamb and turkey. More lamb and turkey. Then lamb all the way (I discovered I don't really like turkey. How come no one serves smoked salmon for Christmas meals?). And I've been constipated ever since. I feel toxic (no, not Britney-Spears-Toxic but nuclear-reactor-toxic) and bloated. That and I'm expecting my vagina to gush blood anytime now.

But had great fun with friends and church members and the band. The band rocked the socks off our guests! Booyakasha! Merry Christmas all, and Happy New Year. I have a feeling 2005 is gonna be a good one.

Relief

What can I say. It's been a whole weekend of singing. Well, being with KC naturally lifts my spirit into song... but too much of instructions and sequences make breaking into song feel more like a chore.

Went out for our year-end company dinner on Friday. Colleagues were surprised (pleasantly) when I rounded them up. Apparently such outings were unheard of (aghast) throughout the company's history. Hmmph. I'd like to think that I, this adorable superior being, am bringing some positive changes to the company. Or maybe I have terrific skills in licking Boss's... ass and rubbing Boss's... shoes. Anyways the dinner was at a karaoke and I managed to show off my phenomenal and awe-inspiring crooning skills and all fellow colleagues and invited guest fell down and worshipped my feet and kissed the ground I stomped on in an euphonious trance. And I promptly received my confirmation and increment. Whee...

But Friday wasn't D-Day. Saturday was. So let's skip the details of my porridge-y supper with KC after the warbling session and what followed.

Saturday morning. Awakened rudely by my cell. Gasp. Suddenly very awake.
Dad: Where did you sleep last night?
Ogress: Errr...
Dad: Your mum wants to talk to you.
(muffled shuffling)
Mum: Where did you sleep last night?
Ogress: Errr...
Mum: Are you coming back to your place later? I want to go shopping!
Ogress: No I can't...
Mum: Okay then. We'll just go home.

Sigh. Suddenly consumed by guilt. Parents drove 4 hours to visit and I didn't manage to meet up. But it was on such short notice. And I really wanted to have dinner and sing with my colleagues, as well as perform with the band. So I had to make a choice. I guess more importantly I wanted to spend time with KC. Gaaaah! This is so irrational, so selfish, so... in love. Parents weren't as pissed as I thought they'd be, so that was one problem solved. Whee...

Saturday and Sunday's performance was crappy. Crowd turnout was bad. I mean, bad-ass BAD. Could see that all performances were lukewarm and half-hearted. Crowd is a very important factor in quality of performance. (NO, I refuse to admit I forgot the lyrics and sang off-tune just because I'm a nervous wreck at public performances) However, bad crowd turnout chain-reactioned into something positive. Tonnes of free food! Whee...

I'm about to write more, but after one joyful teleconversation followed by a series of maddening emails... my brains are too pooped. Laters, my ardent readers! Grovel at my feet for now, for I am the singing queen of the era! So much so that I'm invited to sing at a wedding dinner at some hotel! Yikes!!!

D-Day

Saturday, 18 December 2004 = D-Day

It's almost a certainty. And not just because it's the performance date for our not-so-ready newbie band. It will be the pivotal moment of my life. I just know it.

the beginning

5 days of blinding bliss. Totally.

Friday
KC called for a meet-up after work. I was going for carolling practice for Christmas at David's. KC said to pick me up after everything. Persistent. I freaked out a little. Is KC trying too hard to flirt? But curiousity and sheer boyfriendless-boredom-induced shot of boldness got the better of me. Countdown timer to 12.

Saturday
Went to the sleaziest, noisiest pub in town with Jabba-lookalike GROs. Spent hours talking, flirting, getting to know each other. Also found out that KC was grossly misunderstood by many and superbly unattached. Whee. Then KC held my hand and said, "Today's my birthday, you know." Wow. I was flattered to be the chosen one. Nice warm feeling.

When it was time to go, KC walked me to my side of the car and opened the door. Gosh the feeling was just so fine. This gentlemanly act is hardly to be found in society nowadays. So what if this was just a shortlived-lust-induced burst of sensitivity and manners, it's still a virtue long forgotten and taken for granted. (points added: 10)

We both slept fitfully (in our respective homes, of course) for a few hours, then it was time for me to meet up college buddies for lunch. I was so happy about newfound Boyfriend I told everyone everything. At night, went out for a movie and chatted some more.

Sunday
Was a bad bad girl. Missed church to catch up on sleep I deprived myself of. After practising another round of Christmas carols, went off for some quality Boyfriend Girlfriend Time again. What can I say. Blissful. Had band practice at night. Decided we still haven't got enough of each other so I went over to KC's for the night.

Monday
Spent a little time getting to know KC's cousins who were staying together. Ended up talking the whole night and not sleeping. Both KC and I, having lost sleep missing each other the past 2 or 3 nights, was totally zombified when we both left for work. Damn. There has never been a longer and more excruciating workday. Made mental resolution to discipline ourselves and stop acting like lovestruck high school kids.

Tuesday
Another surge of irrational hormonal charge. Went out of office at lunch, claiming to meet up a client (which I did eventually) but instead went lunch with Boyfriend. Brilliant Boyfriend lamented that there's not much to be done at work, and upon finding out I was relatively free as well, suggested we skip work. And so we did. Totally sinful, totally unprofessional, but totally lovestruck-ala-high-school and totally fun. All the time I crossed my fingers that no one from office would call.

The beginning stage of a relationship. Always so full of fun and passion and drive. Damn.

happy apey

I'm happy. A lot of people around me said I haven't looked this cheerful since the beginning of the year (and the end of a horrible one-way relationship). All the constants in my life remain the same, so I guess this happiness-bug must be due to the addition of the latest variable.

Everything is happening so fast, spiralling out of the orbit. And I'm riding on this plateau of zen in drunken abandonment. No time to think. I'll just have to slap my brains into functioning again later. I'm too happy and stoned to care right now.

Happy birthday KC!

confused

I am having problems with my sexuality.
The first time I felt confused was when I was 13, then another time at 16...
Gaaaaaaah!

ally iskandar

I had much more fun posing with Ally, our emcee for the day. He did his job extremely well. Maybe because he's already a popular TV presenter. For a quite-famous person, he was amiable enough. Friendly, witty, laidback... the likes. Initially I asked him to autograph on my bra, but he choked and his eyes bugged as he uttered a feeble "what?"... so I had to settle with this instead.

Before he left, he patted me on the back and said, "Be good."
Hmmmmm...
And, at first I wanted to do a victory peace sign, but he flipped his fingers over and I followed suit. I wonder if he knew that a flipped peace sign actually meant something quite vile (hence my stunned, forced smile).

vince chong

Don't envy me. I was at very close proximity to Vince Chong, the winner of the 1st Akademi Fantasia, for about 2 hours. I don't know what's the hype about. He looked normal enough. His voice is good though, I must admit. I saw swarms of people taking pictures with him and asked him for autographs, so I thought "what the heck"... and got myself a picture too. Sigh. Kiasu-ness is infectious! Can someone please say the appropriate "ooh" and "aah" so as not to make me feel like an utterly silly starstruck high school gal?

under the sea

Lookie them cute talented young lasses! I was assigned the task of getting a 30-minute dance performance for the event about a month ago, and I thought my shortlived career as a copywriter/translator/client service exec/event organiser would be coming to an abrupt, tragic end when the dance academy headmistress called and cancelled 2 weeks away from D-Day. She said she's having horrible gut-wrenching morning sickness. After leaving me with a few other contact numbers, she hung up and refused to pick up my calls ever since. So the Yes Girls (oh, the corniness) was what I was left with. No academy or company wanted to take the risk fighting against time. So I gritted my teeth, went to someone's grandmother's (gasp) house to check out the girls (and in the process got lost several times, my sandals were partially eaten by their dog, and realised that the girls weren't professionals, just a bunch of kids putting up retarded dance moves at dinner shows where people are actually more interested in the food), watched the kids scream at each other (and their mothers screaming at each other), painstakingly survived a few more sessions (Boss forced me to agree to not bitchslap anybody under any circumstances because we had no more choices), snarled some threats (to not pay a cent)... And then it was D-Day.

Their performance sucked (with the exception of Erica, the Ariel in yellow - if it's not for her uber-bitchy grandmother I'm definitely bagging her as a talent). I'm glad the food at the carnival sucked harder than the dance. My client wouldn't stop complaining about the size of the fried chicked wings served. Yay.

s2 carnival

(on knees: tanned Boss & tanned me; 3 chic chicks: invited manicurists + client + good friends)

Phew. The busiest week of my entire career as a copywriter (cum everything else) is finally over. I think. First there's a Grand Opening of my client's flagship store at the busiest shopping complex in town (where I bumped into someone I never thought I would meet under such circumstances in a gazillion years - full story to be told in another post, soon). And then there's this carnival we ran for another client during the weekend (where many interesting, wonderfully magical things took place as well - excerpts from the long story and more pictures coming up). I'm totally bushed. I need my beauty sleep (not that there's much beauty to replenish, but still...)!

Christmas round the corner

Aaaaah, the smell of Christmas is in the air. 22 more days of shopping left! Where and when the heck are all the year-end festive sales? I want to begin buying before the last-minute stampede starts. And it's always wiser to spend at the beginning of the month, or else by 23 Dec I'll be splitting my last 50 bucks over 10 remaining presents. Better yet, Christmas presents should be bought all year round whenever something nice catches your attention, but I guess nobody does that out of habit.

Other benefits of my blowing all my dough at the beginning of the month:
(1) The receiving end of my presents would be getting nicer and carefully chosen stuff, all nicely wrapped with thoughtful little messages.
(2) Since the moolah is gonna run dry by the middle of the month, I can mow grass around the office with my teeth. Greens are good for health. And if the grass run out I'll eat weed around the office plants.
(3) I'm definitely gonna achieve the killer-bod dominatrix supermodel beauty queen figure by New Year surviving on water and greens (provided I don't commit suicide out of depression triggered by deprivation of juicy meat).

My Christmas wish list for this year is conveniently laid out here for your kind perusal. Buy me something else and I'll chew your head off. As you would know by now, I'm an avid collector of fragrances. Oh, you don't? Then you don't know me that well now do you. Please take note that I don't smell like a rotting carcass in a swamp. I just happen to have this little hobby, okay. And I'd like to add Anna Sui's Dolly Girl, Lancome's Miracle and Ralph Lauren's Romance to my collection. Okay, fine. You don't really encourage such fancy hobbies. I'd really, really like a Nokia 7610 as well. No? Sigh. Get me this. (both the elements in the picture, dummy!) I'll be eternally grateful. Or you guys can lump up all the presents and forget about them and just give me KC. (My KC is different from Furby's KC)

males of this generation

It is true. I expect too much from the males of this generation. I was told by a very wise friend of mine that I should never expect anything from anyone ever. I understand that. But is it so wrong that I expect these guys to contain some form of intellegence or appreciation? Of course, I also expect them to know what they want and not to be so intimidated by me. I want them to understand my sense of humour and not stand there wide-eyed and dumbfounded by the so many big words I just managed to use in one sentence. I don't want them to smile or laugh at something I've just said and then sit there at a loss of words. Because the more they do that the more I'll feel like an alien. A big fat blob that has no business on Earth.

I have come to the almost stunning realisation that there is, in fact, an incredibly thin line between love and hate.
And you, dear friend, tend to rock precariously upon it.
You see, our relationship breaks down as follows:
When with you I am completely carefree.
I think nothing of my actions.
Everything can mean everything, or nothing.
I can stand against the whole world.

However, the minute I am away from you...
I begin to think about your actions.
What they truly mean.
What you truly mean.
To me.
What I mean to you.
And slowly, while dwelling like any other stupid little adolescent female would, I begin to hate you. I soon despise everything about you.

It must all end somewhere. My hands are trembling. Unable to draw the line. Unable to rip the page out. And you're still rocking upon the thin line.

wedding dinner

Been down with flu the whole week so was incapable to say nice things here. Now that I'm feeling slightly better, I shall... erm... say more mean stuff. Muahaha. The wedding dinner last Saturday in Penang was certainly an eye-opener. No, you asshole, I'm not THAT notoriously sarcastic and mean that not one of the people I know has ever invited me to their wedding dinner before. See, there's Nicole's wedding dinner, and... Hey, that's it. Gee. My friends don't marry early I guess. I'm very certain that none of them got married without inviting me. You asshole. I have the inexplicable superpower to cause a certain level of drunkenness (not mentioning the under influence farm animals buggering crowdscene extravaganza) armed with very potent doses of laughing-till-you-pee-your-pantiesism. Why wouldn't anybody like me around?

Anyway, back to Joe's wedding dinner. Furby, Wombat and I had a 10-person table all to ourselves. Mucho pathetic, yes, but we didn't know a soul in the entire hotel ballroom, except the bride. The first course came. 10-person portion! Eyes gleaming with glee (could be just me), we dug in. Ugh. From a hotel of that standard (and price) we expected something edible, if not slightly tastebud-friendly. While chewing, we looked around and spotted another table with 4 persons. Hah. We're not the only disease-ridden aliens after all. And Joe looked absolutely radiant.

Suddenly, a middle-aged beer-pourer (welcome to the country of wedding dinner contract beer ladies!) in t-shirt and shorts (zero points in appearance) asked gruffly if anyone else would be sitting at our table. Temporarily paralysed from shock and blurness, I must have shaken my head with mouth agape. I couldn't help it. I am a polite and honest citizen, ever ready to answer questions of fellow citizens, although the staple questions from beer ladies are "More?" and "Do you want a mug too?" And this commendable habit I came to regret soon enough.

At the end of the first course, two lovely ladies sauntered over and sat at our table. They're Joe's highschool buddies. Exchanged pleasantries and introductions all around. Then the beer lady (Bear Lady more like it) ushered in an old granny to our table alongside with another beer-pourer armed with a pitcher of beer who couldn't be anyone else other than her husband (Bear Lady's, not the gran's, you ass). The nicer side of the table exchanged "Can they do THAT?" looks among ourselves. We said nothing. Then the second course arrived. Aaaah. Shark's fin soup. Furby started a lecture about the poor, poor sharks' blood on the 1000-odd guests' hands tonight and how we should ban shark-killing, when suddenly Bear Man stood up with a grunt, pulled the 10-person soup closer to him, poured in an entire bowl of vinegar, stirred it around, and started scooping the soup sloppily for himself. There was stunned silence. Aghast, the nicer side of the table exchanged "He just emptied a bowlful of vinegar into the soup?" looks among ourselves. Bear Lady went next, swapping the soup bowl with a bigger rice bowl and filled it to the brim. At least she knew enough manners to pass it to her mum and then proceeded to fill another rice bowl to the brim for herself. We timidly waited for The Three Bears to finish before gingerly scooping a little of the soup each, apprehensive of what the concoction would do to our tastebuds. It was repulsive. We shot killer-stares at The Three Bears but they were slurping soup in total bliss. And had second helpings and thirds.

War was officially declared. Eyes of 5 nicely-dressed, determined young women shone with purpose and anger as they swore allegiance to each other to protect our table from the rude invasion of Bear Country or die trying. Obviously The Bears weren't invited guests to the wedding dinner. Fine, Bear Man and Bear Lady were employed to pour beer at the function, but they certainly weren't doing their jobs sitting down at our table. And Gran Bear must have been loitering outside the ballroom, waiting to pounce on innocent, gentle-natured young women like ourselves and gobble down a free 8-course dinner.

We had fun. In a perverse way. Eyeing the dishes brought over by waitresses, chopsticks ready. Once the food plate left the waitress' hands, it became a free-for-all warzone. Chopsticks/ladles clicked and clacked against others', shreds of chicken/fish/prawns flew around the table as we fought for our right as paying, invited guests. It's not about the money we paid. It's about teaching rude fellow countrymen the value of mannerisms by a display of total lack-of-ness. (hey, politeness DON'T work here, okay. They have BEAR skin's thickness!) Furby called for back-up. And it arrived in the form of KC, her boyfriend. Hurrah! We had fun watching his expression as the night progressed. Aghast - disbelief - anger - retaliate.

All in all, eye-opening aside, this wedding dinner had been educational. I learned some dos and don'ts if I ever get married in the future. And being the generous, friendly person I am, here're some tips I want to share:

(1) Never have Skol beer. The ladies are not hot and they bring their entire clan to attack all your food.
(2) Prepare nice name tags for guests, displaying their names and relation to the bride/bridegroom to smoothen the introduction process and those who are seen eating without their tags will be thrown to the streets from the 35th floor.
(3) Never seat alcoholic, stupid-display-of-manliness-inclined boisterous men together. Especially married ones. They will use the wedding dinner as an excuse to get as drunk as possible and yell and screech and laugh and snatch the limelight from you.
(4) Never, ever have karaoke system installed for the night and invite your aunt's brother-in-law, great-uncle's second cousin's husband, the entire troop of under-12 nephews and nieces to sing. They will either make guests lose their appetite, perforate their eardrums (from the pounding beat of Livin' La Vida Loca or conversations carried out in yells and screams), or cause more drunkenness to ensue.
(5) Never allow female guests wearing sexier stuff than the bride's to enter the dinner premise. (Alternative option: Invite more unattractive friends)

Incredibles

What a perfectly depressing day. Even Mr Incredible failed to lift spirits.

Nobody cares what happened to Mirage. Superhero family defeated the baddie, got reunited and lived happily ever after. Clap clap. But what about the real heroine? One that stood beside the man she loved even though he's a freckled, buck-toothed, bad-hair evil dude. Even when the whinyassed loser didn't give a shit about her well-being. She was willing to die for him. She sacrificed whatever life she had and lived with the freak beside a volcano for fudge's sake. How did she feel when fudgeface went up in flames? How's her future like? My heart just goes out for Mirage.

Hannah #1

She became Hannah 12 years ago. In a small, noisy church in a small town. The pastor who seemed to know her every secret thought albeit having met her for just a few minutes smiled at her and said, "You should be named Hannah, like in the Bible." And so she was.

Hannah grew up to be a girl who talks very loud, laughs louder and dreams the most. And she fell in love. Or rather, got involved in a lot of relationships in search of love. And then she met Jien. He is young but wise. Laidback but thoughtful. Affectionate but impenetrable. Innocent but witty. Because of these unique combinations of qualities, she fell hard. And she gave him more attention, more affection and more expectations than any of those before him. She wanted to make up for the lies, manipulation and hurt she created or received from her previous relationships to turn this one into the flawless, perfect, most beautiful love story ever known to man.

She got busy. With work to build a secure future, with dreams and plans, with activities to spend time together doing. Maybe she was too busy to see that Jien was suffocating and becoming more and more distant. Maybe she noticed but pretended not to. Because she was doing her best but somehow it wasn't working the way she wanted it and she doesn't know what else to do. Age, timing, family... Everything worked against her efforts. So she lost Jien. She was devastated. But on the outside, Hannah still appeared to be her usual cheerful, happy-go-lucky self. She didn't want any sympathy.

"You can cry if you want to, you know."
Gene said that in his car on the way home from a movie. As soon as he got her message saying that Jien broke up with her, he rushed back from work and dragged her out for dinner and a movie to take her mind off the agony.

"No, I'm okay." Hannah squeezed a smile.
When Gene put his hands around her and gently pulled her towards him, she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. Inhaling his familiar scent and overwhelmed by a sense of gratefulness, Hannah's sobs inevitably turned into wails and hiccups. And Gene drove on in calm silence, one hand patting her shoulder. That was the most intimate moment they shared ever since they knew each other 4 years ago.

"I can't believe you just stormed out of your office just like that." Gene said after Hannah's watery display subsided. He chuckled. She laughed. Sniffled.
"How do you expect me to work after I saw his break up email?"
"That jerk. He didn't even have the guts to call and break the news?"
"Ah, it's just as well. I wouldn't know how to react in front of my colleagues if he did call."
"Don't worry. You deserve someone better. He'll come along soon enough."

Sometimes Hannah wondered why she never allowed their friendship to develop into something deeper. Wherever, whenever, whatever, Gene has always been within reach. Always alert to her needs, always pampering her with her whims and fancies. When she traveled, Gene would call frequently to check if she's safe. When he's abroad, he would call from a phone booth in the middle of winter just to hear her voice. His intentions and affection for her had been apparent from Day One. Once a year, in a casual tone, Gene would ask if she's ready for a relationship with him. And her answer had always been negative. She is searching for True Love. And Gene was, well, just someone who'll always be there. To pick her up from her falls. To laugh at all her jokes and antiques. To let her just be herself.

Today, Hannah had lunch with Gene. They haven't met for quite some time. They're busy, working people now. And things have changed.
"I saw Jien in town."
"Mm, really. You still have feelings for him?" Gene chuckled.
"I don't know. This is confusing. Can I go bake cookies at your house later?"
"Can't. I'm working. And I'll be at my girlfriend's for a few days."

Things have changed indeed. Part of Hannah feels happy for Gene who has finally gotten over his feelings for her, but another part of her feels forlorn and jealous. Has she foolishly denied herself of the affections of a guy who is now making another woman feel like the queen of the world? Has she been searching too hard for the perfect love that she couldn't notice something so natural, so ordinary, so necessary like the air she breathes right in front of her? Is she in love with Jien? Or is she in love with the Jien she imagined, memories they shared, and the future that could be theirs if they are still together?

Is love a myth?

good day!

Today has been one of those rare good days that I don't feel like someone ripped my intestines out from my anus and kicked my liver senseless. Or like a beached whale.
Some plausible reasons could be:
(1) Lack of oxygen to my brains from an OD of cigarettes.
(2) The road trip with my college buddies to a wedding 5 hours away (details: tomorrow) and the fact that we've been eating non-stop from the beginning of the journey.
(3) I've reconciled with The Mother (read my earlier posts, lazy ass) and other church members at Raymond & Family's farewell dinner.
(4) John and Daniel appeared euphoric over the farewell dinner and won't stop tut-tutting over my hair (John) and poking my ribs (Daniel). Entertaining.
(5) Jonesy perfected his guitar solo for a particularly difficult song.
(6) I saw someone I've been wanting to see but at the same time not wanting to (don't ask).

Some baffling reasons that strangely didn't deter the chirpy mood are:
(1) I'm so indigested and bloated now my gut is protruding at an even more alarming angle from its normal magnitude.
(2) I'm PMS-ey with nipples so swollen and stretched to the brink of explosion they feel like plastic fizzy drink containers left in a car under the blazing fiery sun for an entire afternoon.
(3) I didn't get to see Simple Plan. Since no one from my company knows anybody who can get me an invitation to their showcase I swore to sleep with anyone and everyone in the industry who can and then Jonesy swore to skin me alive if I don't show up and sing at tonight's farewell dinner. I hate making tough choices like these, infinitum. Option A is seeing this band with sweet songs and talented wacky yummylicious guys I don't mind to group-shag and the chance to actually touch and smell them and eat their sweat. Option B is free food and mingling with churchey folks to atone for my MIA-ness for the past 2 months or so and the royal decree from the band leader. Option C is feigning some mysterious illness and stay home and wallow in self-pity. I would choose A could choose C should choose B.

Sometimes I hate being a rational adult.
Most of the time I just hate being an adult.

fat piece of ass

I loathe times like these. Formal dinners, evening gala, the works. My only stash of decent-looking clothes are salvaged from my mum's wardrobe (and in dire circumstances, the stuff she meant to give away to the orphanage). Yes you heard me. 80% of the womanly pieces of cloth I paraded around in during my stint in KPMG actually belonged to my mum. And we donated them off the week after I quit. Good riddance. But now, I might just have to dig around for remnants because Boss doesn't quite approve of my meeting up with clients in my teeshirt-and-faded-jeans-do.

But that's besides the point. Main topic: I am fat. Obscene fat tub of lard. Since I don't have any formal do, I resorted to begging some off June because I've seen some of her pictures with them nice, sexy dresses and she assured me that even an ogress with my stature would be able to fit in those hot stuff. I can't. I feel and look as sexy as a beached bleached bloated whale. I hate myself. I want to cower in the corner of my room and stay there and watch dustballs form and lizards eat mosquitoes.

Wedding... why?

My college friend Joe is throwing a wedding dinner this Saturday. She's the second friend of mine being married off. Considering my clique being at the very ripe and marriable age of 25 and the fact that only 2 friends of mine are actually committing themselves to officially confine themselves to have one sole sex partner and to go forth and multiply... I can only deduce that women nowadays are choosing to settle down quite late. Either that or the friends I know are very well-educated in birth control methods, resulting in 0% statistics of accidentally-banged-up-and-forced-to-marry cases.

I don't know what to wear. I don't feel like going. Sigh.

time is running out

Back to civilisation. Back to jamming with the band. We did a wonderful cover tonight. Of all the covers we've done, I'd say this is it. Ripped-off masterpiece. *pat own back* Hell, I've never had a guy's song that is perfectly tuned to my pitch without transposition before. Awesome.

Video provided by KEKAI BOY

Soccer

Aah. Nothing like being back home at my parents' eating home-picked fruits and watching television. I can't believe I haven't been home for ages! I keep tab of my visits home with the monthly Reader's Digest my dad subscribes to. And I am just halfway through August's issue. I have almost forgotten the feel of the telly remote control in my hand, too. Such large screen for watching CSI, such clarity, such great sounds. Bliss. Non-stop National Geographic and MTVs. Uberbliss.

Tonight's Arsenal vs Tottenham game was definitely the most amazing and comical one I've ever seen. I've never laughed as hard. The 5-4 Arsenal win kept my spirits high throughout. Such entertaining goals! Well, watching soccer matches with Dad has always been pleasurable. He hates MU wholeheartedly. Period. I don't hate those whinyassed Hollywoodian wannabes, but I don't love the team either. Except for a player or two. My footie buds would know I've been gaga over Gary from the tender, easily-swoonable age of 16. I'd tackle and take that man down, anytime. But Dad, whoa... the expressions (and expletives occassionally) that he uses for MU... you don't know the meaning of putting down until you've been put down by Dad.

I'm gonna go watch Chelsea take on Fulham now.

ronald mcdonald

Lookie what I found from the www. Japan's revolution to a paedophile-looking dude in clownsuit! Don't know if it's gonna soar or roar, but this is interesting. Very. Love the metrosexual (I just found out what this word means from Boss) version. Love the hair! Those who're doing McDonald's ad here (ahem) should borrow some, maybe?

Watch Metrosexual McDonald Commercial (.wmv)

Watch Female McDonald Commercial (.wmv)

Mounting spray

I love mounting spray. Being an absolute noob in the ad industry I was introduced to this delightful product when Boss was rushing off to a presentation one day and the designers had their hands full.

AJ Fok: Here, help me mount these onto the cardboards I cut out earlier.
Me: Mount?
A not-so-decent image of mating horses came into mind.
AJ Fok: Aaargh! Follow me.
We went to the back of the office. I saw spread and crumpled newspaper all over the floor. And some spray paint cans. AJ Fok flipped the slides to their back and sprayed them like some giant cockroaches. Wow. Fun.
AJ Fok: Here. You do the rest.
Newspaper stuck to the bottom of my shoes and running to the front and back of the office like some cheap comedian-wannabe, I had a great time giggling and inhaling dizzying fumes.

Mounting spray is transparent in small amounts, and white and foamy if I press too long. And it smells nice albeit causing a little wooziness. (but I still prefer sniffing permanent markers or petrol) It's cold to the touch. And damn tough to wash off. The difference from the conventional glue (besides being so much easier to apply and so much more expensive) is, it doesn't dry even after 5 minutes, and the slides can be detached and re-stuck again and again until we get the angle right. Even the cardboards could be recycled and used for the next presentation. Nice!

jokes

Here, here. Some awfully funny stuff I found on the www to pacify hurt feelings.
Stop shaking your head and clucking your tongue at me.
Maybe I'll wave at you next time using more than one finger.

Actual excuse notes school teachers have received:
(1) My son is under a doctor's care and should not take P.E. today. Please execute him.
(2) Please excuse Lisa for being absent. She was sick and I had her shot.
(3) Dear School: Please ekscuse John being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, and also 33.
(4) John has been absent because he had two teeth taken out of his face.
(5) Carlos was absent yesterday because he was playing football. He was hurt in the growing part.
(6) Chris will not be in school cus he has an acre in his side.
(7) Please excuse Ray Friday from school. He has very loose vowels.
(8) Please excuse Tommy for being absent yesterday. He had diarrhea and his boots leak.
(9) Irving was absent yesterday because he missed his bust.
(10) Please excuse Jimmy for being. It was his father's fault.
(11) Sally won't be in school a week from Friday. We have to attend her funeral.
(12) Please excuse Jason for being absent yesterday. He had a cold and could not breed well.
(13) Please excuse Mary for being absent yesterday. She was in bed with gramps.
(14) Gloria was absent yesterday as she was having a gangover.

Apologising, or not

I'm feeling kinda bad for lashing out a tad out of control last night.
Okay, okay, I'll take some part of it back.
UnScrew you!

New era vs new error

... Every morning is the dawn of a new error ...

I accidentally deleted the network printer from my computer. Fuck a duck! Shag a bag! I was just trying to clear out all the junk installed by the previous owner (I'm a small fry - no brand new computer when I started work) and I pressed all the misleading "proceed" and "confirm" and "yes" a trifle too hasty.

I look at the printer icon. It says "offline".
I check a few of the boxes and click "apply". Still "offline".
I un-check another few boxes and click "apply". Still "offline".
I hit the CTRL key a few times. But I'm still not in control.
I hate computers! Wait, I don't. I hate not knowing anything about them!
Okay, fine. Yes, a computer is user-friendly.
It's just very selective of who its friends are.
And having bitch-slap mine several times, I'm not even an acquaintance.
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Jonathan Brandis

I can't believe it. Jonathan Brandis is no longer with us. And I only found out when I was flipping through a crumply Chinese magazine at the office this afternoon. Damn.

Jon slept with me every night through my high school years. And he's still faithfully sitting on the wall above my bed back home. Sigh. He was the epitome of accelerating heartbeats and wobbly knees when I was growing up, the ideal boyfriend material.

The mag quote on the left is ironic. What did you want out of life, Jon? People say suicide is taking the easy way out. I think it requires much more courage (or alcohol/drug). So Jon must be getting something really bad. Damn I'm depressed.

I'll light a candle for you, Jon, come November 12. You rest in peace now. *smoochie*

excruciating day

Today was an excruciatingly unproductive day at work. We're pitching for a bank job and I had to think up a really elegant flyer to sweep 'em off their feet. (what the hell is elegant writing? are there more categories besides formal, informal and something-wittily-in-between?) I absolutely loathe doing bank stuff but Boss says we're going into that direction in the future. Dang! I didn't leave my auditor job to dive right back into term loans, mortgages, interest rates and whatchamacallits. So I procrastinated. Played Hearts on the computer while sneaking glances behind my back to see if Boss or the partner is tsk-tsking. And I stared at some samples from other banks for half an hour (per page) while willing myself to not doze off too apparently. I debated with my inner conscience whether to churn out some halfhearted junk before I go off or procrastinate more and hope Boss would forget about the flyer and the pitch. Hah.

She didn't forget. And I didn't produce halfhearted worthless reputation-destroying junk either. Somehow I received a blinding flash of 5-second-creativity and came up with a nice headline and supporting text. As Boss tried to visualise them text, I fled towards freedom. Let tomorrow worry about itself.

Tonight, at jam session, Daniel leapt on top of an amplifier and played his guitar there. I almost ate the mike.

Haircut

Finally gave in and chaperoned James for his haircut. I mean, one can only think of so many excuses. He's been bugging me for 3 months. And his hair does resemble a shrubbery that might catch fire anytime. And I do need to familiarize myself with the roads now that I need to run around to meet up clients. Made friends with a chatty chubby hairstylist, Ray. He swore that he bought pirated VCDs from me before. What the hell? I denied vehemently. I'd rather be accused of peddling hunky male virgins. Must be my hair. It's in streaks/shades of black, hazel and pink. Anyway Ray did such a fab job on James that I almost asked him to cut my hair and dye it ash green. Aaaah. Shall do it for Christmas. It's the first time I exchanged numbers with a male hairstylist who sounded like he really meant it when he said, "Will call you up for a cuppa sometimes!" Oh well. He seemed more interested in James. And I have no qualms at all sacrificing James to have cool hair all the time.

Anyway, we, Catalyst (the band) hereby announce the appointment of Daniel Wang as an additional member with immediate effect bearing the position - rhythm guitarist. This decision is unanimously agreed upon based on Daniel unleashing the rocker within in just 2 jam sessions and had our eyes bugging out from their sockets with his jumping around the stage and teaching us new cool numbers. Awww wight, Danny-boy! Rock on!

dumplings

Watched a movie in my housemate's room last night. I was particularly excited as the movie was banned and would never hit the cinemas around here. It was supposed to be a horror flick, being the sequel to an award-winning eerie production. Maybe we were expecting too much. The movie turned out to be quite bland. I didn't flinch or dry-heave during the abortion scene or chopping-fetuses-up-into-dumplings scene. And no ghosts. Not enough gore. What a let down.

"Boo" to lousy storyline and too much hushed publicity (!!!).
"Hurrah" to free DVD rips and downloads.

credit? discredit?

Or rather, in this case, discredit. And that's not fine. At all. Our designers work with the speed of snails being zapped by stun guns. I am the tail of a rabid dog being chased round and round and snapped at incessantly. My clients blame me for missing deadlines, Designer Dudes blame me for impossible internal deadlines, Boss blames me for not pushing the designers hard enough. And all the time I'm just trying to be nice. Sob. But I still love my job. Something about not having to wear power suits and high-heels to work totally appeals to me. But then they'd better give me a raise soon or I'm gonna be eating doggie biscuits for its high-nutrient contents.

I'm about to collapse any minute. I'm too old to be sleeping at 4 a.m. Damn. No thanks to the Man Utd vs Arsenal match last night. No, don't get me wrong. I wasn't having insomnia because of hyper post-match celebratory adrenaline rush. The match was, in toto, boring. Not much action from Henry and my Gary-baby got himself 2 yellows. During the first half of the match I had to order food (oh I have sinned) to (1) keep me from falling off my chair; (2) muffle the aroma of rotting rat carcass wafting up from the drain beside the table; (3) avoid responding directly to Julian's uber-weird remarks eg "Do you mind me staring at you?" and "You look hot tonight"... (raise eyebrow quizzically)

So what kept me up till the wee, wee hours in the morning? Oh. I've been introduced to the wonderful world of manga. Not just any manga, but scanlation, yaoi, yuri and shou-jo manga. Oh yeah I am fluent (self-professed) in manga-ish now. I can't believe my cousins who're 13 and 17 actually dig these stuff! Tsk tsk. I'm gonna be kept busy for the next few weeks.

Cool shit, I'm telling you.

The night when the electricity went out

I don't understand why people find my swirly time and date piece troublesome and uncool. I think it rocks! Anyway, since David blatantly told me that it's utterly, utterly shitty, I shall take it out. All thanks to Ian my beloved bruh since I know cowpat about css or html. I do know quite a fair bit about CSI though, but that's another story altogether.

As I was nearing home, I felt that somehow the neighborhood looked different. Then I realised that it was dead quiet and pitch black. Great, the electricity went out. I called my housemates to see if they're happily watching a football match somewhere else. They were at home. Drat. Means no ginger tea session for me. Bumped into thousands of menacingly sharp/slippery/crunchy stuff on the arduous 10m journey into the house. Made a mental note to put a frigging flashlight in my car.

All my housemates were in awkward drugged positions on their beds, room doors ajar, staring up the ceiling in total darkness. So this is what's left of them when the computers are not working, I thought disgustedly. Empty shells. Then I realised that I am a computer-dependent internet junkie too.

After searching high and low for a lighter (or matches) in the house, I ended up lighting my scented candles using the gas stove. Undressed as slowly as I could. Still no electricity. Then I decided to take a crap (to pass time) and shower (to sleep better in case the fans won't work the entire night). Nearly dropped the candle on my head when I tried placing it on a ledge above the shower (so I won't accidentally kill the flicker mid-shampoo). The candlelight was actually quite romantic, but since the setting is my notorious bathroom... (shower scene soundtrack from Psycho playing)... the candlelight shed only creepy dancing shadows over the moss-covered walls and amplifying the size of busily crawling and buzzing insects.

All was quiet. Never had I heard dung splashing into the depth of the dark waters below with such absurd clarity. I tried to camouflage the sound of Mission: Locate Underside of Porcelain Submarine of those heat-seeking missiles by turning on the shower, shuffling shampoo bottles, slapping at insects and bellowing a popsong. I couldn't hear myself poop any longer but I still had niggling doubts about my housemates in their stupor. Inacitivity enhances senses. What if they're all sporting shit-faced grins knowing that I'm taking a crap? Or, worse still, glueing their ears to the bathroom door and snickering? I don't know. I have a paranoia about people trying to eavesdrop on me pooping. Do they have a scientific name for that phobia?

I was still baffled and traumatized after my private (after all) shitty affair and shower, so I scribbled the thoughts on a piece of paper. And those miraculously transferred themselves into this blog when I logged in a while ago. Awesome.

post script: Remember... no one's listening until you fart.

Teleconversation with A-Ma

Dad called and told me that Gramma's knee gave up on her and she's in a lot of pain and couldn't walk, and that he's coming with Mum for the weekend to visit Gramma, and of course, his two children who haven't been home for months. I told Dad I'll give Gramma a ring to find out how that poor bedridden soul is. Dad was delighted. I've never called Gramma before. Ever. Reason? Well, for starters, there's a language barrier. I can speak only broken phrases of my mother-tongue (Martian) and Gramma speaks nothing beside. Hell, I thought, I'm a 25-year-old adult, and adults can talk to another adult without sounding like a moronic stuttering macaw.

(the following conversation was carried out in Martian which is un-typable, now translated)
"A-Ma! How are you?"
(feeble) "i'm fine. was in pain but now i'm better..."
"That's great! Errr, were you sleeping when I called?"
(clears throat) "no, i was just lying down a bit..."
"That's great! So, have you eaten, A-Ma?"
(stronger voice) "oh yes, I ate."
"That's great! I am just calling to see how you are."
"i'm feeling better, really."

Then I ran out of vocab for a more meaningful conversation. And I think it's kinda rude to hang-up after 20 seconds of calling someone to comfort and fuss about them. So...

"A-Ma! How are you?"
"..."
"Are you sure you're better, A-Ma?"
"... yes i'm sure."
"That's great! Are you sure you've eaten, A-Ma?"
"... yes."

Oh fuck it. This is utterly idiotically useless.

"I'll see you on Saturday then A-Ma. Take care!"
"ok..."

My cousin guffawed into the other receiver when she heard A-Ma's phone click. Bratty eavesdropper! I shall bazooka her room off the face of the earth on Saturday.

married to work?

It's raining pussies and bitches and I'm marooned in the office with amazingly nothing to do. So I will start writing my auto-biography.

I am extraordinary
If you'd ever get to know me
I am extraordinary
I am just your ordinary
Average every day sane psycho
Supergoddess

~The end~

(Two hours later)
I'm still marooned in the office with amazingly nothing to do. And I can't recall what I did for the past 2 hours except the fact that I had coffee and biscuits and put on my headphones. This situation just bring the saying "time flies like an arrow shot out from the ass of an ass with bowel irritation" to life. Oh, and of course, another classic one.

"Get a fucking life!"

I shall go home now.

Damn the connection

Effing Hades. Damn connection is so bad I can't even change my blog template. And I thought my office's dial-up is crap. Have lost whatever remnants of conscious excitement for the day to write. However, received some interesting emails from the SB sistahs which made me laugh out loud at the office. Like how Ange went and bought herself a chilli padi plant to decorate her balcony. Fudging queer! Forgive me, Ange, I know I promised not to reveal anything about you here but this is simply too good to pass up. Here's the excerp:

"Jess: Damn fucking funny email...my gosh...can come and entertain me in Singapore during Christmas? You and E/E and fuck in the extra room and if she is bad, I have chilli padi plant ready for punishment!!!!"

Well, first of all, beloved, I'm usually pretty much stuck where I am during Christmas. Lots to take care of, the works. 'Sides, people flock to Singapore like birds flying south for winter. If you think I am wagging my tail (whatever) in anticipation to be stuck in hellish hot weather for 3 hours on the connecting bridge then you are very, very wrong. And if there is gonna be any hot action at all, I'd rather it be you than E/E. After all, we did... you know... ok, ok, not telling without your permission. HJ is still whopping his head to the wall for missing that. Damn I can still remember the white thong you had on. And also the scary image of happily-shitfaced E/E's bare ass and uhh... Val licking her you-know-what... Oh I can just visualize HJ whopping the wall even harder now. LCL stayed out of all the fun because she had constipation. Sometimes I have no effing idea how I can remember these stupidest details.

Great. Now everyone will think we had ourselves an orgy. We didn't. It was a girls' night out with us playing cards and laughing and bitch-slapping our kidneys with vodka. Oh, and a worried boyfriend (LCL's) who tagged along and got locked into the bathroom on numerous occassions when things had to be censored.

Back to Ange's email. How on earth do I render punishments with the damn chilli padi plant? Smash it into paste and smear it on E/E's arms and ask her to stand under the sun?

And if you SB sistahs think I should be a columnist (and I'm not collecting shoes like Carrie!) then start reading me already, lazy bitches.

Quiz

Interesting little quiz. I scored 40% for this "How Well Do You Know 80's Music" test. Considering that I only learned how to not pee in my pants and bawl my heart out when I couldn't find the remote to switch on Thundercats during the 80's... I must be a genius.

Laters. Am going out jamming with the band. We're slowly cutting down covering songs brilliantly written by others and start to write some serious rocking shit for ourselves. Woo hoo!

Slouch

Been indolent with updates here. I wasn't particularly busy, but I did have to submit a report on the history of my life for a 14-year-old's project, rattle some sense back into an extremely annoying SB sistah (SB: our sorority: Sluttinibus Bitchum chapter*) Val who has this tendency to victimize and rip genitals off (figuratively) men who have the catastrophical misfortune to fall in love with her, assuage the anxiety of another SB sistah LCL married last month with PMS - Post Marriage Syndrome... etc. So I was emotionally drained.

*Total members of this chapter: 5. Val, LCL, Ange, E/E and moi.

Anyway, highlights of the week:
(1) Monday night. Spent an hour wondering if I should include my stories about my four exes in my report for Homo Ethanus. (homo as in homo sapiens, not homo homo) Decided against it. Used up all my "Quadrant B: Wittiness" brain juice at work anyways. Instead, tried to link to my housemate's computer to watch one of his ripped DVD movies. Access Denied. Screamed obsceneties at him to fix it. He promised to as soon as he finished talking to his galpal on the phone. I fell asleep waiting.

(2) Tuesday at work. Derrick kicked the beach ball in the office Becks-style into a cabinet and the ball exploded. Okay, it didn't. It shrivelled into a prune-shaped lump with a piteous "pffffft". AJ Fok and I screamed obsceneties at him to buy us a new past-time. I spent the rest of the day mourning the grave parting of our loyal friend in stressful times, Ball.

(3) Wednesday at work. Went to see a new client who markets mobile phone accessories. She gave me an imported, expensive looking pair of dangly stuff for my phone. They're not too girly. And they're blue! Happiness. I swore to give her my 101% effort for her ad and lifetime allegiance to her products.

(4) Thursday night. Literally tore up the road forcing Lisa into overdrive to pick up housemates from home for The Bourne Supremacy. Screamed obsceneties upon finding out they weren't ready and good to go. Burnt rubber again flying Lisa to the cinema, blaring music at ear-splitting volume to drown out my passengers' shrieks and flailing limbs. We reached just in time for the movie and I had a whole box of caramel popcorn to myself, since the others lost their appetite after spewing their guts once they got out of the car. Okay, that was a tad exaggerating. But I did have one box of caramel popcorn all to myself. The movie was so-so.

(5) Friday at work. Out of sheer boredom I flirted with AJ Fok. Dangled one of the accessory (I had two from my client, remember?) in front of him provocatively and asked if he would like one and be a pair with me. He raised an eyebrow, curled his lips into a sarcastic smile and returned his full concentration to his Mac. Well, Fok you, AJ Fok. One day I shall perfect my art of dangling things provocatively. During lunch, Derrick bought another beach ball. And I promptly lost interest in dangling things.

Received a copy of Homo Ethanus' report. I feel totally misrepresented. Those weren't what I meant! I guess I know now how Britney or Paris feels. Heh. And ain't I darnded glaid I din't giv no histuhry aboot mah puhreveeose relayshunships. Yes sirree. Misrepresented, I was.

Wenz

Had lunch with Wenz (cousin married off to the States) and Rubes (cousin cum my he-bitch). Today I want to tell the happy-ever-after story of Wenz and her husband, B.

Wenz grew up a plain girl in an armpit of a town in the middle of nowhere, where village folks go about their business on antique motorcycles sans shirts and crash-helmets, and chicken and stray dogs own the streets. She didn't have an easy childhood. Her father died in an auto-accident when she was very young, leaving her mother to work 3 different jobs a day to make ends meet and put food on the table for Wenz and her 2 brothers. Her mother, being uneducated, couldn't secure any cushy office jobs and had to sweat for every cent she made. The children were often left unsupervised, and the children soon found other more interesting activities to be involved in other than studies. They were often disparaged and being compared to their more fortunate, valedictorian cousins. Wenz often wished she was born smarter, richer and prettier. But she was just another ordinary, plump, bespectacled pimply-faced girl with bad hair and unattainable crushes on hot guys from school. Until she got to know B and her world was turned upside-down.

After highschool, Wenz went to the city and enrolled herself in a college with her portion of her father's insurance money. She struggled with the course and dropped out a year later, working odd jobs to pay the bills and feed herself. One day, she responded to an ad in Hotmail Classified. B was interestingly from half a world away, and Wenz's friends were making lots of friends this way. What's there to lose anyway, she thought. What she didn't know was, albeit her broken English and unfunny jokes and limited general knowledge of the world's happenings... she got B falling really hard for her. Throughout the years of their courtship, B flew from the States to see her 3 or 4 times yearly, and Wenz was, well, still naive, plump, had bad hair, worked low-class jobs, and couldn't speak a perfect sentence of English. But love isn't a language that demands immaculate grammatical skills. When they smile into each other's eyes, I still get pangs of acute urges to roll my eyes heavenwards and shudder while goosepimples creep up my spine. Oh yes, love is a wonderful thing.

Their courtship was no easy deal, mind you. Wenz went through hell trying to go over to the States. She applied for a visitation visa and was rejected on financial grounds. She applied for a student's visa and was rejected because she didn't have good enough exam results, and she didn't have any relatives in the States. Then B proposed, she said yes, and he promptly bitch-slapped some embassy people to their senses and finally her visa was approved. In total, they met for less than 10 times before they got married. Funky. So he whisked her up onto his white horse and they rode happily into the sunset? Yeah right. Wenz's family and relatives cried bloody murder about the white-man conning one of the clan to go over to the States so he could prostitute her off or chop off her limbs to beg on the streets. After much convincing and interrogation sessions and B's parents and grandparents sending over videotapes of snippets of their lives and house... the bird left the nest.

Today, Wenz is happily married for 2 years. She's in SF, happily relating to us about the places B brings her to, meeting B's friendly relatives and friends, her skiing trips, the baseball games she watched, and enormous Haagen-Daaz ice cream buckets they stock in the fridge. She's still plump, bespectacled, has bad hair and for the life of her can't pronounce "redeem". I still get the urge to strangle and rattle her. I am still envious. I bet lots of the other cousins are, too (secretly). I bet we'll envy her even more once she starts popping out adorable, exotic-featured Mat Salleh tots. If I'm still partner-less after 2 years, I shall register myself with MSN Classified. I could do with some fairy-tale romance in my life. I'll risk the prostitution and chopping of limbs part, dammit.

I'm genuinely happy for her. I'm as green as an ogress can be with envy, but I'm glad that this Wenz has finally found her man and snagged him to cuddle in bed and grow old together.

Issues

Mum called me at work today, surprisingly. She asked me the question I haven't heard for quite some time, "Have you been going to church?" I swear, the closer to God that woman walks, the better she can read minds. I haven't got the question for such a long time. A few years back I dreaded her phone calls, as picking it up would mean lying about going to church when I'm not (and feeling damn mendacious afters) or forcing myself to go and hating the ordeal. Over the years though, I settled down with my current (ex?) church, made friends, found an extended family (well, I treated them as one), got involved in activities, and stopped making excuses. Phone calls with mum would be sharing biblical knowledge and latest happenings in our churches.

"No..." I replied.
"Hmmph," she said. "I knew it. Something's bothering me to call you."
"!!!!!" (more of a reaction than a response)

I told her everything. And swore to myself that was going to be the last time I go into that room of my brain's archives. This shit exhausts me, physically and mentally. Then mum said,

"The same thing is happening to my church."
"!!!!!" (what? with Uncle Chong and Pastor Leong and the wondrously lively worship sessions?)
"We had just been confronted and challenged by our speaker last week about pretentious churchgoers."
"!!!!!" (speakers who confront -> brutally honest -> awesome)

I couldn't describe my feelings then. Elation? Excitement? That somewhere somehow, some church is going through the same test. That somewhere somehow, some church is acknowledging and fixing her problems.

"Go to another church, then."
"Ma, I don't wanna be a nomad and church-hop. I thought you taught me to face challenges and not escape from them, and the Bible did say that......."
I gave her a long sermon.

"But I just want you to be happy and grow spiritually..." (*touched*)
"... and I don't think you can find a boyfriend in your current church."
"!!!!!" (what the...)
"Maaaaaaaaaa..."

Mothers. I love mine to death.

Letea

I love letea! Originating from Hakka, China, this delicacy requires a certain taste and does not appeal to everyone. I acquired the taste for it thanks to Jarod, an ex-boyfriend who happens to be a Hakka (hence knows an impressive lexicon of vulgarities) and a great cook. Jarod is recently singled (around the same time I lost my Love) and lonesome in Australia and is whining to me a lot about missing his girlfriend and bla bla bla. Talking about exes, Cowpat (the one after Jarod) was blubbering to me about how his girlfriend went to another side of the world and ditched his pathetic ass. Waaaait a minute. Am I the ex-boyfriend-recently-exed-again-club's president? Pillow of comfort? Crying shoulder? I'm suddenly the magnet to all ditched souls. Aaaah, to heck with that. It is kinda fun, talking to them again after losing contact for years. I guess being the nicest ex (and girlfriend) in the whole world, they feel comfortable sharing their deepest, darkest secrets and fears (and tears) with me without being ridiculed. I'm feeling warm all over.

Anyway back to letea. Besides being uber-yummylicious, it's healthy! Minimal meat, lotsa greens. First we have rice (plain or with smashed garlic lightly oiled) topped with mountains of long-beans, tortoise-beans, leafy veggies (I'm horrible at naming green stuff), tofu, groundnuts etc. Then, letea is poured into the mixture of rice and greens (which, according to my colleagues and friends, now look like something a farmer would feed the pigs with), and after mixing everything thoroughly, the bowl of rice-greens-tea is now murky brown/green (depending on the letea's ingredients) and ready to be attacked ravenously. Only usually by this time, the faint-hearted and weak-tummied would suddenly be very interested to have salad instead. Letea (the tea/soup) is made from green tea, sesame, groundnuts, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, and lots more eeky-sounding but healthy grains and greens. All the ingredients are mashed and grinded before adding cold and hot water, and voila, letea is served.

I love letea. Next to Japanese food.

Grieving

How does one know if she is over a person? How can one tell if her broken heart has mended? The saying goes "everything grows with time, except grief". Have I really grieved the passing of Love? Have I really screamed and cried and accepted the fact that Love won't be around anymore? Or have I simply shoved the fact into a closed trunk at the back of my mind because I didn't want to deal with reality?

I admit, the pain of Love leaving has ceased somewhat, to a dull ache in a corner of my heart only summoned to the surface by the occasional song on the radio, a familiar place Love used to go, Love's favorite phrase being uttered by someone else.

Have I stopped harboring hopes that Love isn't entirely gone? Have I moved on and stop thinking of ways to rekindle the flame when Love comes back? IF Love comes back. I don't know.

Is there Life after Love? I don't know.

Isn't this the best part of breaking up?
To find someone else you can't get enough of.
Someone who wants to be with you too.
Wouldn't it be beautiful?
But
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you?
Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you?
I don't know.

Alterations

Someone complained that my blog's pop-up is too distracting so I took it off. I did away with the background music while I was at it. Getting on my nerves. So here's to a slightly new look.

After working till 3am the whole weekend, we finally got everything together for the presentation. If we do win the pitch, there'll be more 3am's and non-existence weekends. If we don't, well... Boss will make us slave and produce work with more quality so we can easily win the next pitching. I think I like the sound of the former better.

It's not even 11pm! Damn, have no idea what to do until bedtime. Here are some logical questions I came across while surfing the www which got me thinking...

(1) If a word is misspelled in the dictionary, how would we ever know?
(2) When man discovered milk came from cows, what did he THINK he was doing?
(3) If crimefighters fight crime, and firefighters fight fires, what do freedom fighters fight?
(4) If blind people wear sunglasses, why don't deaf people wear earmuffs?
(5) What would have happened if Kuwait's main product was broccoli?
(6) If you're cross-eyed and have dyslexia, can you read all right?
(7) If work is so terrific, why do they have to pay you to do it?

Gee. I don't wanna have insomnia again tonight. I shall go fry my brains with Japanese drama instead.

Working the ass off

Been putting in an average of 14 hours per day for the entire week, hence the inactivity here. Usually too beat after I shower to do anything but check mails, research a 'lil, and whine to whoever's online. Journey back from office is usually 40 minutes, but the journey there can be from 40 minutes to 2 hours. I hate Malaysian traffic. Now with the price of petrol up 5 cents a litre... damn! It's unbelievable how voracious Lisa can get. Not to be judged by her teenie-weenie petite outlook. She downs them petrol as a sperm whale would with plankton and shrimps.

I'm seriously enjoying myself in this new workplace. I mean, where else can a team of people think up ideas for a proposal while playing football in the office? Where else can I wear PJ's to work and claim that it reflects the artistic yet comfy me? Hmm, maybe it's because I have Lisa now, I don't have to worry about catching the last bus or train home. Or I'm still fresh into the line, not minding the crummy pay and crappy hours in exchange for learning and exposing myself to something new. Or I can listen to music on earphones and not do anything for 15-minute intervals and nobody bugs me. My happiness will be complete if we get coverage for ADSL or something akin in the near future (hopefully).

Now, just because I'm nice, I shall end this entry here before you all begin to slowly rip out each of your eyelashes one by one.

Bummer...

How does one surmise a one-page mission statement into a simple sentence? I've been mulling over this for the past few days. And Boss have been screaming to have choices, choices and more choices. "You can do better than this," was all she said when I handed her yet another 10 different ideas (brilliant, according to my standard, I might say)... Brother. So here I am, stuck in the office at this wonderfully eerie hour staring at the computer while trying to resuscitate the cells upstairs who stubbornly chose to remain in their shutdown position.

Why do we need a slogan for our namecards anyway? Couldn't we enlarge the company logo to take up all the free space and be done with it? I have never seen any namecards with a slogan! It is not clever! It is a heinous crime against the copywriter's otherwise tranquil and sanguine career (so far)!

Life is a bitch... sigh... but some of the puppies are cute.
Like my fingernails.
I'm out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message...

I like 'em LONG

Lookie my long fingernails! They're fake (but not as fake as stick-ons), yep, but imagine the joy when I drum my fingers on any surface and hear clickety-clacks instead of dull meaty thud-thuds. I have been biting my fingernails since high school. Used to bite my toe-nails too while watching telly, back in those days when I was still agile and bendy. Nevermind the fact that my hand here looks like an arthritis-ridden shrivelled claw. Nevermind the fact that my nails are pink instead of some cool goth punk color. They are long! They are magnificent! They are free of charge! Yep. Perks of being in the industry. I saw someone doing the same manicure, nail extension and sculpturing package for 100 bucks. Whoa. I really must put in more effort in her ad.

Manicurist said once I start doing my nails I'd get hooked and ask for pedicure next. I scoffed. I wouldn't mind extending my nails for 2 years (i.e. weekly touch-ups or wash mine off for a new set) but pedicure is for the rich and extravagant. She smiled and said "we'll see". Tres creepy.

Sudden realisation:
(1) I can't pick my nose as dexterously as before.
(2) I can't play bass for the band.
(3) I haven't shampooed my hair since I did the nails.
(4) I might have to postpone doing laundry for as long as the nails stay attached.

Something that she said as she was doing me (giggle) which was 100% accurate, was that non-smokers in the advertising line have very bad nails. When one needs to think, a smoker smokes and a non-smoker chews on fingernails and sucks the blood oozing out from the too-deep bites. She didn't neglect to add in the fact that out of all her nail-biters customers, I have the worst, tiniest, pathetickest nails. Wow. How nice to be on top of the list for something. Tee hee.

Birthday boy

Life, n: A sexually transmitted disease that is fatal. Life, n: The process of continually downsizing all hope and expectations. Happy birthday, Lifey. post script: "Teen drinking is very bad" - J-Kwon

Last--minute panic

Calvin: You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
Hobbes: What mood is that?
Calvin: Last-minute panic.

Oh yeah. Time alloted to think up a snazzy company profile, catchy tagline and teaser, subject for the e-mail (I still can't believe how this one-liner sucked all my brain juice) and direction plus tagline for our name cards: 5 hours. Time left: 8 minutes.

Woo-ha.

Swing swing swing

Life is like a swing ride. It's usually broken. Or people wipe their asses all over the surface. Or wrap their sweaty crummy paws all over the danglies. Muahahaha.

Actually my point is: I feel like a kid on a swing. What started off as a crappy day ended fiiiiiiiiine. I suspect an e-mail in the afternoon did the job. I was crossing my fingers. And it came. Wheeeeee! And my client approved my proposal without much editing. And I didn't have to work till midnight today. Wheeeeee!

God, thank You for the pick-me-ups on crummy days.

Now if You could just be so gracious to make certain people fall madly in love with me...

Zombified...

I'm dead beat.
Overused my daily quota of brain juice.
Bitch of a headache is killing me.
I'm gonna recharge some wit by watching Futurama reruns.
Enjoy my lack of yak while it lasts.
*snooooooore*

Pieces of me

I am strong.
I can act.
I can pretend nothing's wrong.
Therefore I am strong.
I'm supposed to be everyone else's shoulder.
I'm fine with that.
You get friends when you're like that.
I should just stay like that.
Guess if I'm able to continue fooling people about myself I'll eventually convince myself.
I'm quite the confused and confusing little person.

Right now the choices I make available for myself are:
(a) Have a mental breakdown, cry every night, slowly break down inside.
(b) Cut myself. See some blood.
(c) Get out of here. Just leave. Walk out the door and just keep walking. And not look back.

I'm tres freaky whenever I embark on the journey to the centre of me. I shouldn't do that too often. Now I must go eat crap and watch some shitty Hong Kong drama. My life is just too awesome for words.

That's good lassy, keep that positive attitude.

Marmite on bread

Love me or hate me. I taste like Marmite. I am salty and sharp. My abrasive edge greatly upsets some people, but others will gleefully endure it. For those willing to put up with me, I am a great source of emotional health and stability. What Flavour Are You?

Yumm. I could never say no to Marmite on bread. With margarine (it spreads easier). I tried swapping Marmite with Bovril but the relationship didn't work out. Bovril tastes great as instant soup though. I could sip and slurp till I get a nosebleed. I guess beef extract is heatier compared to veggie extract.

Yummylicious

Keith, you rock my world. Too bad you don't realise. The way you concentrate in manouvering the ball, the way your muscles clench when you move, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way your sweat-drenched clothes and hair cling to your lithe body... you drive me wild! (damn, is this the mating season or what)

If I was invisible
Then I could just watch you in your room
If I was invincible
I'd make you mine tonight
If hearts were unbreakable
Then I could just tell you where I stand
I would be the smartest girl
If I was invisible...
Wait, I already am

Notice me, you Adonis. Even for just a little while. I don't want to be invisible. I'm infatuated.

Day one...

My first official day at work. And I'm bushed. Advertising = glamour and glitz? Yeeaah right. Who on earth put that idea in people's mind in the first place? What I really did today was proof-read 4 different draft mock-ups. And draft copies they were. The print was so minuscule and blurry that I swear I am cock-eyed now and my reading glasses prescribed last week ran the entire course of its useful life. After the gruelling ordeal, I happily got my eyes to focus right again and cheerfully counted down to lunch time. And realised the staple diet of my colleagues is nicotine. Different dosages, yeah, but nothing else. They smoke so much that the sole ashtray in the pantry (thank God for small miracles - smoking is prohibited in the office) looks more like a porcupine with white/brown quills.

I followed the boss and art director out for a photo-shoot of a brochure featuring a wholesome, happy family. I was all keyed-up, imagining flawless mag models walking and talking just mere inches from myself. Are they going to be really nice people? Or bitches and he-bitches? We arrived at the shooting location soon enough. And saw a small normal-looking kid with his mum, munching on McChickens and fries. Huh. The "Mother" character arrived 30 minutes later than the scheduled time, but I must salute her professionalism. She immediately plonked herself down at the nearest available chair and took out her assembly of mirrors, lipsticks, mascara and the works. A big bag it was. Within 10 minutes, voila, she was done. If I wasn't observing her out of the corner of my eyes, I could swear she was a different person. Commandment #11: Thou shalt not underestimate the power of cosmetics. One of the greatest gifts the heavenly powers could bestow upon womenfolk.

Since "Father" was supposedly a popular local actor, he arrived with much pomp and grandiosity. And more than an hour late. First golden words out of his mouth: "I think my hair looks messy. Please blow-dry and style it for me." The make-up assistant promptly brandished the necessary repair tools. We waited another 15 minutes. End results of his licks and curls? Still curly. And brought back memories of the Elvis days. The make-up assistant later confessed in whispers that she hadn't been in touch with the business much since 2 years ago, she changed industries to selling insurance full-time. Figures.

My fantasy of brushing shoulders with the hip and happening layer of society, absorbing their aura and breathing in their heavenly scents turned out into 3 hours of squinting under the sun, sweaty armpits (perception of heavenly scent and aura went poof) and itchy arms and body for me particularly. I accidentally backed into a bush buzzing with unidentified insects.

Scratch, scratch. My first day. Scratch, scratch.

post script: The featured talents weren't bitches at all, in fact quite the opposite. But all they talked about was how fat so-and-so was/is, which agency to go to to lose weight and the proper ways to pinch out zits on their faces. And when she wasn't shooting, I caught "Mother" scribbling her name about 100 times in her little notebook. I am still baffled.

Blogger: Ressurection

Whee... Blogger is ressurected! I'm so exultant that I took another online quiz. And my brains are fried from 24 OD. Finished my second season of CSI and I'm now glueing my face to 24. It's equally as addictive. So, just take the quiz...

I am a Gryffindor!

What House are you at Hogwarts? Harry Potter!

What the...

I'm so annoyed by Blogger! Tried to post something on my other blog but the status remained at 0% every try. Been like this the whole day! Why is this happening? Why is this happening to me? I am depressed and annoyed and... Gaaaaaaaaah!

Severus Yearningus

I cannot believe it. I am still suffering from severus yearningus for a banana split. The only way the yearning remains a yearning albeit it causing actual physical pain (metamorphosis from acute mental pain) is that there's no Madam Kwan's near my place. (banana split is heavenly there) Unless I drive for 20 minutes to KLCC. Driving fast. Just now some Good Samaritan (not) has helpfully told me that they have banana split in Secret Recipe. And there's a Secret Recipe 10 minutes away! Noooooo...

I wonder if it's as good as Madam Kwan's.

You may wonder why am I causing such a ruckus about ice-cream. I'm not. I'm practising abstinence. Self-control. See how long I can endure. Will I get over the urge finally? Or is it going to be like an itch, if being left unscratched too long it'll sear through the flesh to the bones. And become an unreachable itch.

Actually, I'm just waiting for someone to buy me one.

Crime Scene Investigation

Oh yeah, I'm so hooked onto this series. Bad. As bad as The X-Files some time back. And CSI doesn't leave me with a huge "?" after every episode. (those outlandish theories were a bit too cheem for me) I like the CSI team portrayed here. They're... human. Each with his/her own problem. And although they're hunky (guys) and skinny (women), they have wrinkles! Yes, I never enjoyed Baywatch. So? Bombard me with flak already.

I..am..so..craving..for..banana..split..

Seriously, I don't know why. I just have this yearning deep within me that cries piteously for fulfillment. Ooooh. With not-too-ripe bananas. And warm, sticky, chocolate fudge. Gaaaaaaaah... I've been suppressing it for the past week, but... Gaaaaaaah...

Mat Kool

Are you cool enough? Are YOU? ARE you?

Well, this is the only quiz I manage to feel happy about the results I might say. I must give a bear hug to the creator.

This is not my doing

Someone from office sent this to me some time ago, and I still guffaw whenever I stumble upon this. Wonder how true it is though. *giggle*

These questions about South Africa were posted on a South African Tourism Website and were answered by the website owner... a person I really would love to meet.

Q: Does it ever get windy in South Africa? I have never seen it rain on TV, so how do the plants grow? (UK)
A: We import all plants fully grown and then just sit around watching them die.
Q: Will I be able to see elephants in the street? (USA)
A: Depends how much you've been drinking.
Q: I want to walk from Durban to Cape Town - can I follow the railroad tracks? (Sweden)
A: Sure, it's only two thousand kilometres, take lots of water...
Q: Is it safe to run around in the bushes in South Africa? (Sweden)
A: So it's true what they say about Swedes...?
Q: Are there any ATMs (cash machines) in South Africa? Can you send me a list of them in JHB, Cape Town, Knysna and Jeffrey's Bay? (UK)
A: and what did your last slave die of?
Q: Can you give me some information about Koala Bear racing in South Africa? (USA)
A: Aus-tra-lia is that big island in the middle of the pacific. A-fri-ca is the big triangle shaped continent south of Europe which does not...oh forget it. Sure, the Koala Bear racing is every Tuesday night in Hillbrow. Come naked.
Q: Which direction is north in South Africa? (USA)
A: Face south and then turn 90 degrees. Contact us when you get here and we'll send the rest of the directions.
Q: Can I bring cutlery into South Africa? (UK)
A: Why? Just use your fingers like we do.
Q: Can you send me the Vienna Boys' Choir schedule? (USA)
A: Aus-tri-a is that quaint little country bordering Ger-man-y, which is...oh forget it. Sure, the Vienna Boys Choir plays every Tuesday night in Hillbrow, straight after the Koala Bear races. Come naked.
Q: Do you have perfume in South Africa? (France)
A: No, WE don't stink.
Q: I have developed a new product that is the fountain of youth. Can you tell me where I can sell it in South Africa? (USA)
A: Anywhere significant numbers of Americans gather.
Q: Can you tell me the regions in South Africa where the female population is smaller than the male population? (Italy)
A: Yes, gay nightclubs.
Q: Do you celebrate Christmas in South Africa? (France)
A: Only at Christmas.
Q: Are there killer bees in South Africa? (Germany)
A: Not yet, but for you, we'll import them.
Q: Are there supermarkets in Cape Town and is milk available all year round? (Germany)
A: No, we are a peaceful civilisation of vegan hunter-gatherers. Milk is illegal.
Q: Please send a list of all doctors in South Africa who can dispense rattlesnake serum. (USA)
A: Rattlesnakes live in A-me-ri-ca, which is where YOU come from. All South African snakes are perfectly harmless, can be safely handled and make good pets.
Q: I was in South Africa in 1969, and I want to contact the girl I dated while I was staying in Hillbrow. Can you help? (USA)
A: Yes, and you will still have to pay her by the hour.
Q: Will I be able to speek English most places I go? (USA)
A: Yes, but you'll have to learn it first.

Choppy chopper

Dumb, but better than Tic Tac Toe

My record is 494. I guess even my cat can beat me at this. Please post your highest record here. Mat Kool for the person with highest score. And for me too, of course.

Pride and prejudice

With her central characters, Jane Austen suggests that true love is a force separate from society and one that can conquer even the most difficult of circumstances. Indeed. Love can break down communication barriers, dissolve squabbles, soften hearts of stone.

Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

(1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

We need to have faith. I need to. That amongst all the confusion, misunderstandings, violence and sin, as long as there is love, hope is not far away.