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.