apologising, or not

Why do some people feel that it's so necessary to cause drama in their lives? I mean, really. Jumping out of vehicles after a screaming match (or threatening to), slamming down phones midst conversation, throwing glassfuls of beverages to someone's face... the list goes on and on. It solves no problems at all. Yet, people go bananas when on losing end of argument, play mind games, and concoct the most visually flamboyant methods of showing their disdain. What is it about human nature that seeks to make problems more difficult than they really are, meanwhile making them as dramatically showy as possible?

Some people just have a propensity for the dramatic. And I'm guilty (though on a very low end of the extremity scale). When I'm in an ultra-sensitive mood, I tend to read between every line what the other person says and jump into irrational conclusions. And come up with the most sarcastic retorts (less visually flamboyant) or just burst into tears (inviting public attention to shoot death killer stares at the wrongful unfortunate person). I detest losing arguments. Maybe it's because I dated younger guys and got used to being the wiser half (who cares if I really am?). Maybe it's the way I was brought up. Dad was this just-do-whatever-I-say-and-ask-no-questions strict disciplinarian. Maybe I'm just a plain old stubborn Taurean. Or I'm just trying to create reasons to justify my behaving like a damn crazy oompa-loompa half the time when things don't go my way. Whatever it is, I like to have the last word in any "discussion" with my love-partner. Anything he says after that is an official beginning of a fresh new argument. Freaky, innit?

But... fret not! I'm gradually changing for the better (I think) and I believe KC plays a vital role in this transition (of course there are other factors as well but this is sorta like an apology to KC so I shall not mention other names). So, to the current love of my life, thanks for taking over my burden of being the wiser party, for not giving in to my tantrums and antics, for beating me into submission to lose weight and not over-eat. Although sometimes your execution techniques of certain matters suck tremendously, I shall overlook your faults in favour of the good things you bring into my life. And I'm sorry for not knowing how to delete your comment from the blog. I'm sure not many people would notice your teenie-weenie grammatical boo-boos. (evil grin)

seduction style

Your Seduction Style: The Natural

You don't really try to seduce people... it just seems to happen. Fun loving and free spirited, you bring out the inner child in people. You are spontaneous, sincere, and unpretentious - a hard combo to find! People drop their guard around you, and find themselves falling fast.

What Is Your Seduction Style?

Wow. I like me. But the last line could be slightly altered to make myself look more like a successful seductive fox. I prefer "people drop their pants around you, and find their clothes and financial level falling fast"... This certainly improved my mood a wee bit. Thanks to ET Fingers (was reading your blog!).

eternity

Time is too slow for those who wait
too swift for those who fear
too long for those who grieve
too short for those who rejoice
but for those who love...
time is eternity
- Henry Van Dyke

Wait. Waiting I am, in the office at this hour (for the second night in a row), waiting for the designer to complete a brochure layout, waiting to see if I need to think up an additional headline or subheadline for the copy, waiting to test how long I can actually wait. Like, how long I can work without actually working.

Hmm, must be the hour of the night and having only 4 hours of sleep while on heavy medication.

Eternity. Something that KC doesn't believe in anymore. Although it's perfectly understandable, I still can't help getting a dose of why me? pathetic self-pitiness of not being at the receiving end when KC still believed. I believe in happy ever after, in riding off towards the sunset looking into each other's eyes, in simple garden weddings with lots of balloons and daisies. I guess I'll always be a sucker for romance (own up now, which woman doesn't?). And Romance. And I suck hard for Eternity Purple Orchid. It's the best-smelling artificial thing I've ever come across.

Time is eternity. What does this phrase mean? That when one is in love, the right here and right now is encapsuled in a momentary freeze in time, where the sweet thick passion and burning sensation can be savoured over and over again for eternity... Or... When love fills the heart, the mind's timeline charting expands to an infinitive digit, scattering little plans and dreams and desirable moments along the path?

Or maybe eternity is a myth. It's some deep unfathomable lingo set out to confuse and divide. Heck I'm feeling confused and my brain's divided into trillions of dustballs. I... need... sleep...

valentine's

Gosh. It's been gazillions of light years since I last updated (almost 2 weeks!). Being left out of the loop for such a long time, I dread turning the ignition to start writing again. I can almost hear the old rusty engine clank and wheeze into life in an inhumanely cold, unproductive weather... only to find a mountainous pile of snow blocking the garage door when the engine warms up enough. Sigh. Time to put in some exercise and shovel.

Depressing news first. Since my earlier post about how aliens got extremely jealous of my latest tattoo and raped it mercilessly... things worked their way further downhill merrily, so states the law of gravity. I would have given my beloved readers the blow-by-blow (with full gruesome visuals) of the rotting process of the thing above my right ankle formerly known as a tattoo, but I forgot the digital camera when I went back for Chinese New Year and so far no one has bought me my dream phone equipped with a snazzy little camera... so, no pictures, sadly. I do think it's for the better, or no reader of mine would ever consider a tattoo throughout the entire course of his/her lifetime. Oh yeah it was BAD. I saw 3 doctors in the span of 5 days. And every doctor diagnosed differently and prescribed different medications. While stuffing my face with multi-colored pills, I witnessed my tattoo bloat and peel and gather pus, then I developed the itchiest rashes all over my body, and then I ran a fever where my body shivered uncontrollably as I forced myself to swallow bile rising up my throat every 30 minutes. Through the course of these unfortunate events, I found out that the vile name responsible was allergy, and that I could never have another tattoo ever or the allergens would fight each other to death, resulting in an even more horrifying allergy seizure on me which might put a premature stop to my writing venture and chippy life forever.

Now the happy news. Despite scratching myself unabashedly in public and bringing insurmountable embarrassment to my significant other half, I had the most wonderful Valentine's ever. Our little celebration spanned over 2 days. Having been missing from the cinema scene for quite some time, I suggested watching Constantine. Knowing that this wouldn't be the genre of movie that KC prefers, I was pleasantly surprised when KC agreed without much cajoling and persuasion. Later KC surprised me again by telling me it reserved tickets for Shall We Dance. Normally I would scoff at any movie featuring Jennifer Lopez (and oh boy did I ever) and her tendency to get involved with married men in all her movies... but I really enjoyed both the movies. Everyone go watch! I highly recommend both. And this phenomenon is rare. So shuddup and go.

The next day we went to the karaoke for 6 hours singing our hearts out. And we still didn't manage to sing all the songs we wanted. Next time we shall go for a 9-hour marathon. After the warbling session, KC reserved places for us to go muddy our hands in clay making interesting pottery goodies (ala the movie Ghost) but we got to the class late and had to reschedule. And I haven't been feeling too well since... so my plan to make a real snazzy flower vase (or a bowl, or a mug... whatever the piece of clay turned out to be) is still postponed.

home sweet home

I can't remember when was the last time I woke up to something which wasn't the irritating alarm going off on my phone or KC's. This morning, I woke up to my brains telling me to. Such luxurious feeling! Such blissful rejuvenation of the body and soul! Birds were singing outside the window, and the sun was up but my room was still cool, preserving the sweet scent of the night, and I felt totally rested, the dream the night before just a nice faint recollection of boats and jetties...

I love not remembering dreams, because I've read somewhere that if I do, it means that my brains have not been resting at all. And more often than not, I have the weirdest dreams. (No no, I don't want to share)

Lately, I experienced continuous nights of wondrous dreamless slumber... when I sleep over at KC's. With my imagination constantly running wild and brains perpetually forced into overdrive during the day, having a dreamless night of sleep had long been shoved and stomped to the bottom of the bottomless pit of my abandoned wishlist. So why no dreams now? Maybe it's KC's neat little room with air-conditioning. Maybe it's the safe and comforting presence of another warm creature within touch (gee, does this mean my Mum didn't touch/cuddle me enough as a child?). Maybe lately, "sleep" isn't the rightful description but "passing out from too much chatting/VCD-watching" is (cannot be! I have unexplicably kooky dreams passing out from too much liquor). Or maybe KC is just this supercalifragilisticexpialidoceous wonderful being sent to protect and provide earthly love and comfort and strength specially just for me. Yeah.

Oh I love being home. There's a TV here.

home on the range

I'm going home tomorrow. To the place where I spent the first 18 years of my life. Where middle-age uncles still ride around on ancient motorbikes clad only in boxers and wooden-clogs. Where the first thing you breathe in/step on when you put your foot out of the door is the friendly neighbourhood chicken/cat/dog's shit. I can still go on with "where trees are climbed and poured pee on (as fertilizer for the fruits, see)" and "where children and household animals alike roam freely in vast fields of greens and blossoms under the bluest sky ever beheld" and such but I shall stop before my city readers vomit and my hometown readers strangle me.

I miss my childhood days. More so because I wasn't the best-behaved exemplary child/teen. I had my fair share of biting the dust trying to fight with bigger guys, ass biting the rod when verbal threats to be obedient didn't quite work (which is more than often - a trait I carried proudly to this very day... the disobedient part not the ass-caning part dammit), building a tree house with my younger brother and 2 neighbour boys and nearly burned ourselves to death trying to celebrate our success with barbeque lunch...

I have an abundance of stories to share. Buy me free food with Ribena and I will. For now, I'm marinating in anticipation to return to my little town with houses blasting tung-tung-chiang music at full volume and share "remember when" jokes with old high-school friends (a particular "lai-lai-lai" reminiscence never fails to tickle me and Eryn).

maori tattoo

I had my second tattoo done yesterday. It's a Maori design specially crafted to fit in certain alphabets (free ice-cream to those who can decipher them!). I had to literally go down on my knees (oh you dirrrrty little fella) to beg Simon the tattoo-artist for this after he rejected my original butterfly design ("What the fuck is wrong with you girls and this particular butterfly design? I did 6 of these this month alone!") and spat in disdain when I asked him for another dolphin tattoo ("It's fucking sissy!") to match my first.

After getting my first tattoo on my birthday 2 years back, I vowed to get one done annually but I missed out last year's as I was heartlessly ditched somewhere around my birthday and was more in the mood to karate-kick helpless old ladies, set a dog on fire and stab ignorant noisy children with blunt forks. And no, yesterday wasn't my birthday. So why did I do it? Let us now dissect this mystery-shrouded incident.

I showed a client my tattoo a few months back. And she's been bugging me to bring her to have one done ever since. After procrastinating and postponing and cooking up excuses, I finally couldn't put it off any longer. Anyway, KC's (it's a wonder how I manage to influence most of my partners to have permanent brandings done on their bodies - very, very sinful) needs some touch-up, so all's cool as long as I'm not driving. We had a dreadful time. The normally soft-spoken and amiable client morphed into a prima donna bitch-o-maniac and flung cleverly subtle demands (still irritatingly acting like a damsel-in-distress) around. Driven halfway up the wall (fingertips touching cobwebs) and thinking that May (my birthday) is still a good 3 months away, I proceeded to relieve my long-suppressed itchiness to inflict pain upon myself. Also, I simply had to take advantage of Simon's infrequent bouts of cheerfulness and helpfulness.

post script: anyone who says that my dolphin looks more like a whale, prepare to die a most agonizing, torturous and horrible death. Because it didn't bloat and I am not getting fatter. And the ring on my finger in the picture above is the ring. *gloat* And my latest is Maori to commemorate the demise of a Maori-an wedding's dream. Bleh. Isn't it luverly?