near accident

As I was speeding off for the jam session 4 hours ago, I met with an accident. Actually I was met with the debris of an accident, but if I said that it'd kill the intensity now, wouldn't it.

There was no warning. No earth-shattering crash. No dramatic metallic crunch or screech of tyres. I just saw a motorcylist doing a Superman from the right lane towards the left. And he rolled. And rolled. And there were a lot of loose scraps of metal and plastic and (bones) and tins (what the heck was the motorcylist doing with so many tins? siphoned illegal gasoline? biscuits for the family?)... and my first thought was "oooh who's the idiot littering on a busy road". Yeah. Idiotically funny, but that really was my first thought.

Then everything happened in slow-mo. The car to my right was brought to a halt. The car behind crashed into it. I crashed into debris. The motorcylist was still rolling and screaming on my left. Thank goodness there wasn't any vehicle in the left lane. I heard a sickening crunch as something went under the front. I was relieved (slightly) that it wasn't a meaty crunch, but a metallic one. The rolling guy was half-crawling (scrambling, more like it), half-sitting on the shoulder of the road, still screaming. Sounded more like rage than pain.

I realised my car was stopped dead-centre diagonally across a busy road. A van screeched to a stop beside me and the driver glared. Then, upon satisfying himself that I wasn't the one responsible in mowing down his "clan member", he came out of the van to check on the motorcylist. Traffic resumed as normal. My forehead started to throb violently. Then I remembered mashing my face into the steering wheel when I had to perform a sudden stop with the car at 100km/h. I could still smell burning rubber. The throbbing was evil. And people were already blaring at me to get moving. Fucking inconsiderate shitheads. I took a last glance at the motorcylist (who was very much alive and animated), at the debris on the road and some splatters of blood, at the cars on my right (hey, didn't the first car just mowed the motorcylist down? or did he fell down himself? or did he hit the divider? I guess that would remain a mystery forever more) hauling ass... then I left. My hands were shaking. Or maybe that was my shook-up brains misleading me.

I only got down to inspect the car upon reaching a more secluded area. Everything looked alright, except for the registration plate with half of it missing. I touched it gingerly, and the rest fell to the floor in a clutter. Dang. Oh well. At least I didn't have someone's head landing on my windshield. Now that would be traumatic. For the head. Hmmm. Should I start worrying about my own head?

Winner

Ain't Winner a darling? Winner is my client's dog. Now I know why the client wanted to meet up at her home and not her office. If I have a dog like Winner I wanna be a full-time mummy. I'm practically gushing with motherliness whenever I lay eyes on Winner's picture. That was the first time a dog hugged me like a baby. I've carried cats and puppies around but this dog can HUG.

Ooooh navdsjhnediufnmsa;kcaujhdgblvndsa;eklfn... *gush*

all for nothing

I give up. Getting the gift for a loved one is tougher than digging a tunnel from my front yard to Taiwan using a blunt spoon. See, KC and I had this ongoing month-long little tiff that blown up into a full-fledged loud exchange of hurtful words that had us both in tears and very, very exhausted. So, to make up, I was planning to buy KC this shirt that it liked very much. For our half-year anniversary this weekend.

And it turned out that all the Topshop outlets in the whole city ran out of stock for that particular shirt. I went to 3 different outlets to verify personally, and I called the other 2. I endured cold treatment and suspicion from KC for acting fishy. I lied about my sudden urge to visit ALL the major shopping complexes in the city and my insisting that it stay in the car while I run down for a little while, thus increasing my level of stinkiness. I feel like shit this moment. I really wanted to surprise it. I'm really looking forward to see the reaction on its face when it gets its dream shirt for free.

Now I have 2 days left. With no shirts. And no idea on what else KC needs.
I
am
so
exasperated...

diseased

First when there's nothing
but a slow glowing dream
that your fear seems to hide
deep inside your mind

Now you are this evil thing
making me so sick I wanna scream
on this diseased rollercoaster ride
you really have me in a bind

This is really such a diseased year for me. Not auspicious at all. For a few days I was Loo Queen, sitting on the throne the entire day with thorough colon cleansing. Then I had a 102 degree fever with swollen gums and achy bones. I had to squint whenever I open my eyes for fear of my eyes popping out.

I'm supposed to go for a blood test today. Doc suspected I might have dengue fever. But I told him I haven't been bitten. Doc said I don't have to understand so much, just do as he says. I asked a million more questions and he gave the exact same answer. I felt like kicking his... shins. I thought as a paying customer, I should be given SOME information about my own body and how the general health works. Anyway, Doc cancelled the blood test after seeing me just now. He said my fever has not worsened and I'm not having chest pain, hence it couldn't be dengue fever. But he insisted that I stay home and rest or I'll be feeling ill for another week.

Little did he know that, home or office, I still have to work...

dark side

It's the time of the month. This round is bad. Serious bad. Traipsing on the fine line separating dot-on-my-pain-threshold and someone-carve-my-womb-out bad. I'm oozing black blood. Damn. Them aliens musta brainwashed me to the Dark Side without me knowing. I'd better get started on collecting autographs while I'm still here.

he

He has so many secrets, so many charms, so many undiscovered territories no matter how careful I am each time to go into details. Every time we are together, it is better than before. I love the way he smell, the way I hold him, my hands caressing his spine. His skin is smoother than the finest silk. I am richly inspired and my imaginations run wild just by looking at him.

Oh... The Copy Book...

stop

Please, nobody ask me about my birthday and how it went. This questions sends me into bouts of depression and I'm already at my 23985th bucket of tears. Oh well, at least the agony and hurt from last year's birthday breakup paled in comparison and has faded from memory somewhat.

So, for the first and last time... my 26th birthday is totally screwed up. FUBAR. End of story.

But I would still accept belated presents. The stats cannot stop at 2! Nooooo!

birthday?

It's my birthday tomorrow. And it's going to be one of the suckiest, ranking slightly behind the birthday when Jien asked to part ways as friends. I'm not at good terms with Boyfriend, him complaining for the 13846th time about my clothing, and me defiantly defending comfort should come before ego, that comfort accelerates my productivity at work, and revel in my sloppiness.

My birthday is destined to suck harder because I have to come out with 12 different copies for a product that boasts a hell load of crap more benefits than it actually has. I swear I'm going to be a helluva fairytale writer in no time.

I'm still coughing up a storm. I miss my angelic, melodious voice. The doctor says it's not Ebola (twice), but judging by the amount of goo coming out of my holes I want a second opinion. If I don't blog for a week after this, just go ahead and assume that the Ebola got me.

Update after 4 hours...

Gosh I can't believe the boredom that's spiritually attacking me right now. My mind is supposed to be either crammed full of ideas or little sparks of them for my 12 copies. That or planning how to celebrate my turning 26 with a bang. But my mind is... blank. Numb. Unfeeling. Is this how getting older feels? But I love birthdays! I love receiving gifts and unwrapping them and keeping the wrappers for my Christmas present-wrapping. Seems like getting older means decreased enjoyment in receiving and unwrapping presents. I didn't even get an e-mail or text message or card. I'm unpopular. Fuck. But I received 2 presents so far from college mates. A Mango Body Butter for Very Dry Skin from The Body Shop. Makes me feel like a fucking reptile. Ogres are mammals. Frisky mammals, albeit the size and stature. Another present is a silver, aluminium-like picture frame. Awwwww, how quaint. *smack it off the table*

But I love presents. The right ones.

Dating Quiz

Your dating personality profile: Stylish - You do not lack for fashion sense. Style matters. A staunch believer in individuality, you stand out from the crowd with your mum's clothes and brother's shoes. You wouldn't want to be seen with someone who doesn't care about his appearance. Athletic - Physical fitness is one of your priorities. You find the time to work athletic pursuits into your schedule, like breathing. Or occasionally turning your body during sleep. Or eating extremely chunky chewy slabs of steak to exercise your jaws. You enjoy being active. In bed preferably. Funny - You laugh often. At people. People never accuse you of lacking a sense of humor. Just mercy. You don't take yourself too seriously. And neither does anyone else, most of the time. Especially your Boss.

Your date match profile: Stylish - You cannot put up with someone who is lacking in style. You want an original, someone with flare, someone with good taste. Someone who thinks a beached whale is the sexiest momma in the history of mankind. Funny - You consider a good sense of humor a major necessity in a date. If his jokes make you laugh, he has won your heart. If he doesn't mind others laughing at him, he has won the left side of the bed. Fragrant - Forget aphrodisiacal manly aroma and bushy afro body hair, you need a sweet-smelling match. Receiving perfumes of all brands interest you, and a scented man will offer the vanity and moolah you need.

Your Top Ten Traits 1. Stylish 2. Athletic 3. Funny 4. Big-breasted 5. Freaky 6. Liberal 7. Intellectual 8. Religious 9. Hungry like the wolf 10. Mammal

Your Top Ten Match Traits 1. Stylish 2. Funny 3. Fragrant 4. Into bondage and biting 5. Moisturising 6. Filthily rich 7. Wears glasses 8. Cooks 9. Yummylicious 10. Obedient

Take the Online Dating Personality Quiz at Dating Diversions

chilli cream

I don't know if it's a PMS-related erratic whim or pure, unadulterated idiotism, but I've signed up for a slimming programme using chilli. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid this is the last resort for me to transform into Dainty Dolphin from Beached Whale before the next seismic disaster hit. Actually this stems from KC's incessant nagging for me to be reedy enough for him to carry around, and as much as I get tremendously pissed from this obvious need for superficial perfection in one's significant other half found mainly in the male genes, I thought to myself "heck, end times are near and I simply HAVE to strut around looking babelicious in ultra-revealing slutty clothes before being swallowed by a giant wave or a giant mutated earthworm".

So I rubbed some chilli cream on the huge tub of lard that I used to recognise as a stomache this morning (preview of what to expect during my slimming sessions), and boy oh boy did it hurt. It fucking burned like Gollum's fairy leash. I was writhing and wailing in agony like a leech on a salt mountain, tempted to break the bathroom mirror and hack my skin off. I now fully comprehend the phrase "no pain, no gain". And this chilli cream thing had better work. Or else I swear I'll *censored for extreme gore and obscenity*

I will apply chilli cream again tomorrow. I must get use to it somehow. It's only fair to the beautician that her other customers and civilians within the mile's radius don't flee in terror when I go in for my session.

Anyone who has a better recommendation speak now or forever be silent, unless and until I come back as an obese vengeful apparition denied of a chance to wriggle into a bikini and walking the walk before Christ's second coming.

ikea

I... see... old... people.

Went to Ikea today for the last few batches (hopefully) of accessorizing my new house and room. As usual, the weekend crowd was stifling, but the exceptional phenomenon today was the demographics. I see old people everywhere. It's not a sudden hostile invasion by Planet Septuagenaria. These folks have been around and about all the time I'm sure, but habitually I just see them and smile to the occasional genial, non-frowning ones, and go on my merry way. I see but I don't see. And today I saw. And start to think what it is going to be like for my parents to grow... old. I saw this old lady staring into space, mechanically rocking a toddler in a shopping cart back and forth, back and forth... and I imagined Mum like this. I saw this old man hungrily wolfing down pastry, crumbs dropping all over the place, oblivious to passer-bys... and I imagined Dad like that. Sure, my parents are no longer young and energetic, being more than half a decade old. But still it pains me to imagine them with wispy white hair and hunched and wobbly one day in the future.

When we're young we think our parents are invincible. As we grow older we see their mistakes and realize that they too, are human. And we can't wait to leave home, away from the incessant nagging, away from stringent house rules. Then when we're finally out in the world by our own... there'll be moments when we miss them terribly and just want to cuddle with them in bed on stormy nights, cry on their shoulders when things don't go our way, have a simple home-cooked meal and talk about the day's happening...

I miss my parents. This very moment. So much. I'm overwhelmed with love for my parents, and I don't understand why every time when I go home for a short stay we'll end up quarrelling. Mum's nagging becomes increasingly irritating. Dad's reminiscing his glory days becomes boring and pretentious. However much I love my parents I don't know how to love them in the way they understand and appreciate. I want to spend all my holidays with them at home but there are so many more other "youthful" and enjoyable things to do, and when I do stay home for a long visit we'll end up fighting. I want to bring my parents away on a holiday, a family trip (our last was when I was 11) but I cannot afford a good destination, and the family members all have different days off. Frustration leads to ignorance, and time washes all feelings and dreams away.

Right this moment, I just want to record down the immense love I have for my parents. Whatever mistakes we all made, whatever bad things we thought and said about each other. I know that if I just let this thought - this love - pass from my mind, I'll grow numb again tomorrow and our busy lives will just continue as it is. With Mum calling me once a week to catch up, and Dad writing the occasional email reprimanding Brother and I for not keeping in touch or going home for a visit.

How do I love? How should I love my parents?

Today, I received my first bouquet of ad hoc flowers. Ad hoc because it's not my graduation convocation or birthday. The flowers are for my moving into this new home. The pink daisies are gorgeous and smell delicious. But since it's my first ever bouquet from a boyfriend for no reason at all, I screwed up my execution of "gesture of appreciation". And pissed off the giver big time. Sigh. Etiquette etiquette. I usually warn admirers (yes, I do have one or two sometimes) to not buy me bouquets, not because I hate flowers... no. I think bouquets are overpriced. And I'm allergic to certain super-pollen genres. I like flowers best when they're still breathing in the ground. Or sometimes when I walk around the marketplace, a certain few will beckon secretly to me with a promise to brighten up my space. I don't feel that connection with a bouquet. Somehow it feels plastic and overdressed - and overpriced. Call me realistic. Call me unromantic.

Yep, I must be a cactus or aloe vera person. And I need one for my toilet.

new den

This weekend, I'll be shifting out of the dump I've been living in for the past 8 years. It stopped qualifying as a house around the 5th year when the upstairs water-tank leaked and neither our upstairs neighbour nor my houseowner wanted to pay for repair, shoving blame at each other until the whole place stank like a pig-pen and was covered in moss. For months I lived in fear of the ceiling collapsing on me in my sleep (I had a lot of unconfessed sins and hence wasn't ready to meet my Creator just yet... and come to think of it... not now either) and had fretful nights of sleep dreaming about evil mushrooms growing on the walls and ceiling and releasing evil spores into the air which would then travel down my respiratory system... *shudder* (shuddup, smoking is nowhere as scary, mmkay?)

Anyways, plenty of cleaning and packing to do, and of course not forgetting the best part - buying new stuff! I've basically piled all the clothes I want to bring along into one of the Dell CPU boxes I bought from the garbage lady for 50 cents a piece. The exciting journey of trashing unnecessary knick knacks and discovering long-amissed documents/pictures/junk in the weirdest nooks and corners will officially start today. It's gonna be tough, since I'm not really a throw-away-old-stuff person. (whaaaat... I'm nostalgic, mmkay?) I can just imagine someone rubbing his hands in glee at the prospect of throwing away stuff on my behalf, though. Sigh, sad parting... oh junk.

Am going to compare prices later at a coupla hypermarts. I don't reckon I have enough moolah to Ikea-nize my place just yet. But that won't diminish my determination to turn my room (alas, I can't afford the whole house either) into a college student's wet dream. I want it to represent every country's typical decor. I want it to be culturally eccentric in its mish mash of worldstuffs. Translated: Anything cheap goes!!!

I think KC will kill me.

tumbleweed

It's funny how life works, sometimes. The pain that you thought you couldn't recover from losing an important something or someone fading into numbness and then one day you realised you've totally forgotten about it. The things you hold on to for dear life, afraid of not being a complete being if you lose them... you lose them. And when the tears dry up, when you finally accept the harsh reality of the cruel fact, the very thing you lost once again appear out of nowhere, by chance, by fate... like a klump of hairball you find under your bed meandering towards you, gently aided by the wind...

Some might say it's God's little early Easter present. He tests you, to see if you are willing to let go of worldly possessions, even when you like them very much, even if you think you cannot live without them... with goodies in store for good boys and girls that are obedient enough to screw their eyes shut and suck in the mucus. Or, some might say it's the work of the Devil. The flaming asswipe invades forlorn and sad minds to conjure up remedies that are soothing and calming in the short run and damaging to health and relationship with the Big Boss above in the long run.

So what's my deal? Which promo pack am I getting? I don't know, I'm busy smiling.

"But I will go down with this ship
I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love, and always will be"

bliss!

I am outlandishly magnificent. I am exquisitely intelligent. All you inferior earthlings, cower in terror! Bow in awe!

Wow. That was extremely therapeutic. And, contrary to my feng-shui premonition and tarot prediction last night, today went SPLENDIFEROUSLY great. Yeah, like, totally.

Come on come on ask me why FASTER ask me why ask me ask me ask me I need to get it out please ask me why ask me...

I was appointed the acting Art Director today. Whoa yeah. As I'm typing this I feel chilling goosebumps riding up my spine, I kid you not. Like, last night I was just exploring the possibility of being an Art Director someday, right. Sometimes I have this creepy mental image of Boss reading my blog in the dark, rubbing palms and chuckling in evil glee. Nowadays whenever I blog in the office I commando-crawl and slither around securing the perimeter first. ANYWAYS... I came up with 4 concepts, direction and copy for the day. And the feeling of looking at my brainchildren being transformed from scribbles and drawings of stick figures on scrap papers into multi-coloured things that seem ALIVE... Well... Like children, you can't understand until you've had one.

I have this overwhelming urge to start whistling. But I'm having these dry fits of coughing that make my lungs and tummy and head hurt. Not mentioning the dry heaves. I'm wishing for phlegm to come at this point of time. Then I'll have a proper, deep, glamorous cough.

rawr...

Another weekend has come and gone and I'm sitting in the office past midnight trying to do the math to justify where the heck did my weekend go. It was a blur of work, dinner with friends, some shut-eye, and more work. Things are really picking up at the office now, which is actually good because it forces my frazzled brains to the grindstone. And Boss has been approving the stuff I write without amending a sentence, which is great (from both professional and emotional viewpoints). Either I'm beginning to churn out stuff more interesting than lukewarm gnat's pee, or Boss has grown too sickened to even try to pound the right concept into my creative juicer machine upstairs. Either way, I feel like an award-winner. Woo! And I did help a little in the major pitch that the company won.

I'm in such a peppy mood. An encouraging "I like this line" or "Good job" can do such wonders to a broken and battle-bruised ego and morale. Really. I'm so inspired to go further at work. Even if it means cancelled appointments with favourite friends, or murdering the weekend doing research and conceptualizing, or catching precious naps in church mid-sermon, or not blogging for almost a week. Yep, tomorrow can be a bitch (very very likely, as I dread writing crap for banks), but today is dandy. Let me just hold on to the dandiness a while longer. And dream about being a super-successful and sought-after Art Director someday. Then I'll work from home writing only things I like. I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, comrade. It's so good to feel ambitious about something again. Woo!

There's a humongous load of laundry to be done at home. I should probably get to it, before the aura of warm ambition wears off and I run out of clean underwear. Hmmph.

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?

abalone

I detest the pivotal moment of crossing over the threshold into adulthood, or rather, auntyhood. With Chinese New Year looming up just around the corner and KC's incessant pestering about my not-so-presentable wardrobe contents; I tagged along dutifully behind KC into the mall. And discovered the joy of swooshing someone else's card to get clothes for myself. The thrill of not having to feel the cash leave my hands and watch my wallet size dwindle almost had me grabbing clothes from their hangers and march right up to the cashier in a trance.

Then the not-so-fun part began.

Traipsing into the supermarket section, I received a text message from Cindy (cousin) asking if I'm getting anything for Popo (grandma) for Chinese New Year. KC promptly snatched the opportunity to unleash a 10-minute lecture about how I'm getting older and should act more proper and adultlike, which, translated into layman terms, means buying overpriced unnecessary exotic foodstuff for the older generation of relatives whom I'm going to meet during Chinese New Year who probably have tons of such foodstuff already and would just cluck at my exorbitant spending habits and proceed to stash the goodies away for private consumption much later while dismissing me with an oozing-with-insincerity "oh you shouldn't have" then return to gossiping with other older generation of relatives about how un-filial whose and whose children are for not buying them anything for Chinese New Year. And the scariest part is, once I start this terrifying annual cycle of buying inflated gifts... I'm not allowed to stop. Ever.

I don't want to step into auntyhood so soon! Gaaaaaaah!

I bought a nicely-packaged nifty abalone and pacific clam canned set for Popo. Then I imagined Dad throwing a tantrum at me for not getting his mother anything. And I took another set reluctantly. Then I thought "Like hell am I going to spend hundreds on these babies and not even get a chance to taste what they're like" and promptly grabbed another set from the shelf. It's high time I fulfill my filial duties towards my parents anyways, right?

post script: I did my maths later last night to come up with how much I need to pay KC back for the reckless shopping spree... and my calculator overheated and exploded, its red-hot battery shooting out and punched a hole through my heart right out of my back. With blood splattering down my torso, I weakly text-messaged my company's account personnel to just put KC's name on my next paycheck.

the ring

Subsequent to my recent post about my phobia with men and their simple gold rings... KC took its off a few days after. I pretended not to notice (my heart was whooping with glee and a rather evil sense of success) until it mentioned the fact to me, claiming a rush of guilt when it read my disturbing entry. Holding hands have never been sweeter after that. (What? You're dry heaving already?)

We got ourselves a pair of rings today. They're supposed to be our 2-month milestone keepsake cum Valentine's gift, but we couldn't wait for the exact day to come, so we mentally donned our time-travelling protective gear, took an elevator down to the centre of the universe and fast-forwarded time.

Knowing how much a ring from a loved one means to me (never had one from anyone except my mum when I was 17), KC tried with immense effort to say something really meaningful when it put the ring on for me.

" Sweetie... I promise you... (all's going perfectly well till this instant)... this ring won't be your first."

Grey matter inside my skull went into fits. What the heck?
I managed a feeble, "Huh?"
KC repeated the exact sentence verbatim.
I didn't know to laugh or to throw a royal bitch fit, because (a) KC knew perfectly well the ring was my first from any boyfriend/girlfriend; (b) maybe KC meant that the ring wasn't ITS first, but why would it say that when I made it very clear how I hate to be reminded that it had a wonderful 7-year relationship with another female species...
Reaction-wise, I chose the former. And laugh hard I did.
KC realised something was terribly wrong with the romantic heartfelt confession, and tried to salvage.
And repeated the same freaking line again.
I swear, laughing till the bed shakes with tears of exasperation running down one's face is indeed a sensation beyond description. I decided to call it quits and put my hands on KC's shoulders and said, "Could it be what you meant is that this ring won't be my last?"
Sheepish grin. Shoulders sagged. Dejected face. I couldn't resist a bear hug and passionate smooch. And when I put KC's on, I flashed my killer sweet smile (works every time, my acting cute) and opted for the safest line, "Darling, I promise you... this ring is my first."

cuddling with sistahs

What was initially planned as a close-knit, warm little cosy gathering with 2 of my SB Sistahs, E/E and Ange, turned into a dreary affair of meeting half my old highschool classmates (we extended a lunch invitation to HJ, and he asked someone else, and someone else asked another someone else). Translated into layman terms, the "lunch meet-up" simply meant waiting for this person to appear, waiting for that to finish eating, waiting for another to finish trying on clothes etc.
I'm not saying this full-fledged highschool reunion wasn't fun, but as I exchanged emails with the Sistahs, we all lamented that we didn't spend enough time talking and cuddling. The sole participant of this weekend getaway that thoroughly enjoyed it all was KC. What KC got out of our first holiday away together:

(1) Deep meaningful conversations with me in the car interrupted by my occasional bursting into song when something groovy came on the radio. (Actually I don't quite understand why KC treasured our car-chat so much. I normally can't stop myself from yakking at 120mph and end up with a smelly-stockinged foot in my mouth, so why is the car-chat any different? Hmmmph.)

(2) Free 18-hour amusement and giggles watching us Sistahs outdoing each other in wit and sarcasm AND dirty dancing at Madam Wong's. (Who in their right mind would give a discotheque some kopitiam's name?!)

(3) Chance to fall asleep holding hands together in a king-sized bed with air-conditioning and wake up to the smell of bacon frying and Sistahs screaming obscenities at each other to add more butter/get the fruit juice from the fridge/stop laughing at the size of the chicken wieners.

(4) Ogle at Ange. (It's okay. I want a piece of Ange too. She's hotter than chilli.)

holidaying

I'm going to Singapore for the weekend. Unwind, relax... and to meet my beloved SB Sistahs who've been bugging me forever to visit. Can't wait to see Angela's new apartment and her permanent piece of furniture called Tyler. Can't wait to drool over Eryn's ever-pubertising boobies. I'm sure the girls have a fun weekend ahead planned.

Yay, plenty of materials to blog about! *rub palms in glee*

wring wring wring

Work is picking up pace at the office, which is good. I pissed off Boss for the 185th time in a week, which is not good. I feel stupid. And the fact that we're seriously not busy AT ALL around the office for the past month and still I manage to make such idiotic mistakes makes me feel like snapping off my left wrist with a pair of blunt scissors. Or quit my job and work full-time at Starbucks as a barista. But then, memorizing the exact amount of each ingredient for 30 different beverages might prove too taxing for my dwindling brains. Am I actively murdering my brains from all the cigarettes? Let me go smoke one and think about it.

blank

I'm completely out of ideas for blogging material. Well, not out of ideas literally but I'm just down with a mild case of disgustingus lazyassus, where my mind would just go on screensaver mode once I click on Blogger's dashboard. My days have been moving past me so quickly that it's hard enough to keep my mind focused on what I'm supposed to be doing, let alone trying to come up with something entertaining to blog about. Unless, of course, I write about the few days of depression when I chain-smoked 7 cigarettes in an hour and moaned and whined about my bottleneck situation at work. Brain simply went on strike and refused to churn up even a belch of a headline for my bank client, but you can't really blame Brain because after 2 years of unceasing, merciless bitchslapping in the accounting/finance industry, writing something positive and cheery about a financial institution is as likely as Brain's master (yup, that's me) enjoying a leisurely stroll along the beach with CSI Greg Sanders watching dolphins doing water acrobatics.

Or, I could bore everyone to death (nope, no eyebrow-raising stuff) with my detailed, blow-by-blow account of time spent with KC and stuff we do together. Not sure if it's a good idea though, because my coherent and witty self would dissipate into a blubbering, babytalking doe-eyed high school girl whenever I think of those pretty eyelashes and KC's cologne.

I just got news that the whole country would be having electricity shortage soon. So I shall shut up and fantasize about how to make use of the extra time should Boss let us off earlier today.

holding on

"What is there left to hold on to, when this glorious thing called life itself is so ephemeral? When everything we seem to have really fade, change or disappear completely with time? Our emotions, convictions, relationships are never constant; happiness and love are found and lost in turns; we live and then at a certain moment we don't anymore... where is the sense in this all?

Yet, holding on can be something beautiful. Even when we know that it will be all in vain at the end, even though it will bring us the most difficult times ahead, it is the only thing that we as humans can try to do in the face of sorrow, loss, bewilderment or incomprehension. We are going to try holding on anyway, because there are so many things that are worth the while -- feelings and memories that remind us just what warmth, bliss, pride, comfort, or pure happiness really is about. Holding on will make it harder for us, but why should life be easy anyway?"

I stole this from the late Grace Chow's blog, because it stole my breath and a few heartbeats. And yes, albeit being rather un-Christianlike, her entry is honest and beautiful. I stole her strength to hold on.

It's my first-month-anniversary with KC tomorrow. I feel warm and nice.

new year

There are 3 kinds of people in this world: those that want things to happen, those that make things happen, and those who just wonder what the hell happened. And it's amazing how I can be all those at the same point of time. My mind is still on vacation. Happy 2005, all.

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.