November 30, 2004

Reflections, Part 2

In the spirit of reflecting about my life, I've decided to come clean and confess.

Some of you who live in the KL area would be familiar with a place called Little Genting. It refers to a particular stretch of road on a hilltop in the Cheras area and is a popular (only at night) hangout for Ah Lians and their el cheapo bastard boyfriends who can't afford a decent room anywhere.

Since there's no public transport to the place, these Ah Lians and their boyfriends have to resort to driving, which does 3 things for them. One, it's a convenient way to travel because the Malaysian public transport system is notoriously unreliable. Two, Ah Lian's boyfriend gets to show off his bright yellow souped-up Satria GTi to his homies (pretend it's yellow). Three, Satria GTi doubles as a very uncomfortable place to boff, but then again when the going gets tough, the tough have to boff somewhere, and that would be in banana-yellow Satrias.

This place is particularly popular during festivals where there will be a display of fireworks (cos of the high vantage point) and during Valentine's Day (presumably also because of the high vantage point).

On a Valentine's Day when I was still in secondary school, me and my then-single friends snuck up to Little Genting to have a look-see around the area. You know, just to have a look at the spectacular view of the KL skyline at night, take some pictures, enjoy the slightly cooler night air, and to show off our ancient Adidas sweaters (the one worn by Ben Stiller) before they were popularised by hip-hop.

Oh alright, so we went in the hopes of witnessing some real-life boffing action, big deal. We were young, we were curious, and the quest for knowledge is a never-ending pursuit. *winkity wink*

Unfortunately for us, the car windows were pretty steamed up, so we were disappointed. Because I tend to do stupid things when I'm bored, I removed the film from the camera and sneaked up to a car that's stress-testing its suspensions. I then hit the 'take picture' button and the flash went off. Immediately the car stopped bouncing. Immediately, yours truly cast Run Like Heck, her friends following in her wake.

To this day I have no idea who are the people in that car or whether they've hired guys named Vin the Sin* and Milo 2-Fingers* to nail my kneecaps to the floorboards. If you've been to Little Genting and have had a similar thing happen to you, bear in mind that I'm not the least bit original and probably there've been like 30 other people who've pulled this off before.

Rest assured, there was no film in the camera. I wouldn't wanna see you naked, trust me.

Ah Lian: girls with dyed blonde hair in tank tops and either a pair of short tight pants or a short tight skirt. Variations have been known to prowl around town area, in tacky J-Pop fashion and/or pseudo-punk outfits. Common denominator is dyed hair.

My hair is dyed too. :p

If you're wondering how Milo 2-Fingers manages to nail the kneecaps of innocent little girlies to the floorboards, 2 fingers actually refers to the number of unbroken fingers left on his victims. Vin the Sin is just tacky. *grins* Both monikers courtesy of Arion's lunch-less mind.


I'm grateful to my parents for paying for my higher education, and for supporting me since I was born, not only giving me the things I need, but the things I want as well.

I'm grateful to my parents for never laying the guilt on me. Whatever guilt I feel now is because I understand what my parents went through when I was still a kid, not because they keep reminding me how much they did for me. It's when people do things for me without telling me that I get really KOed inside.

I'm grateful to my parents for making sure there's enough food in the fridge that I can choose what to have for my lunch, and for stocking the fridge with fruits so that we don't die of constipation.

I'm grateful to my parents for letting me go shopping with their money, and for giving me a credit card and trusting that I will not overspend.

I'm grateful to my parents for sometimes cleaning my room, even though it doesn't really look very messy to me.

I'm grateful to my parents for dropping things to pick me up when I'm stranded someplace, and for driving me out to places that I want to go even though I have my driver's license.

I'm grateful to my parents for worrying about my wellbeing at all times, and for getting less sleep than me when I'm sick cos they keep getting up to check on me. (doesn't help that my immune system is lousy. Conked from too many courses of antibiotics, bleh)

I'm grateful to my parents for not loving me any less because I was impatient with them and used a snappy tone of voice when speaking to them. I’m guilty of taking people for granted.

I'm grateful to my granma for cooking our meals, and for trying to make sure we get all the nutrition we need.

My granma nags me to drink more water, eat more fruits, don't eat maggi mee, wear more conservative clothes and to get my ears pierced. I don't like it when she compares me with other, prettier girls and never praises me for my achievements, but then again just because someone doesn't love me the way I want them to love me doesn't mean they don't love me at all.

When my relationship with my ex ended, I was hurting inside, but I think my parents hurted more.

I was tickled to receive an SMS from my mom saying that they were proud of me and my brother because we got good results. I'm realistic enough to know that I didn't outwork anyone to get the results that I got. Everything that I have now was given to me.

Back when I was a kid, I used to ask my mom what she wanted me to become when I grew up. She always told me to be whatever I wanted to be. At that time, all my friends' parents told them what to do, so I was mightily pissed at my mom for not wanting her daughter to do anything. It was only in the last few years of my life that I understood what she really meant.

Whatever wrong decisions I make, and however low I may end up in life, I know for sure that there will always be support from my family, and I am thankful for that.

I'm thankful to my parents for showing me what unconditional love really means.

I put this here in case I meet an untimely death, so that one of you can show this to my parents.

Hmmm...Is there such a thing as a timely death?

November 28, 2004

Woke up at 8.30 this morning with a pounding headache. I'm a wuss, I can't handle 6 periods of classes in a day. I used to be able to do it in APIIT, but that was back when all we ever did in class was chat about F4 (they were popular back then) and munch chips while the lecturers did what all lecturers do best: talk to themselves. Some even manage to doze off themselves in the process, don't that beat all?

Normally, I would cackle maniacally like a bunch of furies on valium when told to wake up before noon, but then this was a chance in a lifetime to watch The Incredibles with a whole bunch of hyperactive little kids, so who could say no to that?

Actually, my mom's company organised a little family day thingy and we got cheap tickets. RM4 per person and that includes a breakfast of 1901 sausage rolls. The downside was 1)it was a 10.30 show, hence all the waking up early, and 2)the venue's in Midvalley. I avoid places like Midvalley, KLCC and 1 Utama like the plague on weekends and holidays. Today is a combo of 2. I feel filthy for going against my principles.

As birthdays are a time for self-reflection, I found out something about myself that I never suspected before. Okay, so some of you are laughing after reading the first half of that sentence. FYI, drunken debauchery, projectile vomiting and unholy fornication with various inanimate objects during said drunken-ness is normal and acceptable when one celebrates one's 21st birthday, thank you.

Anyway, for the revelation, *cue suspenseful music* I feel very self-conscious eating sausages in public. Yeah, that's what I was thinking about while I was munching my breakfast at the big round thingy outside the cinema entrance. Hmmm, maybe I need to schedule an appointment with my therapist...

Movie was great, blah blah blah no review here because every blog already has one. Bottomline, I liked it, as I liked every Pixar movie. The experience was bad, cos whoever organised this obviously made the mistake of thinking that all kids like cartoons, hence all cartoons are for kids. Pity the poor 3-year old in front of me who couldn't help jumping around in his seat cos he wasn't interested in the movie. Pity still the poor girl sitting behind him who had to crane her neck to see the screen every time the kid decided to re-enact in real life and real time whatever Mr Parr did in make-believe land.

I wonder what kind of parent brings a 3 year-old kid to cinemas. They have an attention span of like, what, 3 seconds? If you're gonna bring a young kid like that to the cinema, at least have the decency to sedate him so that the rest of us can enjoy the show in relative peace and quiet. Sheesh...

After the show, we went for a snack at Dave's Deli, after which we left Midvalley at around 1.40pm and lo and behold, the parking sections were blocked again. How fun. When we got home, I took a little catnap and woke up at 6. Ahem, the word 'catnap' has a different meaning for everyone, ya?

My parents then took me out for my birthday dinner, which was a meal at Hy Tian Restaurant in Serdang. This place is highly recommended, and we eat there at least twice a month cos:
a)the food's good,
b)the service is impeccable (this is the only place I would even consider handing over a RM10 tip on top of the service charge)
c)it gives a whole new meaning to the term 'fast food' (3 minutes after we ordered everything was on the table except for the fish)
d)it's reasonably priced for a restaurant

We had Lai Yau Sotong, lotus root and snowpeas fried with macadamia nuts, Toong Bo Yuk, some beancurd dish and deep-fried fish with a Thai sauce thingy and sour mangoes. I'm not gonna translate the names of the dishes cos if I knew the names in English I would've used them. :p The bill came to about RM80 plus drinks.

I'll try to find the address and post it here tomorrow when I can find stuff without squinting. Be forewarned though, call ahead on weekends to make sure there're available tables. It can get very packed, especially during wedding months.

After that I went out to Quan's Something Or Other Cafe (that's not really the name. I forgot to look at the signboard before leaving the place) in Pandan Indah with my friends and had a very thick, very good coffee milkshake that tastes like Coffee Bean's Ice Blended drinks. Replenished my depository of blog topics and took some pics.

Left at 12.30. Something's keeping me awake, which explains updating at the unholy hour of 2.35, and I suspect it's either the catnap or the coffee shake. It's more than likely both.

In other news, link section has been revamped because I was thinking of chocolates and bananas while choosing colours from my palette. I originally went for a pyschedelic hot pink, lime and purple combo (that's your cue to shudder), but then got hungry and thought of food, so tadaa.

Edit: And I wonder who's actually gonna be reading this thing in its entirety. No more about-my-day blogs in the future unless I'm caffeinated and insomniated, and start inventing random words because I'm too lazy to look in the dictionary.

November 27, 2004

November's Child

I had my first surprise birthday bash today.

Dr Irene organised a get-together thingy today, and from what I gather, the purpose is for the 'juniors' to be able to identify who the 'seniors' are and leech notes and photocopied books from us. While we were walking from the lift area to the venue, Angela was very fidgety and excited, so of course being the sleuth that I am, I immediately noticed her odd behavior and wondered if there was anything wrong. She said no.

Sleuth did not have enough sleep the night before, so she just left it at that.

After the get-together, during which I greedily stuffed 4 curry puffs into my face and chatted with a girl whose name I already forgot, we all elected to pretend we were taking Marketing with the rest of the gang and cabut from the party, which was getting a little awkward at the time anyway. Hey, just because I'm in Mass Comm doesn't mean I'm a social butterfly. Stop judging me. :p

We then adjourned to the halal cafe and ordered drinks. When they arrived, Helvi did as well, and it was then that Angela brought out the cake and said Happy Birthday Saffron! Of course she didn't exactly say Saffron, cos that's not my real name, but you get the gist.

Because November's child is full of woe, just as the cake was nicely presented, the heavens opened and decided to cry. On the day that I was born. I just hope that those were tears of joy, or else I'm royally screwed. I'll refrain from going into detail here because it's my birthday and I wanna look good.

We then shifted into the cafe itself and into a secluded corner, where I was further embarassed because the dafe was full and they started singing me a birthday song. In the grand scale of things, I guess it wasn't embarassing at all. we then divided the cake into 9 pieces and happily chomped away.

We even made it in time for class.

In case you're fooled by the flippant style of writing, here're my honest thoughts. I felt overwhelmed. No one ever celebrates my birthday with me unless I invite them out, which is not a bad thing. It's just that this is new for me. These are people I've known for 5 months. Not an incredibly long time in the Friendship Scale, and not only did they remember my birthday, they also took the trouble to actually buy a cake and transport it to college, and planned the whole thing.

They even sang in public.

Thanks to Angela, Jun, Helvi, Geogina, Novi, Siew Eng, Fara, and Sheena for being there, eating the cake and just putting up with me in general. I'll post pictures when I get them from Ange and Geo.

cabut: Technique #36 in Chinese Martial Arts, which means, in layman terms, to get the heck out of the place you're currently in by utilising your mad ninja skillz0r.

Ninja's are from Japan, btw, not China.

November 26, 2004

I'm a woman, duh!

You'll notice changes again. I've been getting a lot of comments about my template, so much so that I've decided to do what every street-smart girl does in times of great need: fall back to neutrals.

Since the black template just sucks balls (heheheh, oops), I'm going with white. No more funky backgrounds, no more mould-like green, no more fresh lime, and more importantly, since the whole blogs' focus is on writing, no more fonts that hurts the eye.

Holy shit, I just took another look at my blog. I give it 2 days before I get bored with the whitewash and change my template again. Be thankful the name is the same. ;)

November 25, 2004

Final update before I go to sleep

Brain is trundling along very slowly. 8-3 classes is not good for general health of brain. 3 heavy subjects in 1 semester is not good news. 5 hours of classes with no break in between is not conducive for information absorption. Hand-eye coordination is suffering.

No Half Life 2 for me, I guess.

7 hours straight for me tomorrow. I hope I make it through.

Bartenders in my mailbox

Unlike most of the blind links I've put here before, this one's actually not dirty. Or rather, it's kinda dirty, but it's not exactly porn material. Just in case, the standard disclaimer, which you can read here, applies. Just replace the words 'movie clip' with website and you're fine.

Linkity link link link

This is the closest you'll ever come to having a woman actually at your beck and call, to pour you beer when you order her to and to dance for you as and when you wish.

My tries: dance, pillow fight, banana, fight, shower, strip.

12 step programmes and 9 cocktails

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:: ...Sandstar...Manon...Ryujin... ::

We are conscientious students. We being yours truly, Angela the Class Rep and Jun the Big Boobed Chick. We were on our way to photocopy some notes, notes which weren't compulsory, I might add. (See my point about conscientiousness?)

As the shop was located at the furthest point possible from the block where the School of Comm is located, we had trudge through the foyer and, in the process, pass by the cool-looking School of Hotel Management. As luck would have it, there're a bunch of students inside in their chef whites crowding around the bar.

Wouldn't it be nice to be a Hotel Management student? Think of all the wine you could drink under the pretext of 'studying'. God that'd be great. You'd be able to attend classes shit-faced drunk and tell the lecturers you're doing research to find the wine that goes best with Braised Pork Knuckles. Not a peep out of them cos you have a 'legitimate reason'. That'd be the life," sez Saffron, a bit wistfully.

Of course, at that moment IRL what I said was the first 2 sentences, cos Angela the Class Rep menyampuk-ed and said, "You like to drink a lot hor?"

Jun the Big Boobed Chick nodded. At least, I think she nodded. WTF was running through my brain at that point in time, so I couldn't really be sure. I'm sure she'll correct me when she reads this.

Anyway, understand this. These people have never been out with me before. At least, not in the debauched social context that would require the consumption of large amounts of alcohol, which would then result in the commencement of drunken break-dancing in public. And yet it didn't stop them from making rude (ahem) but pertinent observations about my lack of a social life.

So that little comment made me think a bit about the extent of my drinking, and I realised that both Angela the Class Rep and Jun the Big Boobed Chick are right. So now I am sitting here in front of the PC re-evaluating my priorities, and we all know what's the best way to do that. We blog. Or rather, I blog and you read, hopefully without causing your gag reflex to kick in.

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:: ...Islander...SouthernCall...Southern... ::

So a few facts about my drinking:
I never order more than 1 alcoholic drink in pubs or bars if I'm with friends. I only let myself go and throw caution to the wind (in pubs and bars) if either my bro or my dad is with me. Notice the underlined bits? That means a hangover bad enough to make you curse whatever it was that possessed you to consume 2 kegs of beer while your head pounds to three different beats. To the water aficionados, the pounding doesn't stop even after downing 2 litres of water before crashing onto any hard surface.

(I actually managed to quote myself. How cool is that?)

Number 2, I like cocktails. There's something about a guy mixing your drinks for you that's just way cooler than me mixing beer and wine together myself at home. 'Sides, they're colourful, and there's nothing quite like ordering something pink and dainty like a Cosmo to piss of male friends.

Drinking at home is better than drinking at pubs/bars because there're no lecherous old men staring at you and trying to make slovenly advances in the hopes that they'd get lucky. Drool is not sexy, ugh. I don't have to put up with borderline retard pickup lines, which is always a good thing.

In continuance of the point above, I don't understand why people drink in places where there're strobe lights and lasers flashing fast enough to induce epilepsy. According to a stalker-weirdo who found my contact on the sidebar, "If people could actually see themselves dancing at clubs they might actually stop."

As woefully inadequate my experiences are, I'm inclined to agree with him though.

Yet more continuance. I like bars that're quiet enough for an actual conversation to be going on. None of that 'music' that's the equivalent of jamming a sharpened knitting needle into your ears. Some nice jazz music and servers who would leave you alone after pouring. Close friends who wouldn't kick your still-warm body into a ditch the minute you're inebriated enough to lurch off the sidewalk and onto incoming traffic.

As you can probably deduce from this (unless you are shit-faced drunk yourself, I'm well on the way to my very own 12-step programme. Gimme another 2 years.

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:: ...Ryuha...Hikanzakura...Daiquiri... ::

Menyampuk: interrupt.

As usual, quotes are verbatim and edited for grammar and spelling. It's a freaking IM chat, we don't have to get anal about spelling.

Cocktail pics from here.

November 23, 2004

The State of Many Hospitals

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::Trip to Melaka with WS and Cindy::

Bottom row, third from left.
Embarassing moment #27: We actually did the whole touristy routine and got on one of those tacky, kitschy trishaws that mat sallehs get on and everyone was staring at us like we were a bunch of purple elephants who had just simultaneusly farted Dixie in tune.

Oh well, I'm only a tourist in Melaka once.

Mat sallehs: foreign devils, white man. Which means you, elcap. :)
Credit to Arion again for coming up with the title. Melaka has many hospitals and old people, according to him. I'm not commenting on the state (as in condition) of many hospitals. :p

November 21, 2004

Deep frying is so fun

What do you need?

A pan, loads of grease, fire and mystery meat.

Fire up your burners, dump grease into pan and wait till it boils. If you're feeling really macho and all, you might wanna let the grease bubble over and then just casually flick the gas control thingy to lower the flame, and impress the hell out of your girlfriend. Don't panic and flap your arms like a chicken flaps its wings or you'll ruin the whole effect.

Drop meat into pan and let it stay there for a while, preferably until thoroughly cooked. If you followed the beef recipe like I told you to, then it's definitely a good idea to shoot for well done this time around. Salmonella twice in a row is not fun, not even for closet masochists.

I like my feep fried food ultra crispy with bits of carbon sticking on the sides, so here's a pic of how it should look like if you did it right. If the skin doesn't bubble up and wrinkle, it shouldn't be called deep frying. *grins*

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::Pink bowl is a relic from my toddler days. Yes, that's a mousepad my water's sitting on::

If you're thinking, 'I'm not stupid, I know how to deep fry, why the heck is she teaching me how to deep fry?', you're right. Actually, I was just bored and realised I haven't updated today. You've been suckered. This is just a cheap filler post because I can't think of anything more interesting than the sausages I'm eating.

To certain readers, especially those who're *cough cough* older than me and/or from GUM *cough cough*, get your mind out of the gutter.

November 20, 2004

Top 10 Reasons Why Tall Sucks

Know how people always complain about being short? You know, the "If only I were 8 inches taller I can be a supermodel", or the "That skirt would look soooo good on me if I were 4 inches taller" kinda comments?

Here's a blog from the other end of the spectrum.

Top 10 Reasons Why Tall Sucks:
One: Tall people can't properly fold their legs when they're in a bus, and usually end up with cramps by the time they reach their destination. As luck would have it, they get on at the first stop and get off at the second last. Because KL is famous for nothing if not its jams, that's an entire hour spent in a fucking contortionist's nightmare.

Two: Tall people are expected to perform oddjobs. Can't reach the top shelf? Holler for the resident Yao Ming. Aircon not switched on in classrooms? Resident Yao to the rescue again. Overhead projector not blinking? One look from the lecturer and YM trundles to the front of the classroom to poke at the projector with a ballpoint pen.

Three: Tall people are made to feel fat and unwieldy in clothing stores. Either everyone in KL is really petite (aka, as tall as Shaq's socks), or clothing stores like Comma are really catering for kids. I have never met anyone who can fit into a size S Comma top. Or bottom, for that matter. Snug clothes = sexy. Tight clothes = okay, depending on situation. Wrapping 'zhong' = NOTHX.

Four: Tall people, especially girls, have to put up with other people, especially guys, who like to stare, then veeery subtly glance down at said tall person's shoe, and upon finding that it is a pair of flats, immediately look up at the tall person again with a look of, how do I put this, utter and complete shock, on their faces. Paragraph contains both sarcasm and exaggeration, in that order.

Five: Tall people, especially girls, have to bite back comments like "Yeah, I'm taller than you, Napoleon," when they are being rudely stared at. Move along people, this is not a freakshow.

Six: Tall people are forced to the back of the classroom, and periodically get complaints from tuition mates if they happen to come early and bag a front seat. "Cannot see la", "Huiyo, blocking la, move la Beanstalk."

Seven: Tall people have to endure not-terribly-bright names like Beanstalk.

Eight: Tall people are reminded every day how tall they are. When they meet relatives they see once a year (on CNY) the relatives will go, "Wah, so tall liao. Big girl lor." When they meet someone new, they will invariably be greeted by a "Wah so tall!" response. Even if the new acquaintance doesn't verbally articulate "Wah so tall!", they're thinking it. Facial expressions are very telling.

Nine: Tall people make easier targets for snipers. Don't laugh. How easy would it be for a sniper to shoot someone whose head sticks up above the crowd? Unless you're a lousy sniper, in which case you have no business to be laying a hand on one of these babies in the first place, you wouldn't miss. Headshots would be so easy.

Ten: Tall people can't wear sexy high heels like these, these, these, these and these. Why? See above.

Now you know.

Zhong = dumpling made of glutinuos rice and filled with various stuffings. Wrapped with leaves and tied up with strings, resulting in weird protuberances where the raffia is tied tight. Used to feed fish on Zhong festival to prevent said fish from feasting on a dead (circa 1k years ago, roughly) scholar's body.

First top 10 list where I've actually had 10 points to talk about. Must be a record or something.

November 19, 2004


I'm a very disorganised person, as you can probably deduce from the 'everywhere' ramblings in this blog, as well as the rather messy sidebar. If you know me IRL, haha, no need to say anything liao lor.

Anyways, I just realised that there was no system in the way I organise my stuff, so in a fit of industriousness today, I decided to revamp my link section in alphabetical order. It looks cool now. :)

If you're linked and you don't like the name of the link I used, please tell me. I only like to offend people if they go purple in the face when I do it. It's very amusing. *grins*

Anyway, someone whom I never thought I'd be chatting with in a million years, who shall remain un-named until I'm sure she won't be fired from her job for fraternising with the enemy, so to speak...erm...

Okay, I just lost track of my sentence. A million thanks to my English teacher in Standard 3 who said Keep It Short and Sweet (KISS). Not that I actually listened to her, but oh well.

See what I mean about 'everywhere'? Yes, I'm doing this on purpose, haha.

Anyway, that person who shall not be named sent me 2 links yesterday while we were chatting. This one has some seriously cool pictures. I spent about 3 hours there yesterday, until my bro kicked me out of my room for hogging the PC. The injustice of it all...*grumbles*

As cool as those pictures are, it's by a gweilo after all, and we all know foreign devils are bad for us, so here's a photoblog thingy that's local. I also spent about an hour here looking at the pretty pics, and it's all good.Have a looksee.

I'm going to Penang tomorrow cos it's been a number of days since my great-granma passed away, and according to tradition it's supposed to be some big day where everyone performs some sorta prayer for her. If things go as planned I'll be having some new pics to upload in the next few days.

Here's to hoping my motion-sickness doesn't decide to come looking for me tomorrow. Here's also to hoping you all have a nice day. :)

Title is in Dutch. It means 'disorganised'. I'm not very creative when it comes to title-ing my posts.

November 18, 2004

Anarchist's Cookbook

Standard disclaimer: The following sequences are done by trained professionals under controlled situations. Children, please do not imitate the actions shown. Oh alright, if you really want to do it, make sure you tell your mom and dad first and get adult supervision.

Usual "I am absolved of all moral and legal responsibility blah blah blah" clause stands.

Beef Tenderloin with Red Wine Sauce
Kinda liked poking around the kitchen after my first pasta attempt, so this is the second dish I’m trying to cook competently. That means no setting the cooker hood on fire or accidentally spilling molten cheese onto my foot.

First of all, I’m told recipes start with a list of ingredients, so here goes.

You will need:
1 big pan, preferably of the non-stick variety if you’re ham-fisted like me.
1 thick-bottomed saucepan (how thick? If you whack someone over the head with that saucepan, you want to know for sure that it’s the guy’s head that will break, not the pan. That’s how thick)
1 large plate

*Beef tenderloin, thinly sliced
1 cup of red wine (cheap wine is only for incapacitating innocent girlies)
About a clove of finely-shopped garlic. More if you’re the bane of all vampires around.
A bowl of all-purpose flour
Pinch of dried thyme leaves/McCormick thyme
Butter, about 2 teaspoonfuls
Enough olive oil to coat your pan
Salt and pepper to taste
Sprigs of parsley for garnish

*I assume you’re like me and can’t recognise tenderloin of cow from, say, shank of cow, so just pick up the styrofoam box that says ‘beef tenderloin’ and you’ll be safe. If you do your shopping in markets, I guess you’ll just have to trust your butcher. If you can’t translate tenderloin to BM/Chinese/Tamil/Misc, sorry, I can’t help you. I don’t know what the heck it is either.

You’ll also notice that there’re no exact measurements on that list. That’s because I don’t have one of those nifty Pyrex cups with the measurements in both metric and imperial, so I just wing it and hope for the best.

How to:
Step 1: Make sure your plate is dry, then throw in flour, thyme, salt and pepper. Mix around with fingers until it’s all more or less blended together. Heat pan on burner, but keep fire on medium heat max. If you’re a slow worker then put it on low, cos you don’t want to leave permanent burn marks your mom’s expensive non-stick pan and get needlessly screamed at.

Step 2: Dip beef slices into the mixture of flour and make sure both sides are coated. Shake off excess flour. The goal is to saute the buggers, so repeat until you have enough beef slices to fit comfortably into your pan. The point is not to cram as many slices as you can, but to make sure that each slice lies flat on the pan when it’s sautéing.

If you really have a huge pan, or a small amount of beef, then you can just tip all the meat into the flour, mix it around with your fingers then place it in your pan one at a time. Otherwise, don’t cheat and try to do this the easy way cos the meat’s just gonna start bleeding while it sits there, waiting for its turn in the non-stick pan.

Step 3: Pour olive oil and half of the butter into the pan. Stir around until butter is melted, which shouldn’t take long if your pan is hot enough, then sauté the beef (in batches, remember?) until it’s nicely browned. Repeat until you finish with all the meat.

You can sauté them as long as you want, depending on your preferences. While salmonella is an ever-present danger, (especially in, how do I put this, habitats populated solely by males) well done generally tastes like dried bark. Live a little. Emergency room experiences are usually not that bad, particularly if you’re unconscious from abdominal cramps.

Step 4: Heat thick-bottomed saucepan, and add a bit of olive oil. Metal always needs some lube to make it look pretty and shiny. Dump garlic into the pot and sauté until aromatic. Don’t burn it to a crisp. Pour in wine and adjust flame until it boils. Lower flame again and stir periodically to remove any burned brown bits in the bottom of the pan. This really shouldn’t happen if you’ve been good and used the murder weapon like I told you to. Wait for wine to reduce.

Step 5: While you’re waiting, arrange the meat in a circular pattern on pretty plates, or just lump the stuff together if you’re dining in alone. Keep the meat warm by placing it in an oven or the rice cooker.

Step 6: When the wine has been reduced by about a third of the original amount, turn off the flame and stir in the rest of the butter. Spoon the sauce over the meat slices and serve immediately.

You could also try doing artsy-fartsy stuff like garnish the dish with parsley and sprinkle coarse pepper in a circle around the meat to impress your date.

And voila, dinner!

Note: This is here because I like to pretend that people are actually going to try doing this at home. Title and disclaimer supplied by the ever-witty Arion.

Congratulations me!

Shameless post, heheh.

Saffron is now officially a Dean's List student, with a brand spanking new CGPA of 3.78!

Three cheers for me, muahahaha.

November 16, 2004

Traffic jams and Bohemian tops

Time for a girly post.

During the long holiday, I went shopping with my mother. On the first day, we decided to drive to Midvalley on Saturday, cos we figured that you know, being it's close to Raya and all, everyone's gotta be back in their hometowns liao. Boy were we wrong. It took about 25 minutes to get from our house to Midvalley. Mom's a slow ass driver. ;) It took 40 minutes for us to circle the roads that form a perimeter around Midvalley, trying to find a parking section that was open for cars to enter.

After the third circle, we decided to take the upper ramp and leave, cos I get cranky after being trapped in a tight space for a while, and just as we passed one parking section (I forgot the alphabet), one of those guard fellas just casually sauntered over to the orange plastic thingy they use to block the entrance and moved it for cars to enter.

Vomit blood or not? Vomit blood or not???


I asked my mom if she wanted to drive to an LRT station and we can just take the KTM to Midvalley, but then wise Mom said it'd probably be packed like heck in the mall, so we'd be better off elsewhere. So we drove to Subang Parade and had McDonalds for lunch.

Ended up buying 2 tops, which I love. I think I'm developing a nasty habit of alternately spending money to make myself feel better and drinking alcohol to make myself feel better. Pics below:

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usRM35. Knit tank with really thick straps, because I will never wear a strapless bra again. Ever. Maybe it's time to try out one of those sticky bra pad thingies, since they're supposed to be really comfy. If they're not, well, I'll just hurry over and slowly throttle the life out of my friend.

The top also has a little bow on the front. Which I will remove the minute I finish typing this. For the life of me I can't understand why people have to keep putting little bows and ribbons on articles of women's clothing, from tops, t-shirts, briefs, panties, hats, etc. WTH is this? *grumbles*

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Sorta bohemian tank top, with loads of lace and flowers and mother-of-pearl buttons, front and back. Overkill maut. Anyway, this one I like a lot, and the best thing about it is, I got it cheap! Muahahaha. After spending all of 20 bucks on this, I was on a high for the entire day.

I've checked my wardrobe and canvassed opinions from my family, and it's confirmed that this is the girliest thing I have ever bought myself. It doesn't look like much here, on account of a bad photographer and sucky lighting, but really, it looks great.

Hmmm...why do I sound like I'm trying to justify this?

Because Alex wanted to have a look-see at what I bought after our little chat some nights ago, I've uploaded some more pics.

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::Same photographer, same sucky lighting

On left is a sheer shirt that makes me look skinnier than I am. It's the only recent piece of clothing I bought that my granma didn't question. On the right is the notorious Low Cut T-Shirt. It looks low cut, but it's really not, especially when I'm wearing it. Principally because I have practically no boobs to speak of and it's only sexy if you have cleavage showing.

I realise the utter pinkness of my recent acquisitions. I think my tastes are changing. No more punk clothes with loads of chains and zips and bondage pants. The next thing you know I'll be buying a delicately pink floral print dress.

God I hope it never comes to that.

Yankees and Canucks:
Vomit blood: similar to situations in mangas whereby a large hammer drops onto the protagonists head, creating a bump the size of Alaska. See also: Extreme Exasperation, Murphy.

A day out of my hermit hole

Went out with some friends today, and dropped by "Xiang Gang Huan Le Di" in Pandan Indah for lunch. (Breakfast for me cos I woke up at 12 :p) I forgot the English name of the place, and as we exited the shop I forgot to take a pic of the shop front, so GG forgetfulness.

As compensation, I got some pics of the food, and hence my first food blog thingy, yay!

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JW ordered some sort of rice with diced chicken, and it tasted a bit like 'lai yau ha', only it's spicier. As it is a female thing to trade spoonfuls of each other's food to see who has impeccable intuition, we pounced on her dish the minute the waiter put it on the table. Verdict: it was pretty savoury, though the 'plate' was too big. JW kept referring to the 'plate' as a 'basin', so you can see how big the thing really is.

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This is what yours truly ordered, a beef + vege + corn rice thingy with some sorta soya-like sauce. Either there wasn't enough sauce or it was too bland, cos halfway down my bowl of rice it was starting to get tasteless. There was also way too little beef. Kimgary makes this better.

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WS's lunch. Apparently she ate before coming out, and couldn't fit anything more into her belly. This is actually the first time I've ever heard her refuse food, and I've known her since Form 1. Okay, so maybe she's said it before and I forgot, but it still shows you what a glutton she is. For some weird (and unfair) reason she remains svelte no matter how much food she shovels into her mouth.

Okay, back on topic, it's some sort of thick toast with butter and condensed milk, and my god it was sweet. It looks pretty nice though, doesn't it? Hers was the best looking dish among the three we ordered.

*cue dramatic DUN DUN DUN music*

...But looks deceive...

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This is how scary her order really is once you cut the thing open. Can you see the 2-inch layer of butter on top of the toast? I swear they used like 2 cakes of butter on her toast alone. I lost some of my appetite after witnessing the dissection, cos, well, I'm not a huge fan of butter.

On a sidenote, does anyone know a coffeeshop around Cheras that serves thick toast like that for breakfast? People usually eat the toast with soft-boiled eggs and/or kaya. I have one of those pregnant urges to get some.

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JW decided to order some seafood cakes fried in oil, so this is it. It looks nice but is really bland, unless you dip em in the mayo that comes along with the dish.

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Tea with milk in ice, aka 'dong nai cha'. After what seems like a lifetime of Milo Kosong Bing (iced milo without milk/sugar) in Taylor's, it was gooood. WS's hand in the background. We both ordered the same thing.

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JW's drink, lemon juice with honey. I didn't hear any complaints, so it might be good. I wouldn't go back to this shop again for food, unless I haven't ate anything since 6 in the morning and it's now 12. The prices were about the same as Kimgary and the food is much better there in comparison, even if the owners suck.

After lunch we sat around the place and chatted for a while until I couldn't stand the direct blast of air from the aircon vent near my seat, and we adjourned to WS's house and lounged in her room for a prolonged session of icky disgusting girltalk. I now have a whole new arsenal of topics to blog about, whoohoo!

The day ended at 6 something, and just as we were about to leave WS's house, the skies opened and unleashed a torrent of water on us. As luck would have it, JW decided to steal her cousin sister's 2-door Satria that day, so needless to say we got soaked while trying to get in the car. Hello Murphy!

Note: In retrospect, I shoulda made a greater effort in remembering the names of the stuff we ordered. Oh well, this is my first time doing this.


November 15, 2004

Selamat Hari Raya

Yes, standard generic post again. Specifically dedicated to Fara, who saw fit to completely destroy the last few days of my break by telling me that our results are out. Thankfully our post office doesn't operate on long weekends as well, muahahaha.

I'm so dead on Wednesday. :(

Because video games are evil

I got an absolutely hilarious email from a friend! Ok, so this is technically a filler blog post, but just look at these and tell me they're not priceless. Non-gamers need not apply, thanks. :)

Because they do! They're evil I tell you!

Imagine walking around in this. I wish they made shirts like this here.

Teehee. No matter how jevunile this seems to be, I still smile when I see people toss this lame insult around.

Lame Insults Part 2. Used exclusively to beat n00bs at their own game, thank you.

Everyone's said this at least 29 times throughout their gaming lifetime, yes? Especially to moms when they're threatening to throw the power switch to your room if you don't switch off the PS2 right this minute!

Every geek's dream come true, I guess. I have no idea what the Japanese says, but I can see 3 Chinese words there that may mean something along the lines of the English script.

More funnies!

Fucking hilarious. This is possibly the funniest t-shirt EVER. Humbly IMO, of course. ;)

I realise this isn't exactly funny, but that's the closest I've been to a D20, so nyeh.

FPSers unite! Imagine the skill and precision needed to do a headshot. I swear they're the coolest.

How many times do you say this in a day? :)

Get the reference? :)

How many times have you heard these? Go on, count em.

Another cool shirt. And because I like to be Captain Obvious, she's kicking him in the balls.

Donkey Kong's princess seriously needed one of these babies.

Cheap shot, yes, but still funny.

Finally (for the t-shirt section)...this is like deja vu, only it hasn't happened yet. That was a stupid sentence, but I'm going to be a stupid cleric in WoW. *cries* In a stupid knee-length skirt and a club/mace thingy that's as unwieldy and ungraceful as a, well, club/mace thingy. If I'm going to be ungraceful I'd be an orc warrior and communicate chiefly in grunts and groans. That would be cool. :)

Because it's a hoodie, and hoodies rule.

If I ever have a kid, it's so wearing this for the rest of its life. Okay, at least the first 2 years then.

Needs no words...

Note: I have no idea where these came from, and it's not very likely that my stoner friend has so much free time to do this himself, so I'm guessing some online shopping site that's so popular with credit-card holders right now. If you know, tell me so I can credit where credit's due. Thanks. :)

Edit: Shirts came from Thanks to Berukboy for wasting 30 of his life figuring that out. Mad props, yay! If anyone orders from the site, please send me a pic of you in the shirt of your choice so I can drool over it.

November 12, 2004

On a dark and stormy night...

It's raining outside.

The lights in my room just flickered, the way fluorescent lights kinda go dim and then flicker back to life.

I'm afraid they'll die on me and I'll be alone in my room in the dark, with only the monitor lights flickering in the otherwise pitch blackness.

This is a prime setting for a scary movie. Something's gonna slither around my ankles and draw me closer to its dripping maw the minute my lights die. I'm going to end up as a pile of shiny white bones.

Can anyone guess I'm afraid of the dark and scary movies? Sorry for all the 'flicker's in this post. Brain does not thrive on fear.

I should probably go to bed before the lights DO die on me.

November 11, 2004


Post dedicated to my brother. As you can see from the title, it’s not flattering at all, heheh. He’s either gonna laugh his rocks off when he sees this, or pound little me into a cube so small I’d fit in my 4 year old cousin’s bag. I’m betting on the former, since it’s more conducive to living a healthy life.

So I was sitting on my chair playing some AOS with a name I already forgot, when he bounces into the room and starts shaking my armrest. The bugger’s half a head taller than me and BIG, so you can imagine what that did to my chair. I spun around and shot him a Level 3 Evil Eye, which wasn’t a lot, and he plopped himself down on my bed.

“Jie, play mahjong!”


“C’mon la, play la.”

At this point I turned around and began educating him on the finer points of etiquette and fairplay, which is to say, I told him it wasn’t polite to ask me to go play mahjong when I’ve just had the PC for half an hour, before I’ve even begun to do the things I want to do, as opposed to the things I have to do. (check email, suicide in Hobowars, check WIP for spammelicious posts)

After entertaining himself for 3 minutes, he got bored and pulled out the dictionary. He then proceeded to quiz me on the meaning of random words he pulled up from the pages of tiny font. Of course, I didn’t know the meaning of every word, and even if I did it’s, like, totally out of character for me to brag about it, what with me being the epitome of humility and all that, so let’s go with a human number and say I knew the meaning to 3 words for every 10 that he asked.

Kids get tired of games like that eventually, and then he pulled out his sneaky little puppy-dog face. Being the smart cookie that I am, I obviously did not fall for his trick and instead continued with stacking my units. Ignoring him totally worked, cos 2 minutes later I barked, “half an hour la, then I join you!”

I hate puppy dog faces.

Now the little bastard’s out, yamcha-ing with his friends. The little ingrate. So I’m back here, blogging cos the AOS sucked. Hey, whad'ya know, bugger rhymes with brother.

For the Yanks and Brits reading this:
Jie = sis
Mahjong = gambling game you don’t play with kids
Dowan = don’t want. Don’t look so shocked, grammar and spelling rules don’t apply outside of BF. :)
Yamcha = drinking tea, popular pastime with Malaysian teens/young adults, especially at night.

November 10, 2004

Happy Deepavali

Standard Happy Deepavali post, cos I'm not creative and don't know how to make this post different from the 5,399,209 Deepavali posts out there.

Have a nice day tomorrow. :)

Personal Grooming

I figured it's time for a scandalous post. So this is going to be wildly inappropriate for minors (yes you, jailbait), people who have a problem with sex, people who have a problem with girls talking about sex, and just to be safe, people who have a problem with sex-related material. Basically, if you're the kind of person likes vanilla sex, this is probably gonna be uncomfortable for you, so if you are, please click on the little x on the top right corner of your browser before you are scarred for life.

How's that for a disclaimer? *grins*

Ok, so recently I was bitten by the weird bug and have been going around asking the people who chat with me if they preferred their women shaved, trimmed or just natural. If you're thinking, 'But women don't have moustaches...' that's another little hint that you have to click on the little x on your browser right now.

In a period of around 3 days, I've asked that question to 10 male friends. I'm gonna pull out some responses now, quoted verbatim (grammar and spelling mistakes corrected), and more importantly, quoted anonymously, so don't worry, my dear friends. Your perverse fantasies are safe with me.

Friend #1: such a diatribe should be referred to the expert opinions of Mr. (name censored to protect privacy)

I’m sure you’ll all agree with me that this was a very pathetic attempt to fob me off. Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for him, I am as tenacious as a bulldog. I’m told guys don’t like that. Anyway, after a few minutes of prodding, he finally answered,

Friend #1: Am I being too vague? "Natural", there, is that direct enough for ya? :P

Friend #2: I like 'the landing strip' :P"

Which is also known as the Brazilian.

Friend #3: aesthetically shaved, for all other purposes, I guess a natural bush. Trimmed is nice for special occasions.

Which is a long-winded way of saying normal sex = natural, special occasions = trimmed, anniversaries = shaved. Mathematical equations are so fun when the answer doesn’t involve deriving dy and dx. Friend #3 also helpfully suggested that "shaved too often usually is a sign of high maintenance lol." Further prodding yielded this:

Friend #3: it’s like someone who puts too much makeup on or takes too much time on their hair.
Friend #3: I guess it reflects my own personality
Friend #3: I shave when its a really special occasion

Since this fler’s having so much fun talking about this subject, I figured I’d throw in a supplementary question and asked him if he would let a woman with a razor near his balls. It yielded some pretty hilarious responses from the both of us, and made for a very interesting chat.

Friend #3: Um...depends on the girl. I mean, would I let the same girl near my balls with her teeth?

Pretty astute, though personally I think a razor would do more damage than teeth. The moral of the story here is to never piss off the woman you’re gonna let loose on your balls or the surrounding area. Better safe than having a very important part of your anatomy in ice.

Friend #4: It would be shaved, as in shaved down to nothing.

Friend #5: Brazilian, baby! All the way!

You can read the excitement from way over where you are, right? When I told him that that’s waxing and doesn’t count, he retorted that "a woman can always shave a Brazilian." Ok, point taken. I asked why he started salivating at the very mention of the Brazilian.

Friend #5: I dunno. It’s just very erotic. And I do NOT salivate. I have what people normally refer to as 'class'.

You can still hear me laughing.

Friend #6: I'd have to say trimmed. If she'd do it with the 'landing strip' I'd be a very happy man.
Friend #6: shaved is too much work, and it itches when it grows out
Friend #6: wouldn't want my girl to go through that.
Friend #6: ...though going down on her would be easier

Friend #7: I'd have to think shaved...

His answer to the supplementary question:

Friend #7: I do believe that would take a certain amount of trust...And a very steady hand...

Friend #8: Shaved brazillian.

Friend #9: it's up to her, I don't mind.

Nice try. I poked him a few times before he responded again, with the following results.

Friend #9: fine. I like the brazilian. Don't ask me why.

Of course, me being me, I ignored the latter part of his answer. More prodding ensued.

Friend #9: it's sexy, saffy. Why do men like naked women?

Because he's so testy, I decided to ask him the supplementary question as well.

Friend #9: WTH is wrong with you???
Friend #9: no, I would probably not let a woman with a razor near my balls unless she's willing to let me shave her.
Friend #9: I fully expect compensation in the form of nude pictures for putting up with your incessant questions this early in the morning.

Friend #10: its a tough call... haha... uhm, neatly trimmed one take the points i guess...
Friend #10: a shaved one comes close but a natural bush, is a no-no...
Friend #10: I dont want to have pubes between my teeth when I go down on her can? haha...
Friend #10: and I enjoy going down.. very much

Ladies, don't bother asking me for Friend #10's phone number/ICQ contact/email addy. He's taken. :) Okay, now for the supplementary question. For those with short attention spans, "Would you let a woman with a razor near your balls?"

Friend #10: uhm yea.. I would let a woman with a razor near my balls...
Friend #10: providing tht I'm pretty sure I havent done her any wrong in my lifetime so far... haha...

So at final count,

Natural = 2
Trimmed = 6 (out of which 5 mentioned the Brazilian)
Shaved = 2

Now for the analysis part. Why do men prefer the Brazilian? FYI, a Brazilian usually refers to waxing, though the scaredy-cats among us could resort to shaving, I suppose. The wax removes everything (front and back) except for a strip of hair about one to two finger's width in front.

I suppose it’s like wearing sexy lingerie (that’s not tacky). A nude woman lounging on a bed is a pretty sight, but it doesn’t excite the mind the way, say a woman in a form-fitting lycra dress with no noticeable bra/briefs ridges. You know she’s not wearing anything underneath, but it’s exciting to imagine what she looks like without the all the lycra. It should be said here that lycra is not the most user-friendly material. Not everyone should wear Speedos, not everyone should wear lycra.

Maybe the Brazilian blows the fuses cos it exposes a lot, but for all purposes it also hides the most important part a guy’s gunning for when he sees a naked woman. A little research told me that ripping your pubes out by the roots is very popular in America, specifically, Manhattan. If this fad catches on in Malaysia, well, welcome to Pain-Slutville.

And this is the story of how I spent the past 3 days. Yeah, I was pretty bored.

Now I need to go pray that none of my relatives are going to stumble upon this blog and kill me the next time they see me. You know, for shaming the family name and all that. *grins*

Note: Impromptu survey conducted through a period of 3 days, survey sample size about 10. Saffron has studied Business Research Methods and passed the subject, so the methodology was, needless to say, quite flawless. I never mentioned the Brazilian or the landing strip until the recipient of the question mentioned it. Many thanks extended to the people who have answered honestly, and who put up with my weirdness on a daily basis.

I swear I'll give it another 3 months before I ask weird stufff again.

November 09, 2004

Saffy's trip to Australia, Part 3

Day 4.

Today’s the free day. Eddie the Tour Guide mentioned a port somewhere, Port Steven, I think, where they let you get on a boat to watch dolphins, ride quad bikes and go sand surfing. Unfortunately for us, the mean age of our group was like 40, so bye bye quad bike. *cries*

Instead, we spent the entire day walking around Sydney, watching people and window shopping. All in all, we walked for 7 hours, which is my first time, and probably last, unless I move to a country with a cooler climate.

Right after breakfast we checked out and took the long route towards a shopping mall called the Queen Victoria Building. Long route means we traipsed along about 9 different streets when we could’ve got there is we just walked straight. :p On the way we saw people going about doing the stuff they usually do on a Sunday morning, which included having your ass grabbed by your bf at a road-crossing and asking for cigarettes from complete strangers. Again, all new to me. :)

Back to the mall. It’s a very different concept from Malaysia, cos here we only have modern malls, and the QVB is a seriously old building (residential, I suspect) converted into a commercial lot. Naturally the stuff was expensive as heck, so we just walked around admiring the architecture. At least I did. I had no idea what my grandparents were looking at. :p

Apparently the QVB connects to another building, cos after a while we found ourselves in a totally different building and had no idea where we were. No harm, no foul, just keep walking. I bought a scarf that I really liked, but in retrospect it was very overpriced. It’s not half as much fun to travel without being able to shop, IMO. The next place I go to will be Thailand, muahahahaha.

We eventually found ourselves in a food court, and sat down for some much needed sustenance. Had my first burrito, and it was not too bad. Stole a piece of salmon sushi from my aunt’s lunch and popped the whole thing in my mouth. Instantly regretted the action cos it had a LOT of wasabi. Note to self, next time lift the fish and check for green stuff before stuffing it in face. Moral of the story? Do not steal salmon sushi from aunt’s lunch again. Or maybe just don’t steal.

After lunch we exited the building and walked around the area, and I’m not naming names cos I had no idea where we were. Sydney girls wear nice clothes, very stylish, very fashionable, and very inappropriate for autumn. I mean, stretchy tube tops when it’s 17 degrees? But then maybe they’re used to it. I wish we had weather cool enough to justify wearing pretty coats and boots. Oh the boots...brown, suede, flat-sole... *swoons* I’m in love.

We came to an intersection and saw a couple kissing, which again, is not something I normally see cos like I said, Malaysia is a conservative country, though we’re actively trying to change that through an underground movement. ;) PDAs are not welcome in public places. I did try not to stare though, and just shot them discreet glances. I doubt they noticed me anyway.

Grandparents said they were tired, so they went back to the hotel. I for one, would definitely want to spend as much time away from the hotel as I possibly can, so we made our way towards Hyde Park, which I’m told is like New York’s Central Park. On the way, we passed a cathedral called St Andrews, I think, and took pictures.

Hyde Park is very pretty, with very nice trees. We saw a couple there in a wedding shoot, and the bride wore a very beautiful strapless dress and a lacey veil. The shot the photographer was posing looked very nice too, with the sun behind them casting soft glows on the dress. *sigh* So pretty. We took some photos at the fountain, where my uncle tried to capture a naked statue in the background. Like I said, Malaysia = no nudity, so it was all new for us.

I think I also saw a couple having sex at one of the grassy areas, though I didn’t really go near enough to verify it. Whatever they were doing, they were definitely not having a picnic, that’s for sure. I wonder if sex in public places is legal in Australia...

Then we went back to the hotel, met up with my grandparents and went for dinner at the Japanese restaurant next to the hotel. My mom wanted to eat at the hotel restaurant, but hey, I hold grudges, so it was the Japanese restaurant for me. My ramen was pretty good, not spectacular, but not bad either. So with a full stomach, we went back to the hotel to meet up with the rest of the group and waited for our luggage to be retrieved. It took the lethargic staff half an hour to get 9 bags. More grumbles around my group.

Next stop: Sydney Airport. We were taking a Virgin Blue flight to Melbourne. I slept most of the way, but woke up in time for 3 bumpy landings. We were then introduced to our Melbourne bus driver, a guy called Steven, and he’s a Singaporean who’s been living in Melbourne for 14 years. Finally, someone I can understand.

He took us on a semi city tour, but it was really too dark to see anything, so we just listened to his jokes instead. We eventually got to the Ramada Hotel, where we were supposed to stay for the Melbourne leg of the trip. Hotel staff were much better than the ones at the Corus. We dumped our luggage and went outside for a walk before going back to shower and sleep.

The first difference I noticed was Melbourne is colder, and a little dirtier than Sydney, and the streets were not as well lit, so it kinda gave a sense of danger. The back alleys looked like a nice place to dump a body. :) Seriously though, it probably has something to do with it being a Sunday night, since that means less people on the streets. There was also a lot of graffiti everywhere, and the buildings in Melbourne are not as beautiful in Sydney, in the sense that they had a less Victorian feel to them. The graffiti made Melbourne a little more personal though, cos it looked like Melbourne was lived in, whereas Sydney was just for show.

We walked all the way to Chinatown in search for food, and when we got there the shops were all closed. It was 10.30pm. I don’t think I can hack it in Australia, cos everything just closes way too early. In the end we ended up eating at Hungry Jacks, which is actually Burger King. Someone please tell me why they don’t call Burger King Burger King in Australia.

After food, we went back to the hotel. I’m trying to think of a way to describe my sleep other than ‘like a log’, but I can’t come up with one. So bleh.

I am sad

It sucks to be the oldest of the group at only 21. It sucks even more to find out that I look old. :(

Dahlah tak comel. Dikutuk tua pulak...

No more pics for people anymore.

Bells and Knots.

I don’t think marriage is the ultimate answer. To me, marriage signifies a promise, not to stay in love, but to stick with the person you chose no matter what happens. Of course, when you throw death into the equation, the lines sorta get blurred, but let’s not get morbid this early in the day, ya?

Anyway, that very same promise can be fulfilled without marriage, as long as the commitment is there. A piece of paper isn’t going to make a guy stick around if he doesn’t want to. Of course, my dad’s not going to agree with me, and we’ve had some major blowups regarding this issue, so I’ve just learned to nod along when he says I’m wrong.

The only reasons to get married is for the tax breaks and the pretty gowns. I was told not to get married just for the clothes, so I suppose that leaves the tax breaks.

I’ve just had a chat with my friends who’re gonna get married in about 2 months time. They have a very harried schedule and are now stressed out of their minds, so a little outing with me is the ultimate cure. Nothing like a naysayer to perk up the spirits, yes? *grins*

We talked about rlationships and my hope for them that they’ll find their happy ending, and got around to talking about why relationships breakup and people end up divorced.

I suppose relationships eventually fall apart cos the people in them don’t work at it anymore. It’s easy to take the other person for granted after, say, 10 years of marriage, and stop working at the relationship the same way you worked at it when you were dating. No one ever claimed that relationships are easy, and the last thing to do is to all into this trap of complacency and still expect the relationship to work.

Best of luck, JY and K. I hope you end up with the happy ending you want.

Random teenaged angsty rant #6

I figure I'm a pretty good girl. I don't cough up black phelgm, I seldom drink, I don't look at weed and go crazy, and I don't produce babies whose paternality is unknown. I'm polite to my elders, I have never slammed a door in my parents' faces, I don't idolise stupid boybands or buy stupid boyband merchandise in bulk. I'm reasonably self-reliant, relatively intelligent and frugal (stingy). I have a credit card I do not use (I'm a girl. This is unheard of), am toilet-trained and civilised enough to brought out to public. I study when I need to study, and even when I don't, I manage to somehow, through the grace of whatever it is that watches over me, pass my exams. Most importantly, I do not come home with random unidentifiable diseases after a night out.

And yet this is not enough.

Oh no, it is NEVER enough. My elders need to have something to nag about, and that is about my clothes. It's not about my wardrobe bursting (it does not) nor the amount of laundry that has to be done. FYI, I lounge in my PJs all day until I take my daily shower, after which I change into another pair of PJs.

It's about how low/short/tight my clothes are.

I bought a t-shirt the other day. My dad took one look at it and said, "It's too low-cut." It's not bloody low-cut, it's a v-neck t-shirt! Even if I had cleavage it would NOT be considered low-cut.

As a result of my dad's/granma's wishes, I have already stopped wearing a lot of the clothes I'd prefer to be wearing at my age and condition of my body. Occasionally, when I am out with friends, I would like to remember that I am, in fact, 21 (soon to be 22, hint hint) and still supple enough to wear a short skirt. On these occasions, I would like to get out of the house without endless questions about the clothes I am wearing.

You think they'd cut me some slack. *wrings hands* WHEN WILL THIS END?

November 08, 2004

Elcap Tribute Page

I put up with a lot online. Some people like to make slovenly advances at me under the pretense of being drunk off their rocks, but WE KNOW BETTER, DON’T WE?

Random caps lock courtesy of the ElcapJTK’s influence.

In case you were wondering, this is an Elcap tribute page. This is the guy who helped me resize my Australia images and never once laughed at my utter incompetence because I didn’t know how to use Photoshop. Yes, even resizing is beyond me, but I know how to do it now, as you can see from the pictures below.

This is the guy I downloaded AIM for. :) And many a chat we’ve had on that IM where he pretended to hit on me and I pretended to feel offended, heheh. Reading the logs make me laugh, and it has nothing to do with me not being to understand simple English explaining how to make Blogger work.

It’s been what, 3 years? He’s hosted images for me, hacked into my computer, superimposed my face onto a porn star’s body, hosted my old blog for me on his domain, offered me space to host my own website for an APIIT assignment, and answered countless rude questions about his personal life, sexual preferences and gay sex. I’m pretty sure I forgot something.

Elcap used to be scary. At least, I thought he was scary, cos he was nasty with the newbies. After being a moderator for 2 years, I realised that the nastiness is just an occupational hazard, cos there’re only so many idiots you can deal with in a day. He’s much nicer after I accidentally let it be known that I was scared of him, heheh.

Some time last year, I told him I made him a card and was going to post it. He waited till today and never saw hair nor hide of it. That's because it's still sitting in my drawer. So here're some views of a cyber card instead.

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Front view of the card.
Yeah, it's tacky. It's home made, what'd you expect? :p If you look real closely, there's a line under the smaller square that says ph33r th3 pow3r.

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The inside.
Plus a 'Thanks' I sliced out of black sugar paper. It (the slicing) took about 3 minutes because I had a brand new blade in my cutter. In retrospect it's a good thing I didn't slice my thumb off.

Saffy's Trip To Australia Part 2

Day 3.
Rant about the hotel.

We stayed at the Corus Hotel Sydney, on Margaret Street and York Street, and my experience here was the only black spot to mar the entire trip. The hotel staff probably mistook us for China tourists, and while I myself have sometimes stared with disbelief at the things that some Chinese tourists do, it’s still no excuse to treat customers like this, especially if you’re working in the service industry.

I don’t like being judged before I’m given a chance, and I dislike it even more to see staff treating white guests better than they’re treating us. Take a page from Malaysia’s hotel staff. We paid about 200 dollars per room, and for that same price in Malaysia our hotel staff are much, much better behaved, regardless of nationality.


Okay, woke up with a nose swollen to almost twice the normal size, (ice water does wonders) and after breakfast, we drove to an animal park in a place with a name that I forgot. We looked at some koalas first, and I saw a pretty funny one sleeping on top of a tree with a branch jammed up his/her ass. Must’ve been painful, ouchie.

Then we went into a shed and watched a guy called Calvin shear the wool of a hybrid sheep. He also gave us a brief history of the types of sheep in Australia and how long the industry’s existed, but being that it’s mostly a history lesson, I’ve already forgotten most of it. :p The sheep was feisty though, and I was kinda afraid it would headbutt Mr Calvin in the groin when he had the head between his legs. Fortunately for him, that never happened.

Walking past a cage with some parrots in it, I did what everyone else sane would do. I spent about 5 minutes standing there teaching the parrot how to swear in cantonese. The first time I tried to pull this off, the parrot turned around and walked away from me. Guess that one was too smart for me. So, feeling like an idiot standing outside the cage, I gamely went to another parrot and tried my best, and after about 4 minutes and 42 seconds, it finally rewarded me with a very distinct enunciation of "Tiu nia sing!". GG parrots, yeah!

Then we walked around and reached the sleeping wombat area. Apparently, even though it’s purely a herbivore, it’ll still bite my hand if I wave it in front of it’s face, and even if it’s half asleep. Hmm…feisty animals. It doesn’t smell as bad as the koalas do though.

Finally, the kangaroos. On the way to the kangaroo pen, we noticed that they had some animals standing freely in the open space, and that was cute. What we didn’t know was that the kangaroos liked to hide amidst the foliage too, cos as we walked on the path towards the pen, a (probably very much startled) kangaroo appeared out of nowhere, lunged at our general direction, slapped my mom on the leg with its tail, and finished off the whole Kangaroo Maneuver by headbutting my bro in the shoulder before disappearing into some bushes.

Kangaroo meat for lunch, mmm. :D

We then got back into the bus, and rumbled off towards the direction of the Blue Mountains. Water is very expensive, by the way. It’s 3 dollars for a bottle, and I think I got gypped. Mainly I remember being thirsty. Sidenote to anyone who lives in the tropics: If planning to visit Australia, train yourself to consume less water about a week before departure.

Oh well. On the way, Ben the bus driver told us the legend behind the Three Sisters, which are three famous rocks jutting out from the landscape of Blue Mountain. I realised there was a more coherent version in the brochure I was clutching, so I read that, understood it, and watched the pretty houses and trees as the bus-van trundled along the winding road.

Btw, Ben is possibly the slowest driver in the entire Southern Hemisphere. You know it’s bad when a trailer laden with crude petroleum can huff it up the hill faster than the thing we’re on. On the bright side it gave me a chance to really look at the passing scenery instead of just seeing blurry images.

We had lunch in a town called Katoomba, and surprise surprise, there really was kangaroo meat on the menu. It tastes a bit like the way fish tastes when you don’t put enough ginger when it’s being steamed. Which translates into Not That Good.

So we finally reached Blue Mountain, and it was seriously windy. Lucky for me, I learned my lesson yesterday and kidnapped my brother’s cap to keep my hair looking reasonably human. The scenery is so beautiful, and the way the clouds casts shadows over entire swathes of the (Eucalyptus, I’m told) forest was just remarkably amazing. Our pictures didn’t turn out so good though. I’m gonna have to go and look at my uncle’s pictures and hope he got a better angle than us.

After that, we took the steepest train ride in the world down to a gorge-like place, and walked a little while, looking at what used to be a coal mine, until we got to the cable car station and rode back up to where the bus was. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to sit at the front of the train, and I’m willing to wager it would’ve been something to stare down a 52-degree incline. On the way back. I was jittery the entire time of the cable car ride, cos I’m afraid of heights, and it didn’t help that there were a LOT of people in the car. If it were Malaysia I wouldn’t even have gotten into the car in the first place. :p

2 hour drive back to Sydney, and we stopped by the Sydney Olympic Stadium before going for dinner, and then we went back to the hotel. It’s a bit weird to see shops closing at 5pm, cos in Malaysia shops stay open until at least 10pm. After showering and changing, I managed to persuade my parents to go out and walk a while, since it was still early. After a few phonecalls my mom made, it transpired that my granpa and my uncle were coming along as well, so the 6 of us made our way to the Wynyard train station near our hotel and took three trains to get to Kingcross, which is the red light district of Sydney.

Walking up and down the street, we saw shops advertising strippers and sex toys, and this was something new to me cos the Malaysian government is mostly Islamic in nature, meaning that it fully expects its citizens to make love fully-clothed, and kisses and hugs in public areas are not done. No pictures were taken, though, cos they had big burly guys standing outside the shops trying to entice men to go into the shop, and I was afraid they’d beat up my camera if a flash went off. I did get propositioned though, heh.

Took 2 trains, ran up and down 3 different platforms cos we couldn’t find the train to take us back to the hotel, granpa panicked, and finally, safely back at the Corus. Went to bed and slept like a log. (again!)

Saffy's Trip to Australia

No, I didn't go on a trip over the weekend. I'm currently uploading some pics from Australia to email to some friends and thought I'd post my travel log. This was originally posted with pics in BF, in May. Ok, onwards.

Saffy's trip To Australia (Part 1)

Well, not really. Just Sydney and Melbourne. I wasn’t too excited about this trip, cos it’s one of those bus tour thingies, and what’s worse, I was going with members of my extended family. My final, desperate plea to my mom asking her to donate the money that’s going to be spent on this trip to my Visit Europe and Bum Around Fund was promptly rejected. No hope either in spending the money on a new computer instead. My banshee-in-disguise mother was on the verge of disowning me before I finally gave in and slunk off to pack my stuff.

I should probably tell you that this is a very long read, and if you’re not the least bit interested in me and my life, now’s the time to click the back button on your browser and go read about relationship angst or Lindsay Lohan’s breasts (which are bigger than mine).

The departure was on Thursday (29 April), at 8.45 pm. When we got to the desk where we were supposed to check in, the tour guide was already there, a pretty good-looking but annoyingly-chirpy guy named Eddie. He briefed us on what to do, did all the usual stuff tour guides do, and we were off on our way to eat some dinner before getting on the plane.

8 hours spent being stuck in a small seat with a kid wailing for approximately half the flight didn’t exactly improve my mood. Coupled with the extreme lack of sleep for the past three days and I was seriously grumpy. That was probably why the immigration officials were acting so scary to me. Probably thought I had a stick of dynamite up my ass or something. Thankfully, no cavity search for me.

We walked out from the airport smack into a fine Friday morning, and I zipped up my windbreaker cos it was cold. Ok, so technically, to a lot of people 20 degrees isn’t really cold, but I’ve lived my entire life in the tropics, and I do not own a single long-sleeved top, so it really sucks to be me. The bus driver, another annoyingly-chipper dude called Benjamin, walked us to his small van-bus vehicle and we were off on a city tour.

Just my luck on the day I get a splitting headache, the guide speaks English with a heavy HK accent. After a while, I quit trying to understand what he was saying and just looked at the scenery. Sydney has amazing trees. I wish we could spend the day just lying under the trees, cos I can never do that in Malaysia. Too many insects, and too much heat. Autumn’s always been my favourite season, but I had no idea how real autumn trees looked like until I saw em here. Pretty trees, pretty trees.

Okay, enough about the trees. That Ben guy drove us to a park opposite of the Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. Didn’t quite catch the name though, cos of the headache and the accent. (more on accents later) Took some pics of the opera house and the bridge, but none of them turned out good, cos it was windy as heck and my hair was being blown all over the place. The city tour continued, and Sydney has amazing buildings. I spent most of the trip craning my neck at awkward angles trying to look up the buildings downtown.

Then we went to the Sydney Fish Market for some much needed food. The last meal we had was 8 hours ago, on the plane, and starving doesn’t really help much when it comes to generating body heat. When Eddie the Tour Guide mentioned the Fish Market for food, the immediate thought that came to me was, ‘We’re eating food in a fish market?’ Now I’ve never actually been to a cold country before, at least not during the cooler seasons, but I was willing to wager that fish smells about the same everywhere. But hey, I’m on vacation, I’m mellow, and maybe Sydney’s fish markets don’t smell like KL fish markets, so we all agreed without so much as a bleat. The bus-van thingy rumbled merrily along.

The Sydney Fish Market smells exactly like KL fish markets.

We were lead to a place where they sold fresh seafood, raw. It was so fresh the seagulls tried to dive into the basins with the seafood. Then again, maybe it’s just cos they were hungry. Anyway, after casting withering glances at the Eddie the Tour Guide, he eventually caught on and we were then lead to another building where they sold cooked food. Unfortunately, the smell of fish was still in the air, so I ate a kitkat bar and a several mouthfuls of fries instead. For the price we paid (20+ dollars), the food (seafood platter) wasn’t really that good.

After partly satisfying my hunger, I felt decidedly warmer and could do without my windbreaker. Sun was up too, so that helped. We were then driven to the space under the Harbour Bridge, which at close range looks somewhat like a mangled toaster, and watched some people pay 100 dollars for a 3 hour trip across the bridge. If only they charged cheaper rates... :p Then we went to the actual Opera House, took pictures, which again turned out not good, cos again my hair was being blown all over the place. Someday, when I wish to show the world how I’d look after I’ve been locked up in a mental asylum for 5 years, I’ll post those pics. It’s that bad. :(

Lunch, and a walk around Chinatown. This is the first time I see salt and pepper shakers standing beside the soysauce and red chilli, btw. Weirdness, serious weirdness. Walked around the streets of Sydney and saw a very verysexy convertible with twin exhaust pipes pointing in opposite directions, and plates saying ‘2NORTI’. I wish we were allowed to have wacky plates here.

We then got on a boat at Darling Harbour, and the boat went around Sydney harbour. Took a few pictures on the deck (more windblown hair) and waved to some people on yatchs before realising that people on the deck were looking at me, so I sat meekly and tried not to raise my hands for fear of being blown off the boat. Swimming is not one of my skills, sadly.

Next stop: Sydney Aquarium. After listening to a very nice man explain the breeding habits of some type of shark (I found out that 40% of sharks lay eggs), we went into the shark tank. Okay, not into it. I have no wish to be on the lunch menu this early in my life. We walked around in plexiglass tunnels watching the underbelly part of the sharks, cos they were all lying on the roof of the tunnel, the lazy SOBs.

Which brings me to one of the highlights of my trip. I saw the biggest freaking shark I have ever seen in my life, it was at least 6+ feet in length, and boy am I glad they have those glass thingies that separate me from them. It was then that my childhood memories of watching Jaws came flashing back, and I was worried the tunnel we were in would be head-butted by the shark, and we’d all be mauled to a horrible death once the water starts flooding in. Never let your kids watch Jaws until they’re at least 15.

They also had turtles that would probably weigh more than my brother, and it was really fascinating watching them swim. Unfortunately, everything was lumped in the same tank, and I was torn between my desire to watch more fish swim, and my fear of the tunnel bursting. I feel embarassed even talking about it now. :p

Dinner, followed by a walk down Darling Harbour. Ben the bus driver told us to walk back to our hotel though, cos he’s off for the day. Anyway, I was told by the Tour Guide that since it was Friday, the people would be out in full force partying at the various bars and pubs located along Darling Harbour. Unless Eddie the Tour Guide is mistaken, which is a very real possibility, Sydney’s party scene is a bit disappointing. I did, however, see a girl in a silk-looking bareback halter dress, and suede boots breeze past like it wasn’t the middle of autumn. I was wearing long jeans, a sweater, and with my windbreaker zipped up to my neck.

Walked back to the hotel and slept like a bloody log. Blankets were incredibly dusty though.

November 06, 2004

Of the heart

Right now I’m in a chat with a girl friend, who has gracefully deigned to be named, and I think I just found another soulmate. :)

I have to say, I have a lot of admiration for people who charge headlong into relationships, whether it's romantic, sexual or both.

I’m the kind who calculates the pros and cons of the guy I like, and then do a spreadsheet on the chances of whether the relationship is gonna work or not. Ok, that’s a minor exaggeration there, but that’s the kind of person I am. I walk around wearing my aloofness like a suit of armour. Hmm, I like that corny phrase. *jots down in notebook*

Ok, back to the point.

Different types of people, I guess. I like to think that the relationship I’m gonna get in will at least last a few good years before it goes kaput, cos I don’t like bad investments. On the other hand, it’s more liberating and carefree to stop thinking and just do it. There’s a certain amount of freedom in just winging it when it comes to matters of the heart, and I would like be able to do that, at least once, before I die. Should be very liberating.

Starting a relationship that you just know would never last is the stupidest thing to do in my book, cos I’ll just be setting myself up for a lot of heartache. But then, maybe it’ll make for good memories. If you go into a relationship realising the limits of it, maybe it won’t hurt as much when it ends. That’s assuming I don’t dig myself a deeper hole while I’m frolicking around ‘light-heartedly’. At least there’s honesty around instead of, you know, going behind each other’s backs and disappointing stuff like that.

So many ‘but then…’s, so little time. If only I could bounce back like other people can. I don’t like the way I’m wired.

Note: And in true Saffy style, I already know the name of the tune to play when I'm heartbroken. Sun YanZi's Wo Bu Nan Guo. As if I've even started this relationship already, heheh.

November 05, 2004

Orange Juice not green.

*audience goes "WTF???"

I've changed my template. "...for every mood swing..." sez someone I was chatting with, who shall remain anonymous for his own health. I got bored with green, and changed it for...more green. Guess it's not a huge difference after all. Oh, one thing, the links are more visible now, so for people who're colour blind or need new specs, you can stop complaining already, thanks.

Blog name's gonna change "...for every moodswing..." too, so suck it up. :)

Land of the Free

And it has started.

Voters pass all 11 amendments on gay marriage

Land of the free indeed.

What I don't understand, is how they can say “Ultimately, only our Federal Marriage Amendment will protect marriage.” Notice the little underlined bits. Like more people getting married is a bad thing what would completely derail the 'institution of marriage'. It's good no one claims this as a victory for logic, cos the logic just doesn't fly. All the time I'm reading that article I was waiting for someone to invoke the Great Book.

Organised religion. *snorts* I for one, never believed in a god that doesn't work on the principles of logic. A god that would openly advocate discrimination against a group of people for no logical reason. A god that's not above fear/hate/pettiness. A god who doesn't immediately strike down his followers for casting the first stone. Yeah, I'm bitter. If I wanted to worship a god like that, I might as well just randomly pick someone sitting next to me on a bus and just worship him instead.

Deja vu. Which side do you think these people would've been on when the fight to legalise interracial marriage was ongoing? *sigh* Yes, cheap shot. I'm just disappointed that at this time and age, even people in America react like this. I guess there really is no hope for us then.

November 04, 2004

Drunken Convos Part 1

I just finished chatting with a Yankee friend. Somewhere in the middle of the convo, he said,

Yankee: "Saffy-poo, are you drunk again?"
Me: "It's 3 in the afternoon."
Yankee: "When has that ever stopped you?" *grins*
Yankee: "What panties are you wearing?"
Me: "Fuck off, asswipe."
Yankee: "Guess you ARE sober after all, heh."

Convo edited for spelling and grammar mistakes.

The point of posting this, besides from the urge to embarass the heck out of my Yankee friend, is to reflect upon the fact that he can't tell the difference between drunk saffy and sober saffy. So either I'm really normal (and that's relative when it comes to me) when I'm drunk, or I act drunk all the time even when I'm sober.

Something is deeply wrong with me.

The price of progress.

Also known as 10 Reasons Why Handphones Suck. I was gonna write about which one’s better, full, trimmed or completely shaved, but then I realised that I really haven’t canvassed enough opinions on that matter, so it’s about boring phones tonight.

New-fangled ring tones...
...bug the shit out of me. Well, not all, but some of them anyway. It seems like with the advent of polyphonic ringtones every bastard out there is trying to outdo the other in terms of owning fantastic ringtones. The mooing cows and the wolf-whistles are cool the first 10 times, after that, it just gets annoying. The best ringtone I’ve heard so far is a very calming flute music that’s almost in a monotone. Sweet. I love the owner already.

People who talk loudly...
...seem to think there’s some fancy mathematical equation that says the volume of your voice must increase correspondingly to the amount of people who're loitering around you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re at a fish market, in a bus or in Coffee Bean, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re talking about World of Warcraft, how frequent your baby needs a diaper change, or the size of the prick you slept with. Maybe I should start thinking about the premise that deep inside, everyone is really an exhibitionist.

Inopportune ringing of phones... not cool. Seriously, everyone and their maid has a handphone. Even my grandmother has a handphone. It’s nothing to show off, no need to aksi-aksi. There’s a time and place for volume control, and that time and place is in the classroom when the lecturer is talking, in the cinema when the lights are dimmed, in the boardroom when there is a meeting going on. Respect please.

Handsfree kits...
...are not supposed to be surgically attached to your ears. When you’re in a public place where there’re throngs of people around you, please don’t go around talking to yourself. It gives the impression that you’re a) a psycho for talking to yourself, or b) a psycho for having a handsfree kit surgically attached to your ear. Blatantly showing off (flaunting) your bluetooth thingy is generally considered bad form.

Speaker phones...
...are very…erm, actually, my dad has one. *sigh* In case he stumbles onto this blog, and for the sake of my general health I sincerely hope he doesn’t, I’m going to refrain from saying anything too bad about speaker phones. Just, you know, don’t always use it. There’s a reason some conversations should stay private.

Driving while talking on the phone... not advisable. Unless you want me to scream curses at you for not making the turn after the fifth opportunity has passed you by because you were yakking on the phone. Without a handsfree kit. Let’s face it, some people (males) are just NOT built for multitasking, especially if it involves chatting and driving. We girls are more adept at it, since we’re practically born with phones attached to our ears. If you have a problem with the above statement, please don’t ever let me hear anything from you about how a girl can come home from an all-day shopping trip with a friend and then chat on the phone with that same friend for 3 hours. Gross generalisations work both ways, dearie. ;)

I think I’ve just discovered a new use for blogs. A tool for settling personal vendettas. Muahahaha.

Of course, I'm the kind of person who's still using a Nokia 8210, and who switches her handphone off at night when she's sleeping. I'm also the kind of person who cheats when writing top ten lists, if you noticed, cos I never really reach 10.