Observations on the Road, Part One

Malaysia is a land rich in cultures and traditions, especially when it comes to traffic customs and navigationary norms. All these, when done right, will most definitely kill you.

Part One*: If you’re not on wheels, you don’t use the roads
Might is right, people like to say. These same people also like to complain that Malaysian drivers don’t respect pedestrian crossings and cast baleful glances at big bad off-road vehicles like Ford “Built Tough™” Storms for terrorising the poor two-legged squishies who face mortal danger every time they decide to cross a road.

This is patently not true, that is to say, the meek pedestrians don’t really need your sympathy. You see, the constant bullying by wheeled vehicles has caused the Malaysian pedestrian form a common bond of brothers, to unite and develop a swarm mentality.

No longer do pedestrians wait for the lights to change before venturing onto the asphalt, nor do they huddle in oppressed groups looking for black and white paint to signify that yes, two legged squishies may walk here. Heck, they don’t even wait for a break in traffic before waltzing across without even a glance at the Fords and buses that are forced to screech to a halt to avoid crashing into exoskeleton-clad meatbags.

In fact, if you go to the Bukit Bintang area, you can actually witness poetry in motion, cos that area breeds a strain of especially hardy pedestrians that no one dares trifle with. Bukit Bintang pedestrians are like the X-Men of pedestrians, they don’t even bother to wait for a crowd to form before launching their attack.

A Bukit Bintang pedestrian (especially in front of Sungai Wang Plaza) will simply breeze onto the road regardless of traffic condition, and if a taxi so much as dares to lean on the horn the pedestrian will immediately unleash a series of Secret Super-Duper Karate Moves and completely decimate the offending vehicle.

Ok I totally made that up. I’ve been watching too much Heroes.

What the pedestrian would actually do is bang on the bonnet of the taxi, point at the driver and make threatening “Mau lawan ka?” motions with her arms while saying “KNNBCCB!” She would then stand immobile in front of the taxi while the line of cars behind the cab stretches back to Jalan Loke Yew, glaring as she waits for the taxi driver to take her up on her offer.

Finally, as her finishing combo move, the pedestrian will cast Level 5 Evil Eye at the driver for his utter ball-lessness, sniff disdainfully, brush imaginary dust off her sleeves and proceed to repeat the performance on the road in front of Lot 10.

I think this is what they mean when they mention “evolution” in Heroes. And they say the meek shall inherit the earth. Pah! In Malaysia, it’s pedestrians who are Built Tough™.


* Of many, or at least until my inspiration dries up.

Shrooms!

I am currently summarising a 6-page paper into a 5 minute presentation because my lecturer said it is "important". When a lecturer tells you something is important it means 1 of 2 things: it is either worth a bloody lot of marks, or it will come out in the final exams.

So here I am happily going through para by para, until I realise that I've seriously never came across more ridiculously puerile PC bullshit before. In fact, it's not PC. It's delusional.

Paper presented at the Workshop on Conflict Management and Conflict Resolution held in Kuala Lumpur, August 7 & 8, 1993.
Conflict Resolution: The Malaysian Experience
By Ghazalie Shafie

Malaysia's political parties are not based on racial lines.
The NEP is for the benefit of all races in Malaysia.
It's all the fault of Colonialist Pigs.
BN is all for equitable balance, that is why the party symbol is a cheng (forgot what it's called in English)

This is a bad time for me to be doing this paper. I've just about had it up to here with the racist finagling that's been going on, and I can't take any more of this bullshit.

Whatever this Ghazalie dude's smoking, I want some of it. I also want to sleep, damnit.

Hello blog

Poor old blog, you're so neglected it's not even funny anymore. If it's any consolation, I haven't actually touched my PS2 in more than a year now. :/

I never thought I'd live to say this, but Taste was right. I should never have gotten sucked into the unrelenting whirlpool that is WoW.

Okay, on tp the blog topic now. On Friday, I had an opportunity to chat with my J2 lecturer after class ended.

While we were waiting for the lift, I spoke about how my mom would hate it if I were to be a 'serious' journalist, and not a fluffy one working for The Star (though I heard the benefits are cushy hmmmmmm...). I don't remember exactly what it was that lead to this topic of conversation, but my lecturer said to me, "You have your life to live," which was strangely reminiscent of what another famous blogger once said to me, only he was less gentle.

I had intended to intern with Malaysiakini, but my mom was vehemently against it after she found out that the site was blocked from her office. "ANTI GOVERNMENT OMG! ISA OMG!" Okay, so she didn't exactly say those words, but that was what her shocked expression conveyed to my WoW-addled brain.

My lecturer then said something along the lines of, "If everyone thought like you who'd be the ones to make a change?"

I've always been an introverted bookworm. I have more books than shelves, which explains the perpetually-messy vibe I have going on in my room. It makes me look intellectual :p Anyway, I guess it was a natural progression to move from reading to writing, and I do love it, especially when I don't have deadlines and can write at my leisure hohoho.

My parents know that when I have a strong opinion about something I'm stubborn as hell and I won't budge, and I won't sugarcoat, and if I were to be a serious journalist this trait would most certainly land me in hot soup, and only hot soup if I'm lucky. I suspect this is what makes them worried about my choice of career.

I once said to my bro that I sometimes resented my parents for not allowing me to fall down and pick myself up. My brother said, "Jie, imagine if I were the one who wanted to do something dangerous. Wouldn't you stop me?"

Bugger him, he should've been the elder sibling and not me.

At the end of the day I do want to have my own life to live, but on the other hand I don't want my parents to worry about me for the rest of my career. A compromise would be working out a timeframe for me to work as a serious journalist that's acceptable to us both, but then again I might like it so much that I don't want to quit. It'll be better to not start at all, cos you can't miss what you never had.

This is the first time my imagine-if-you'll-regret-it-when-you're-80 rule of thumb has failed me. And I thought I'd discovered a fool-proof method of making up my mind. Blehhhh.

Oh well, it was never meant to be easy. One thing at a time, I guess. Right now, the immediate bane of my life is not being able to take notes as fast as a person speaks without relying on shorthand. It's harder than it sounds QQ.

Americans are nubs

A few days ago I was chatting with Mr Yankee Doodle (hehe) when he mentioned that Americans are the most maligned people in the world. It's perfectly okay to insult Americans but when you do it to another nationality it's racist and politically-incorrect.

For instance, imagine someone saying one of the below:

Example 1: Americans are stupid idiots
Example 2: Singaporeans are stupid idiots
Example 3: Lebanese are stupid idiots

Example 1 is totally acceptable and even encouraged, example 2 is somewhat acceptable* (cos I'm Malaysian hey!), but example 3 is a definite no-no. If you do it you risk raining fire and brimstone on you and yours.

I blinked, then said that example 1 is acceptable because it's true. Americans display the most appaling lack of knowledge about other countries.

For example, Malaysians regularly flout international trade standards by exceeding the North American Rubber Export Quota, but Mr Yankee Doodle didn't know that.

See? Americans are stupid. Of course, the fact that I completely made that up at the spur of the moment has nothing to do with anything, obviously.

Hoho.

*for those who are particularly dense and humourless, that was a joke. Besides, I spent the better part of a year raiding with Singaporeans, and am therefore a superb judge of their idiocy. Ahem.

Goodbye

Three months ago if anyone told me I would leave I'd have laughed in their faces.

But it was a lot easier than I thought it would be...and somehow that just makes it so much sadder.

Neither here nor there

Blizzforums has always had an unfortunate history with database trouble. One time, the database was deleted because the owner wanted more space for his porn, and deleted the BF database. How amazingly smart. Okay, so he didn’t exactly delete it for porn, but still…

On the upside, we got to make fun of E-Man and his twitchy finger forever.

The last time it crashed, something corrupted the database and we had horrible temp forums that were churning cesspools of bile, whichy explains why I avoided them.

Recently I logged back into BF and found that I had been fired. Me, the uber Works-In-Progress moderator who single-handedly educated the entire populace of BF that clicking on your avatar leads you to your profile. Be nice and don’t ask what avatar I was using at that time.

Anyway, I passed my modelling pics to the Hogster and he posted them in Staff, and a short little note which basically had me say “Fuck you for firing me twerps!”. And now I’m an Elder, which means, in addition to having my name in a nice blinding neon green colour, I have access to Staff Forum as well yay.

What’s the point to this? Why, no point at all. This blog’s due for another name change, I reckon. There Is No Point.

Now to figure out how to incorporate His Royal Oafness into the name as well…

Hmmmm

Playing WoW for a year+ must've killed off more brain cells that I expected. So far everything I've managed to compose has been really boring.

Perhaps I need to change my profile QQ

PS res, I've reactivated my hotmail account. Terribly sorry about that. :p

Spring Cleaning

dusting cobwebs, opening windows, and surreptiously dumping dead rats into the drain.

Tentatively, I'm back.

Yesterday I had a weird dream. I dreamed that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't type anymore. In my stupid @#$%! dream I was trying to blog but my fingers would not obey me and I kept flubbing up the words. I couldn't even type in the url to my own blog, it came out wrong every time.

I realise that in the past, I've cruelly mocked people who claim to be able to interpret dreams, so maybe this is retribution. This is actually the first time I've felt stupid in a dream. I desperately need to implement measures to separate my real life from my dream world or else I'd lose my sanctuary.

In other news, I've finally watched Star Wars. It's not bad, cos I went in expecting something along the lines of Attack of the Clones. I also whacked a jumbo popcorn all by my self while my brother had to pick from the tiny unpopped scraps at the bottom of the cardboard box.

Don't hate on me, I get special treatment 2 days in a month, unless I miss a period.

Now for a little WoW update. I hate fucking campers who camp corpses and quest NPCs. It happens both sides, this is not a rant about how the Alliance scum stink to the high heavens. It gets really scary when you factor in the fact that WoW players in general are in their 20s to 30s. I would expect juvenile behavior from mRO players, but honestly, if you're so free, go raid some towns or fight someone your own size.

I am struck with a case of extreme apathy. I don't care about blogs anymore. Even my brother's been commenting about the flies buzzing around this blog. I think the recent illness took more out of me than I thought. Or maybe that's just an excuse, heheh. Since I always come back and post more inane stuff after announcing a hiatus, I'll announce one and hope that my contrariness will kick in right about now.

Thank you for reading.

A day in the life...

One fine sunny day...

The Saffron was on her way to the kitchen to look at the ice-cream when she passed by the Oaf standing behind the sofa, watching TV. Now, normal people will wonder, 'Why is she going to the kitchen to look at ice-cream?' Other normal people will be thinking, 'Why is he standing behind the sofa watching TV instead of parking his ass on it?'

As with everything else, there is a reason behind all this. The Saffron and the Oaf share the same blood. It is therefore in their genes. Which means it's none of their faults. *grins*

On the way back from her trip to the freezer, the Saffron passed by the Oaf, still standing behind the sofa, and her strides slowed. Standing right behind him, she starting making heavy breathing sounds.

The Saffron, "Hhhhhhorhhhhhh, hhhhhhorhhhh."

Without missing a beat, the Oaf also went, "Hhhhhhhorhhhh, hhhoorrrrrrhh."

After that idiotic exchange no one else on earth probably understood, the Saffron and the Oaf commenced laughing their heads off. When both of them have managed to unstitch their sides, they looked at each other for a while.

The Saffron then snickered and said, "Darth Babi," in her hoarse, raspy, but still squeaky voice, and happily skipped back to her room. The Oaf, perhaps mindful that his sister has been sick for the past week or so, decided that he could afford to be magnanimous and therefore did not slap her silly.

He went back to staring at the TV behind the sofa.

Taggety tagged.

Tagged by IBlogMe a long time ago. The title is also shamelessly stolen from her, heheh. Ok, disclaimer. This could potentially get very nasty/disgusting/offensive, and may make you very disgusted/angry. Email and contact on the sidebar. :)

if I could be a monkey's uncle...
I'd have a legitimate excuse to fling soft clumps of 2-day-old shit at people I don't like (especially politicians), and then complete it with the whole point-and-laugh routine while they, red-faced, furiously (and futilely) try to wipe the shit off their specs, hair, expensive clothes and other misc bodyparts.

If I could be the Pope...
I will decree that those who attempt to convert other people, even when they are told repeatedly by the subject of conversion that he/she is not interested, will lose an arm. Do it again and you lose the other arm. Do it the third time and you're headed straight to the hottest pits of hell, son.

If you believe in god, you will believe in god. Everything will run its course.

If I could be an game designer...
Male characters will only be dressed in a butt-revealing thong and their bodies will be liberally slathered with oil. It does not matter whether they are questing in a volcano or in the artics, no change of clothing is permitted. They will all be manly and rugged, and they will all be big dumb warriors with shiny, shiny swords. The women will be dressed normally with no cleavage-enhancing porn costumes and they will not all be healers and archers.

Of course, the company I work for will go under, but then again like I'm actually gonna learn enough programming to make a game. I can't even make my own site layout. :p

If I could be the President of the U.S...
I would go to charm school and public speaking classes.

If I could be a Miss Universe...
I will be naive and idealistic, and think that my answer for the Q&A session actually matters more than the size of my boobs, the length of my legs and the perfectness of my features.

World peace, yo'.

In turn , I will now inflict this chain mail meme on:
Pebbles.
Bawang Merah. (Blehh)
Narrowband.
Arion.

Observations Regarding Kitchens

I'd say that in general, having two people at the same time is just wrong, but then again I know what kind of kinky deviants lurk around my blog, so I'll just be more specific and say that there should never be more than one cook in the kitchen at any time.

Of course, by 'cook' I mean those tyrannical and generally obnoxious people who have no qualms bullying other poor souls in the kitchen (like me) into doing things their way. I mean, there're only so many times I can handle someone shrieking, "You're doing it wrong! It's diagonal, then horizontal!!"

'Tis the dicing of potatoes said Tyrant was complaining about. Who the bloody hell gives a flying fuck whether it's diagonal first or horizontal first? It's potatoes. If it's diced, it's done. I swear if I wasn't so doped up on flu meds I'd have clipped the ends of her pretty manicured nails off with my uber Meat Cleaver of the Boar instead of, well, mangling up my own hand. Oh well, it's just my left hand. I mean, it's not like it's a really important body part like my liver (for drinking) and my heart (for living), right?

Notice I never said brain. ;)

Another thing to avoid when dealing with damgerous, kitcheny stuff is people who react to things the way I do. In a nutshell: violence.

Anyway, back to my point about kitchens and cooks and violence and me. If you can cook alone, that would be perfect. If you have to share kitchens with other people, then share it with someone nice and easy-going. If nice and easy-going isn't available, either negotiate turns or keep the other bugger forcibly restrained onto something that isn't mobile (chairs are never a good idea). If you have the misfortune to deal with a Tyrant in the kitchen, it would be very convenient for yourself to develop a saintly disposition and handle every in-your-face yell with dignity, grace and beneficence.

Because when you have someone like the Tyrant and someone like me in a cramped and hazardous environment, things could go south really quickly. In between sharp knives, pointy barbeque forks, heavy-bottomed pots, boiling vats of soup, molten cheese that really hurts upon contact with bare skin etc, we could do a lot of damage to each other. Probably the last thing anyone wants is to have two hot-headed cooks armed with sharp and pointy stainless steel utensils duking it out in a really small space.

I mean, we could literally start flinging cheese at each other! Think of all the innocents!

Different Degrees of Chuff-ness

Chuffness Level 1
The other day Narrowband informed me that I was nominated for Neophyte Blog of the Year. It was the same feeling I got when I was nominated for (and won) Best WIP Author in the BF Awards.

Thanks to Loonatik for acknowledging my existence. :)

Now to be pretentious and fake humble, I honestly didn't expect to have this many people read my blog when I first started it. It was more like a venue for me to write embarassing things about myself and not keep the incriminating evidence of my naughty past in my HD so that people like my brother or my mom would not stumble across it. Given that this blog's now jointly-named after my brother, and the kid actually laughs out loud when he reads the stuff I put here, you can all see how well my plan turned out. :p

I only got traffic after I whored myself out on PPS. So newbies, if you're looking to max the mass appeal of your blog, obviously you shouldn't be reading me because I practically do everything a neophyte blogger isn't supposed to do (except whore on PPS).

But it's ok, you can all worship me now. *grins*

Now for the clincher. I am disqualified from the category because my blog is more than 6 months old. It's not like I can win against supreme behemoths like Kenny Sia anyway, the bastard.

Chuffness Level 3
The people (not a lot la, about 3-4 like that) who've told me personally that I write very well. Obviously this is very open to interpretation, and I realise my style of writing doesn't really reach out to everyone, so I'm glad some people like it enough to recommend me to friends. Thank you, I really appreciate it.

Chuffness Level 5


I wonder how long I have to sit there. The Oaf is also going. Working really hard in my first semester helped a lot, and I guess I'll have to pick up the pace in sem 3 to make up for all the slackage in sem 2.

In other news, I am doped up on cold meds, so I'm not going to update. I'm also coughing like heck, and my voice has taken the quality of James Earl Jones, so please don't call me and make me talk.

It irritates my throat and makes me cough more...so I'll end up being James Earl Jones level 2.

Right, I know the levels are just getting lame.

Something's been wrong with my computer. I can't load hotmail, or google, and even blogger's giving me problems. If anyone's been sending me emails and is expecting a reply, I'm not ignoring you on purpose.

If it's really really important, call me, or you can register at one of the forums I frequent and leave me a PM. Haha free plug whee. :)

Okay, I got to go be sick again, cya.

Because it's the in thing to blog about Star Wars Episode III

It just occured to me.

After the very expensive, very impressive and very high tech disappointments that were Star Wars Episode I and Star Wars Episode II, I wonder why I still carry a flicker of hope in my heart that Star Wars Episode III would at least match Episodes 4, 5 and 6.

I've been thinking about it for the past 5 minutes, and I still don't know why. Faith? Denial? Naivete? Idealism? Irrational hope?

Is anyone else hoping as I am hoping, or am I alone in this venture that borders on idiocy? It would really help for me to know I'm not alone (it's a complicated pyschology thing I don't exactly remember right now), so if you're out there, gimme a holler.

Last attempt to lull myself to sleep with my words.

Hmm, I just remembered that I had some weird chocolate ice-cream in Ikano from a corner shop called Becka Lecka or Lecka Becka. It wasn't good.

PS: I realise the last three posts were all over the place. I can't help it, I need to sleep but sleep eludes me. That's why I'm using weird words, remembering weird stuff and writing about weird things.

If I could bottle this I won't have to buy another lottery number again in my life.

Sook Chun-ness

Originally titled: Insomnia 1, Saffy 0

Freedom of speech and freedom of expression does not equal to freedom from responsibility.

Sure, you can say what you want as long as you have the vehicle to transmit that message, but that doesn't mean people are going to agree with you. Controversial issues are, by their very nature, going to inspire (sometimes endless) discourse. That's why they're controversial.

The best way for these arguments to end is for all participants to agree to disagree. Not because that's the easy way out, but because they understand that there's no point in arguing any further, and each camp has their respective reasons for believing what they believe. Note that under my profile I have listed 'naive and idealistic' as one of my traits.

I don't see the point in stating your stance on something and not defending it when you're challenged. To me, that says one of two things:

1. You don't know enough about the subject matter to defend your stance, which leads to questions about the vehemence of your stance in the first place.
   
2. You don't actually know what you're talking about, and are opening your mouth because you are sadly deluded into thinking that everyone (including yourself) loves your voice.

Sometimes, Number 1 and Number 2 are not even mutually exclusive.

Lame excuses like "I already know what you want to say, it's stupid and I don't want to hear it", "I know you trollish liberals/conservatives/whatever people will flame me" and "I don't want to provoke a flame war and ruin friendships" are exactly that: lame excuses. If you really care so much in the first place, don't write about the controversial issue.

You can tell I don't like people who disable comments (and their minds, apparently) after they blog about something that other people disagree with. Learn to deal with the fact that when people question and challenge your opinions, it doesn't necessarily mean they don't like you. It just means that they don't agree with what you're saying.

Who knows, you might just learn something from one another.

And stop whining about flames already. If you're old enough to blog, you're old enough to know that it takes all kinds of people to make up the world. You can either ignore potshots or lob one right back at them. Pick one.

Insomnia strikes again!

In the very PC world where we live in, I thought it might be prudent to insert a disclaimer. This post is potentially sexist and/or cruel, and could offend you if you are male or female.

Pssst, I was reliably informed that that line would get anyone to read anything, so we'll see if it works as a tantalising lead-in or not.

Okay, the real blog post.

"I dress for my man," proclaimed a girl friend, rather unabashedly.

She was very obviously expecting feminazi challenges to her statement, and was prepared to defend it to the very death, with her manicured nails and all. You can gather all that information from the slightly stubborn/challenging tilt of her chin. Boyfriends beware, when a girl looks at you at an angle, eyebrows slightly raised, head tilted, chin out, you just know you're in for a long night.

Of what, exactly, really boils down to the type of girl you're with. I just hope she makes up as good as she wallops.

Anyway, I got to thinking about who I dress for. Of course, it's a given that I dress for myself, because hey, I'm cool like that, and I have certain ideals that I aspire to. But apart from all the overwhelming coolness and individuality that I possess, do I dress in a way that gets men looking, or do I dress in a way that gets women looking?

If you're thinking, 'Hey, you forgot the kids!', kindly remove yourself from the playground in a calm and orderly fashion, and go get some professional help. Paedophilia (as a trend) went out about the same time we stopped burning women at the stake, so wise up already. Trust me, it's better than having to go through a million dollar lawsuit. [REFERENCE TO POPULAR CULTURE]

Back on topic, I pondered my friend's statement, and noted that she was taking the easy way out. I mean, how hard is it to attract (straight) male attention?

[WARNING GENERALISATION ALERT]

You just have to put on something that's tight, short, or low cut. Or, if you really wanna look like a cheap desperate whore, all three.

Women now, those are tough bitches to please.

With battle standards flying

The story: When I registered for this course, I clearly stated that I wanted to major in Journalism. No where did I suddenly change my mind and decide to do something else. Admin staff were aware of my choice. Lecturers were aware of my choice.

A few weeks after classes commenced, I found out I was the only one who was going to do journalism. Not a problem, I thought, the less people who choose my same major = less competition in the field, hurray for me.

My third semester starts somewhere in July. This morning, I was jolted out of a deep sleep because my college called and told me to go see the bitch tomorrow. Apparently there's a problem with my major because I'm the only one taking it and they're concerned that 'I might be alone'.

Bloody hell, anyone can read between the lines, you asshats.

I'm still waiting for the call to confirm the time for the appointment. By the looks of it, I'm not gonna get it today cos it's already 6.51 pm. At any rate, my calm zen-like holiday-mode existence has been shattered. When I go, I'll be going in warrior woman mode. I hate people who stare me down, or at least attempt to anyway, so I retaliate in kind.

Turning the other cheek really does not apply to me. I plan to graduate with my ass planted firmly on the Dean's List, and I'm comfortably on my way.

Don't fuck with my major.

What happened on Thursday

The most important part is where he mentioned that Saffy is t3h h4wtn3ss!!! *grins*

I never thought blog meets could be so fun. Stilted convos have always been a big worry of mine (it's one-sided), but I'm glad it turned out so well. It should be fun to do this again. Usually, the people I chat with online don't get much response from me IRL, and I'm glad we an be both friends online and friends IRL.

I had a great time, and I was very comfortable. From the looks of it he did too, heheh, so it's all good. I'm also looking forward to meeting her. Fingers crossed I'll still manage to be sociable then. *grins*

Something funny though. So far, I've met 2 male bloggers, and both of them are older, live in Setapak, and have conked front car doors.

In other news, I'm completely back to my normal self. I thought it was just denial at first, cos I didn't think I could get over stuff so quickly, but I could read something without feeling anything I shouldn't feel. Yes, tis hard to write cryptically. SMSes are expensive, and this is the easy way to inform people. :)

Fixations

When I was a kid my maternal granma's jewellery drawer was like a treasure trove. She had all her jewellery pieces in this cake box, with a specially cut sponge to anchor the stuff so that they didn't slide around whenever the drawer was opened or closed. For a lady her age, she had a lot of jewellery, beautiful pieces that were magical to me.

I loved exploring, laying them all out on her bed and pretending that they were all mine. It was easy to pretend to be a princess, even with raw scraped knees and a tongue green from sucking sweets, when you have a ruby brooch on. I'm still waiting for my Prince Charming though. :p

Of course, any sane adult would declare that precious drawer off-limits to my clumsy childish hands (they're still clumsy :p), so whenever I was caught red-handed I got whacked. As Calvin's dad likes to say, it builds character. *grins*

I had a favourite. It gave me a thrill every time I saw it in the box, twinkling at me. It gave me an even bigger thrill when I wore it (I wasn't supposed to). For some reason, I always played with it the last.







The other day, I finally got to wear it. Legitimately. I didn't even have to sneak around and preen at the mirror with the door half-closed. No one would come in at an unopportune moment and whack the bejesus out of me if they saw me with the pendant on.

I don't quite know what to feel though. It's a piece of beautiful jewellery, that's for sure. It's just not magic anymore. Thrill's not there. Maybe it takes being 6. Maybe I get off by being a kleptomaniac. I'm hoping it's the former more than the latter though.