Surprisingly, my bloodlust is gone. Ok, I've been playing GTA for a while now, and it got so bad that every time someone rammed my newly spray painted Banshee (tight handling, baby, tight) I'd get out of my car and pump that bastard's car full of lead. It explodes, and I'm off on my way until the next idiot bumps into me.
I'm kinda like this in real life, only without the guns. :)
Been listening to some slow, sweet songs. Let's see...
Hey Jude
She
A Kiss to Build A Dream On
Dancing in the Moonlight
When I Fall In LOve
It Had To Be You
Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You
Yesterday
Let It Be
What If
Mr Tambourine Man
May It Be
My Romance
The Lion Sleeps Tonight
Close to You
Knocking On Heaven's Door
Are You Gonna Be My Girl (c'mon, I need something loud :p)
This is my Mellow List. Calms me down right away. Hmm, maybe I need to keep a CD in my car when I'm driving so the green veins on my forehead don't pop when someone flips me the birdie.
Anyways, I'm off to PD tomorrow, so probably no updates for a while. Yes, I like to pretend that enough people read my blog to warrant a notice like this, heheh. Also, I'm not bringing my phone along, lazy to take care of it while I'm sorta-swimming in the oil, so if you can't reach me, I'm not dead. Or married.
I'm just on vacation.
*Walks off into the sunset, singing offkey*
Why do birds suddenly appear, every time...
October 29, 2004
Bombay Burke
I hate ties. Now you may wonder why I'm even complaining, since I'm female and don't really have to put on a tie for work unless I'm masochistic and want to, but back in secondary school we had to wear a tie for the whole day every first day of the week, and it irritated the heck out of me to have to wear a tight band of polyester around my neck. What can I say, I never forget.
A few weeks ago we had to do a sketch for our CS class and I played the role of a male chauvinist pig, so it was hello tie again. Bad, bad memories.
It's a bit funny to me, and not in a ha-ha way, that almost every working man has to tie a noose around his neck to be presentable at work. What a way to start the day. Might as well have your last meal and be done with it. That said, one of my ex-college mates used to wear a black shirt with a really sexy matte silver tie whenever he did presentations, and that was yummy-looking.
Anyways, recently, I found out a lot about ties, specifically, the different knots used by different men to garrote themselves. I'm glad to report that after 6 years of being forced to wear a tie, I have completely forgotten how to fashion an acceptable tie knot thingy, so it was dad to the rescue again.
IMO, Silk ties are only good for one thing. I wonder what's the name of the knot you use to tie your significant other to the bedposts...
A few weeks ago we had to do a sketch for our CS class and I played the role of a male chauvinist pig, so it was hello tie again. Bad, bad memories.
It's a bit funny to me, and not in a ha-ha way, that almost every working man has to tie a noose around his neck to be presentable at work. What a way to start the day. Might as well have your last meal and be done with it. That said, one of my ex-college mates used to wear a black shirt with a really sexy matte silver tie whenever he did presentations, and that was yummy-looking.
Anyways, recently, I found out a lot about ties, specifically, the different knots used by different men to garrote themselves. I'm glad to report that after 6 years of being forced to wear a tie, I have completely forgotten how to fashion an acceptable tie knot thingy, so it was dad to the rescue again.
IMO, Silk ties are only good for one thing. I wonder what's the name of the knot you use to tie your significant other to the bedposts...
October 28, 2004
of Dungeons and Dragons
No, this is not a blog topic about D&D. It's bad enough I understand the rules, I don't need to further demonstrate my utter geekiness. At least not online anyway.
Ok, this blog is entirely based on this link I stumbled across the other day. Be forewarned, it contains adult material. Oh hell, it says literotica, so you can pretty much guess what the site's about. So, standard warning here. If you're below the age of consent in your state/locality, do us all a favour and don't click on the link, jailbait. Or, if you do click on the link, you agree to absolve me of all moral and legal responsibility for exposing you to the very thing that caused 6 billion people to roam the earth. If you get any popups while visiting that site, you have spyware on your pc. :)
Anyways, I can't even begin to tell you how many of my gamer friends would kill for a girlfriend like that. And, prior to this I thought 20-sided dice were just a new-fangled invention by computer games publishers. Ooh, I remember a D&D-related convo about a year ago.
Me: And with a toss of my six-sided coin...
Him: Oh, a six-sided coin. You mean what we usually refer to as a dice?
Me: *blush*
On another note, this is inspiration for my new blog topic. Why You Should Never Date A Gamer Guy. Yes, I have managed to piss off about 90% of my online acquaintances, but hey, I'll still frag you. *grins*
Ok, this blog is entirely based on this link I stumbled across the other day. Be forewarned, it contains adult material. Oh hell, it says literotica, so you can pretty much guess what the site's about. So, standard warning here. If you're below the age of consent in your state/locality, do us all a favour and don't click on the link, jailbait. Or, if you do click on the link, you agree to absolve me of all moral and legal responsibility for exposing you to the very thing that caused 6 billion people to roam the earth. If you get any popups while visiting that site, you have spyware on your pc. :)
Anyways, I can't even begin to tell you how many of my gamer friends would kill for a girlfriend like that. And, prior to this I thought 20-sided dice were just a new-fangled invention by computer games publishers. Ooh, I remember a D&D-related convo about a year ago.
Me: And with a toss of my six-sided coin...
Him: Oh, a six-sided coin. You mean what we usually refer to as a dice?
Me: *blush*
On another note, this is inspiration for my new blog topic. Why You Should Never Date A Gamer Guy. Yes, I have managed to piss off about 90% of my online acquaintances, but hey, I'll still frag you. *grins*
Apple Pie
Today's blog is inspired by two of my friends who recently broke up with their boyfriends. Advertising messy breakups publicly in a blog to be read by all netizens is the best way to cement a friendship, btw, if you didn't know already. Okay, so perhaps a grand total of 10 people read this blog regularly, but still...
This blog also contains gross generalisations about almost everything, including, but not limited to, male behavior, female behavior, and sex. The author asks, cordially, that readers, especially of the male persuasion, to take this lightly and resist the urge to write rude things about her. Thank you very much. Onwards.
Lately, a number of people close to me have witnessed the end of some pretty serious relationships. After spending much precious time listening to them snivel and sob and blubber their hearts out, I've decided to waste more time by writing this mildly entertaining but ultimately useless piece of junk. Let's start, shall we?
There comes a time in every relationship when a woman needs to assess the whole couple thing and decide whether or not to up the commitment quotient and take the next big step in terms of the evolution of the relationship: moving in together.
Now that may seem like a fairly simple question to answer, but it's actually made up of a few annoying parts. I love him, check. He loves me, check. I want to have sex on a regular basis without having to return to my own house for fresh knickers, check. Does he? Check. Split the rent, the bills, the food? Check check and check.
However, one question remains unanswered. The question that will never occur to most people, the question that will either make or break the fledgling relationship.
Is he house-trained?
Yup, this may seem totally irrelevant and insignificant, but trust me, two couples have recently gone on their separate ways precisely because of this trivial issue, and I'm not talking about the toilet-seat.
Every woman must be doubly sure of her mate's ability to keep himself and his surrounding area clean, say, within a radius of 20 feet. Also, every woman must make sure that her and her mate's definition of clean is on roughly the same highway. It would also be nice if he could actually fit the toilet roll onto the toilet roll holder instead of just lobbing it on top of the water tank cover, but sometimes that's asking too much. Personally, I'd settle for not leaving shirts/shorts/pants/other articles of clothing on the floor where he took them off. (reference: bro and dad)
Some may be asking, why do all this? What is the point of talking about house-training when I can suck her face off in the backseat of my car? Because, dear readers, if he ranks lower on the Darwinian level of cleanliness, the relationship will be a chore once the romance and passion fizzles. Then, you'll start seeing the slimy fungi, the month-old beer stains, the horrifyingly humongous dust balls, and you'll want to sock him over the head with a baseball bat when he tells you that he bought the green shower curtain to match the mold on the tiles.
And the whole point of this article is to hopefully stop people from breaking up over trivial reasons like...leaving mugs by the sink for so long that strange organisms have grown in the leftover milk and sprouted something that looks disturbingly similar to legs.
This blog also contains gross generalisations about almost everything, including, but not limited to, male behavior, female behavior, and sex. The author asks, cordially, that readers, especially of the male persuasion, to take this lightly and resist the urge to write rude things about her. Thank you very much. Onwards.
Lately, a number of people close to me have witnessed the end of some pretty serious relationships. After spending much precious time listening to them snivel and sob and blubber their hearts out, I've decided to waste more time by writing this mildly entertaining but ultimately useless piece of junk. Let's start, shall we?
There comes a time in every relationship when a woman needs to assess the whole couple thing and decide whether or not to up the commitment quotient and take the next big step in terms of the evolution of the relationship: moving in together.
Now that may seem like a fairly simple question to answer, but it's actually made up of a few annoying parts. I love him, check. He loves me, check. I want to have sex on a regular basis without having to return to my own house for fresh knickers, check. Does he? Check. Split the rent, the bills, the food? Check check and check.
However, one question remains unanswered. The question that will never occur to most people, the question that will either make or break the fledgling relationship.
Is he house-trained?
Yup, this may seem totally irrelevant and insignificant, but trust me, two couples have recently gone on their separate ways precisely because of this trivial issue, and I'm not talking about the toilet-seat.
Every woman must be doubly sure of her mate's ability to keep himself and his surrounding area clean, say, within a radius of 20 feet. Also, every woman must make sure that her and her mate's definition of clean is on roughly the same highway. It would also be nice if he could actually fit the toilet roll onto the toilet roll holder instead of just lobbing it on top of the water tank cover, but sometimes that's asking too much. Personally, I'd settle for not leaving shirts/shorts/pants/other articles of clothing on the floor where he took them off. (reference: bro and dad)
Some may be asking, why do all this? What is the point of talking about house-training when I can suck her face off in the backseat of my car? Because, dear readers, if he ranks lower on the Darwinian level of cleanliness, the relationship will be a chore once the romance and passion fizzles. Then, you'll start seeing the slimy fungi, the month-old beer stains, the horrifyingly humongous dust balls, and you'll want to sock him over the head with a baseball bat when he tells you that he bought the green shower curtain to match the mold on the tiles.
And the whole point of this article is to hopefully stop people from breaking up over trivial reasons like...leaving mugs by the sink for so long that strange organisms have grown in the leftover milk and sprouted something that looks disturbingly similar to legs.
October 27, 2004
Exhibitionism
I'm feeling particularly uninhibited today, so I'm going to include pics of my room. Also because I'm trying out the various functions of our digital camera, hehe. The first thing to know before you judge my camera skills is that if I manage to take a picture of someone with the entire head intact, it's a good picture. So no laughing allowed. At least don't let me know about it. *grins*
There're still a number of books that aren't in the pic, principally because I'm afraid the shelves would come crashing down and scare me awake, so I stacked them on my huge ass table, which will not be showen because it's incredibly messy and I want to maintain a good image of myself. In public anyways. My collection of National Geographic mags and Reader's Digest from way back the 70s (no, I wasn't born yet) have currently usurped the cupboard where my mother keeps her fancy crystal. You can see why tomorrow trip to Kinokuniya is something of a stealth mission. Mom is so gonna freak out when she sees me with more books.
I've also discovered that I've lost my Dune and Dune: Messiah books. Actually, discovered is not the right word to use, because I discoverd they were gone about 2-3 weeks ago. I was giving them time to resurface, but it looks like they're only going to appear once I get new copies. So I'm hitting Kinokuniya tomorrow and I bloody well expect to find the books that match all my existing Dune covers, godamnit, or I am going to bite someone.
Not one single swear word, see. Those anger management classes do work.
Finally, this is a pic of my (unmade, obviously) bed, which is a Valentine's day's nightmare. Hearts in red and gold galore!
I belong to the Calvin school of thought. If I'm gonna sleep in it tonight, why should I make the bed if no one's going to see it? Hmmm, new blog topic, yo!
Note: Sorry for the immensely huge pictures. I'm on the old computer and it doesn't run Adobe without choking up, so I thought I'd be nice to it in its old age.
There're still a number of books that aren't in the pic, principally because I'm afraid the shelves would come crashing down and scare me awake, so I stacked them on my huge ass table, which will not be showen because it's incredibly messy and I want to maintain a good image of myself. In public anyways. My collection of National Geographic mags and Reader's Digest from way back the 70s (no, I wasn't born yet) have currently usurped the cupboard where my mother keeps her fancy crystal. You can see why tomorrow trip to Kinokuniya is something of a stealth mission. Mom is so gonna freak out when she sees me with more books.
I've also discovered that I've lost my Dune and Dune: Messiah books. Actually, discovered is not the right word to use, because I discoverd they were gone about 2-3 weeks ago. I was giving them time to resurface, but it looks like they're only going to appear once I get new copies. So I'm hitting Kinokuniya tomorrow and I bloody well expect to find the books that match all my existing Dune covers, godamnit, or I am going to bite someone.
Not one single swear word, see. Those anger management classes do work.
Finally, this is a pic of my (unmade, obviously) bed, which is a Valentine's day's nightmare. Hearts in red and gold galore!
I belong to the Calvin school of thought. If I'm gonna sleep in it tonight, why should I make the bed if no one's going to see it? Hmmm, new blog topic, yo!
Note: Sorry for the immensely huge pictures. I'm on the old computer and it doesn't run Adobe without choking up, so I thought I'd be nice to it in its old age.
Online quizzes are...
October 26, 2004
The plight of pretty girls.
If I weren't the author, the first reaction I'll have is, "Plight? What plight?" and grunt dismissively. Thankfully for the people around me I AM the writer, so they're spared the decidedly unlady-like sounds emanating from my, uh, nostrils.
(Note to self, look up How Humans Grunt)
Yesterday I went out with some friends for our weekly (I wish!) dinner date, and my friend told me this rather sad story. For background info, read Wingman-ism. If you were lazy and didn't click, well, I'm accomodating, I'll type out my history again.
Ok, lame playing with HTML tags aside, I've been blessed with the opportunity to have been friends with some very pretty girls in the past. When I was in APIIT I was friends with a girl who was not only tall, fair and pretty, but nice, smart and hardworking to boot. She also happens to a very nice C cup on a 24, maybe 25 inch waist, so you can imagine what that does to male hearts (and other parts of the body). If there is a god, he can be so unfair at times. Pretty girls are supposed to be airheads, damnit!
Anyway, this friend of mine is also a pretty girl, and she turns a lot of heads. Just so happens that the head she turned this time was the one belonging to the boyfriend of one of her bestest buds (for convenience and clarity, let's just call her Tara). Now in my friend's defence, she doesn't flirt with guys. Not that she needs to, I mean, they already come flocking to her like flies to, erm, like bees to honey. So, long story short, the boyfriend, who started dating Tara about a week ago, switched targets, and Tara got mad at my friend, thus resulting in the general unhappiness of my friend.
Now the part I don't get is why Tara is mad at my pretty friend. If the guy's that fickle to begin with, and can't withstand the sight of a pretty girl, why the hell do you want to stay with a spineless little twerp like that?
Consider the possibility that pretty friend did flirt with Tara's boyfriend. Again, do you want to stick with a guy who can't even stay resolute when it comes to picking a girlfriend? It's almost as bad as people switching football teams, for crying out loud.
The general opinion during last night's dinner, apart from the whole jealousy angle, was that Tara valued her boyfriend more than my friend, which is understandable if the guy has been her boyfriend for 3 years. A week? What happened to bros before hos? Or, in this case, chicks before dicks? (Yes, I can be totally crass and uncouth)
Bleh. It boggles the mind, it does.
The reason I didn't name my pretty friend was because I didn't get her consent. Well, I could've gotten her consent, but then I won't be allowed to talk about her story, so this is by far the better choice, cos if I weren't allowed to talk about this topic then I'd be dry like a dead twig.
(Note to self, look up How Humans Grunt)
Yesterday I went out with some friends for our weekly (I wish!) dinner date, and my friend told me this rather sad story. For background info, read Wingman-ism. If you were lazy and didn't click, well, I'm accomodating, I'll type out my history again.
Ok, lame playing with HTML tags aside, I've been blessed with the opportunity to have been friends with some very pretty girls in the past. When I was in APIIT I was friends with a girl who was not only tall, fair and pretty, but nice, smart and hardworking to boot. She also happens to a very nice C cup on a 24, maybe 25 inch waist, so you can imagine what that does to male hearts (and other parts of the body). If there is a god, he can be so unfair at times. Pretty girls are supposed to be airheads, damnit!
Anyway, this friend of mine is also a pretty girl, and she turns a lot of heads. Just so happens that the head she turned this time was the one belonging to the boyfriend of one of her bestest buds (for convenience and clarity, let's just call her Tara). Now in my friend's defence, she doesn't flirt with guys. Not that she needs to, I mean, they already come flocking to her like flies to, erm, like bees to honey. So, long story short, the boyfriend, who started dating Tara about a week ago, switched targets, and Tara got mad at my friend, thus resulting in the general unhappiness of my friend.
Now the part I don't get is why Tara is mad at my pretty friend. If the guy's that fickle to begin with, and can't withstand the sight of a pretty girl, why the hell do you want to stay with a spineless little twerp like that?
Consider the possibility that pretty friend did flirt with Tara's boyfriend. Again, do you want to stick with a guy who can't even stay resolute when it comes to picking a girlfriend? It's almost as bad as people switching football teams, for crying out loud.
The general opinion during last night's dinner, apart from the whole jealousy angle, was that Tara valued her boyfriend more than my friend, which is understandable if the guy has been her boyfriend for 3 years. A week? What happened to bros before hos? Or, in this case, chicks before dicks? (Yes, I can be totally crass and uncouth)
Bleh. It boggles the mind, it does.
The reason I didn't name my pretty friend was because I didn't get her consent. Well, I could've gotten her consent, but then I won't be allowed to talk about her story, so this is by far the better choice, cos if I weren't allowed to talk about this topic then I'd be dry like a dead twig.
October 25, 2004
Desolation, Devastation and Disorder
Thanks to thesaurus for the title.
I've been beating up hookers and preppy bikini-clad blondes on rollerblades, annihilating rival gang members with my uber uzis, mowing down hapless pedestrians while driving on the wrong side of the road and generally causing much mayhem and destruction for quite some time. (woke up at 10 today)
Right now I have a crick in my neck from lying on my brother's bed too much, so in a fit to reverse the sedentariness (which is a real word) I decided to remove myself from the bed and plonk myself down on the computer chair instead and check my email. Then it occured to me that I haven't blogged in a while, so this is a pretty useless update on my life.
I hate the fact that when rival gangs shoot at me, the police like to pretend they're blind, but when I pull out my Uzi and return fire, I immediately get a wanted star. It also irks me to be shot at by 4 thugs in purple, right in front of a squad car, and the men in blue do nothing to help me, an honest and tax-paying citizen. Jackasses.
Other than that I'm generally enjoying myself. Nothing like the wreaking of a little havoc to brighten up a boring semester break. Now I have to go prepare for my dinner date. I promise a real update sometime next week or so. *grins*
I've been beating up hookers and preppy bikini-clad blondes on rollerblades, annihilating rival gang members with my uber uzis, mowing down hapless pedestrians while driving on the wrong side of the road and generally causing much mayhem and destruction for quite some time. (woke up at 10 today)
Right now I have a crick in my neck from lying on my brother's bed too much, so in a fit to reverse the sedentariness (which is a real word) I decided to remove myself from the bed and plonk myself down on the computer chair instead and check my email. Then it occured to me that I haven't blogged in a while, so this is a pretty useless update on my life.
I hate the fact that when rival gangs shoot at me, the police like to pretend they're blind, but when I pull out my Uzi and return fire, I immediately get a wanted star. It also irks me to be shot at by 4 thugs in purple, right in front of a squad car, and the men in blue do nothing to help me, an honest and tax-paying citizen. Jackasses.
Other than that I'm generally enjoying myself. Nothing like the wreaking of a little havoc to brighten up a boring semester break. Now I have to go prepare for my dinner date. I promise a real update sometime next week or so. *grins*
October 23, 2004
Stupid analogies people like to use.
This is an angry rant you may find offensive to your religion/way of life/beliefs. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Definition of analogy here.
1) Comparing homosexual behavior to bestiality.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, bestiality is wrong. Therefore, if homosexuals are allowed to have sex/get married/adopt kids/etc, I should be allowed to have sex with/get married to/etc my cat/dog/elephant/misc non-human creatures.
Homosexual activities are consensual (if they are not, then they categorised under rape), bestiality is not. Unless you can somehow converse in animal-speak and get your cat/dog/elephant's consent before you screw it, you are technically taking part in what we humans call rape.
Analogy not valid.
2) Comparing homosexual behavior to criminal acts.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, just like murder/rape/arson/robbery.
Murder involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Rape involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Arson involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Robbery involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Homosexual behavior involves two or more willing participants, which creates neither victim nor perpetrator. Just because homosexuality is currently (and IMO erroneously) categorised under criminal acts doesn't mean it is a valid comparison.
Analogy shot to hell.
Wish: If you're going to deny a sizeable population of our society the privileges we 'normal people' enjoy as rights, at least try harder to be intelligent, thanks. And just to be fair, I'm going to leave the comment section open, cos 1) it's not fair if I get to speak but you don't, and 2)where's the fun if everyone agrees with you? More 1) than 2), obviously.
If you're not able to respond in civil and non-trollish manner, then don't respond at all. If you still insist on showing everyone how stupid you are, your comments will be ruthlessly deleted and you will be told, very cordially, to slither back into the soup of primordial slime from whence you crawled out from.
Definition of analogy here.
1) Comparing homosexual behavior to bestiality.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, bestiality is wrong. Therefore, if homosexuals are allowed to have sex/get married/adopt kids/etc, I should be allowed to have sex with/get married to/etc my cat/dog/elephant/misc non-human creatures.
Homosexual activities are consensual (if they are not, then they categorised under rape), bestiality is not. Unless you can somehow converse in animal-speak and get your cat/dog/elephant's consent before you screw it, you are technically taking part in what we humans call rape.
Analogy not valid.
2) Comparing homosexual behavior to criminal acts.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, just like murder/rape/arson/robbery.
Murder involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Rape involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Arson involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Robbery involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Homosexual behavior involves two or more willing participants, which creates neither victim nor perpetrator. Just because homosexuality is currently (and IMO erroneously) categorised under criminal acts doesn't mean it is a valid comparison.
Analogy shot to hell.
Wish: If you're going to deny a sizeable population of our society the privileges we 'normal people' enjoy as rights, at least try harder to be intelligent, thanks. And just to be fair, I'm going to leave the comment section open, cos 1) it's not fair if I get to speak but you don't, and 2)where's the fun if everyone agrees with you? More 1) than 2), obviously.
If you're not able to respond in civil and non-trollish manner, then don't respond at all. If you still insist on showing everyone how stupid you are, your comments will be ruthlessly deleted and you will be told, very cordially, to slither back into the soup of primordial slime from whence you crawled out from.
Pointless Post #85
I was struck by a recent conversation between my parents that was quite...evocative. We were in the car driving to some restaurant for dinner with my aunts and grandparents, who were in their car at the back of us. Anyways, dad was driving well within the speed limit because, well, mom gets fidgety whenever anyone travels over 80 on a highway. (No one in the family got her genes, heheh)
That day though, mom was bitten by the speed bug, and asked my dad why he was driving so slowly. Me and my brother, we were sitting in the backseat, and we exchanged very meaningful glances. Dad said he didn't want my granpa to have to drive fast to keep up, to which Mom retorted that granpa probably drives faster than him.
Sidenote: My dad was once an obnoxious taxi-driver, and currently drives a souped-up Wira. He's not exactly a neophyte when it comes to driving.
Anyways, Dad, being male, and therefore completely under the thumb of his wife, accelerated a tad. So we were sitting in the car discussing the disparity between America's imports and exports, when it started to rain. That was when it happened.
"Why're you driving so fast? You want to kill us all?" (said by Mom)
Ok, so it was raining, and the roads are slippery. Didn't stop us from looking at each other with raised eyebrows though, heh. Dad obliged and slowed down accordingly, and mom sat back and enjoyed the scenery. After about 15 minutes of slow cruising, the weather went from heavy rain to heavy drizzle, and I was starting to get cranky cos I'm hungry. Mom then told dad to step on it cos it was 8+ and my aunts were used to eating dinner at 7.
Meaningful glances were again exchanged by the occupants of the backseat. Snickers were withheld, as my dad, long-suffering and probably resigned to the fact that [generalisation alert!] women are VERY contradictory, accelerated the car.
It was then that I realised that my dad had a heck lot of patience, cos if I was driving I would've gotten out of the car and given up the driver's seat to my mom. In a polite and mannerly fashion that would not result in her disowning me, of course. But I digress; there was just no way for my dad to win. Luckily for him he also has a wacky sense of humour, which gets us in stitches whenever my mom does things like this to him.
This post has absolutely no point. :p Hooray for dad, I suppose.
That day though, mom was bitten by the speed bug, and asked my dad why he was driving so slowly. Me and my brother, we were sitting in the backseat, and we exchanged very meaningful glances. Dad said he didn't want my granpa to have to drive fast to keep up, to which Mom retorted that granpa probably drives faster than him.
Sidenote: My dad was once an obnoxious taxi-driver, and currently drives a souped-up Wira. He's not exactly a neophyte when it comes to driving.
Anyways, Dad, being male, and therefore completely under the thumb of his wife, accelerated a tad. So we were sitting in the car discussing the disparity between America's imports and exports, when it started to rain. That was when it happened.
"Why're you driving so fast? You want to kill us all?" (said by Mom)
Ok, so it was raining, and the roads are slippery. Didn't stop us from looking at each other with raised eyebrows though, heh. Dad obliged and slowed down accordingly, and mom sat back and enjoyed the scenery. After about 15 minutes of slow cruising, the weather went from heavy rain to heavy drizzle, and I was starting to get cranky cos I'm hungry. Mom then told dad to step on it cos it was 8+ and my aunts were used to eating dinner at 7.
Meaningful glances were again exchanged by the occupants of the backseat. Snickers were withheld, as my dad, long-suffering and probably resigned to the fact that [generalisation alert!] women are VERY contradictory, accelerated the car.
It was then that I realised that my dad had a heck lot of patience, cos if I was driving I would've gotten out of the car and given up the driver's seat to my mom. In a polite and mannerly fashion that would not result in her disowning me, of course. But I digress; there was just no way for my dad to win. Luckily for him he also has a wacky sense of humour, which gets us in stitches whenever my mom does things like this to him.
This post has absolutely no point. :p Hooray for dad, I suppose.
October 22, 2004
This post is kinda full of obscure references to people you probably don't know.
I am a heartless bitch, I don't like to have anything to do with anything alive. Definition of alive: anything that has to depend on me for food/shelter/care/love. Ocassionally though, I find myself touched by the plight of animals.
About a year ago a good friend from BF, who's a guinea pig nut, tried to nurse a very sick Pig 3 back to health, but failed. Through the course of a 3-4 PMs, I started to feel bad for Pig 3, and tried to send a kiss to it in hopes that it would get better, ala Snow White. The poor thing died though, and in the end my friend composed a little something called The Pig 3 Ditty, and it was so infectious one of his beefy biker housemates was caught humming along to the tune.
Today, I am again reminded of the same feeling. The feeling of sadness because a friend tried to nurse a sick animal back to health but failed. (It's not the same friend btw)
RIP, animals. Take care of yourself, friend.
I am a heartless bitch, I don't like to have anything to do with anything alive. Definition of alive: anything that has to depend on me for food/shelter/care/love. Ocassionally though, I find myself touched by the plight of animals.
About a year ago a good friend from BF, who's a guinea pig nut, tried to nurse a very sick Pig 3 back to health, but failed. Through the course of a 3-4 PMs, I started to feel bad for Pig 3, and tried to send a kiss to it in hopes that it would get better, ala Snow White. The poor thing died though, and in the end my friend composed a little something called The Pig 3 Ditty, and it was so infectious one of his beefy biker housemates was caught humming along to the tune.
Today, I am again reminded of the same feeling. The feeling of sadness because a friend tried to nurse a sick animal back to health but failed. (It's not the same friend btw)
RIP, animals. Take care of yourself, friend.
October 21, 2004
"Just friends."
Sometimes, dating couples have no idea whether they're still 'just friends' or have graduated to become 'boyfriend-girlfriend'. When a man and a woman have been together for a while, what distinguishes friend-behavior and lover-behavior? Who decides the status of the relationship?
Ahem. How Sex-And-The-City is that? *grins*
Ok, seriously, while at the salon today, I got a phone call from my friend. Since the stylist has finished my hair and was working on my granma's perm, I decided to happily yak on the phone while my granma was chatting to another auntie there.
My friend has been dating this guy for a few months, and while they've been doing the usual couple-ly things like holding hands and trading saliva, she wasn't exactly sure of the footing of their relationship, cos, well, she overheard her guy tell his friend that they were 'just friends'.
I don't really think I'm the person to come for relationship advice, since I've been in a funk for 4 years (and counting), but this was what we yakked about for half an hour. She didn't know what to do, since to her they're officially dating (hence the kissing) but to him they're just friends, and apparently kissing is what he does with his regular girl friends.
After approximately 25 minutes of fretting, she asked me what I would do if I were in her place. Hmm, this is kinda hard.
"Maybe you could try asking him?" sez I.
Horrified, she responded, "I can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Well, because." She paused, "I'm a girl."
"So'm I, but I would ask him if he were my boyfriend."
"...I can't."
"What do you wanna do then?"
"I dunno."
"Ok. I just think it'd be easier to find out once and for all than spend about RM5 to call me from your handphone and worry about this."
"It's about 15 bucks, silly."
We then got sidetracked and said goodbye after another 3 minutes of enquiring after one another and setting a lunch date for tomorrow.
After the phone call I got to thinking about why it's not done to just ask. I mean, if there's something you don't understand, you ask. Obviously not everyone is as crazy as I am, but that doesn't mean you should just sit around and wait for some clarification that might not even come. Chiefly because I think the guy's not telepathic and wouldn't know what my friend was thinking, but still, even if he is, I'd ask. Wait, scrap that, that doesn't make any sense.
Anyway, I dunno. I'd just rather know once and for all than be flung into a state of limbo, wondering and worrying about what other people are thinking, eventually vexing myself to a point where I start gnawing the sofa armrests. Not good for my teeth, and not good for my wellbeing, on account of my mom yelling and all that.
So I have no idea how much handphone calls cost. But I'll know why my boyfriend thinks we're still 'just friends' even after he groped my ass. Ass-groping that's not followed by a knee to the groin is strictly reserved for significant others only.
Ahem. How Sex-And-The-City is that? *grins*
Ok, seriously, while at the salon today, I got a phone call from my friend. Since the stylist has finished my hair and was working on my granma's perm, I decided to happily yak on the phone while my granma was chatting to another auntie there.
My friend has been dating this guy for a few months, and while they've been doing the usual couple-ly things like holding hands and trading saliva, she wasn't exactly sure of the footing of their relationship, cos, well, she overheard her guy tell his friend that they were 'just friends'.
I don't really think I'm the person to come for relationship advice, since I've been in a funk for 4 years (and counting), but this was what we yakked about for half an hour. She didn't know what to do, since to her they're officially dating (hence the kissing) but to him they're just friends, and apparently kissing is what he does with his regular girl friends.
After approximately 25 minutes of fretting, she asked me what I would do if I were in her place. Hmm, this is kinda hard.
"Maybe you could try asking him?" sez I.
Horrified, she responded, "I can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Well, because." She paused, "I'm a girl."
"So'm I, but I would ask him if he were my boyfriend."
"...I can't."
"What do you wanna do then?"
"I dunno."
"Ok. I just think it'd be easier to find out once and for all than spend about RM5 to call me from your handphone and worry about this."
"It's about 15 bucks, silly."
We then got sidetracked and said goodbye after another 3 minutes of enquiring after one another and setting a lunch date for tomorrow.
After the phone call I got to thinking about why it's not done to just ask. I mean, if there's something you don't understand, you ask. Obviously not everyone is as crazy as I am, but that doesn't mean you should just sit around and wait for some clarification that might not even come. Chiefly because I think the guy's not telepathic and wouldn't know what my friend was thinking, but still, even if he is, I'd ask. Wait, scrap that, that doesn't make any sense.
Anyway, I dunno. I'd just rather know once and for all than be flung into a state of limbo, wondering and worrying about what other people are thinking, eventually vexing myself to a point where I start gnawing the sofa armrests. Not good for my teeth, and not good for my wellbeing, on account of my mom yelling and all that.
So I have no idea how much handphone calls cost. But I'll know why my boyfriend thinks we're still 'just friends' even after he groped my ass. Ass-groping that's not followed by a knee to the groin is strictly reserved for significant others only.
Rapunzel
No, it's not another dirty fairytale, and I'm not Rapunzel, not by a long stretch, but I went and cut my hair today. Admittedly, it doesn't look much different, but you won't believe the amount of hair the stylist lopped off. Next time I'll remember to bring a camera along.
Anyways, I was this close to coming back with curls instead of boring old straight hair. Seriously, I was almost seduced by the stylist's spiel and nearly consented to a 'spa' perm, which was supposed to infuse some concoction of essential oils into my hair, making it silky and shiny. Of course, the biggest selling point was that it's supposed to make me look pretty, and what girl could refuse that?
And then I thought, I don't even comb my hair in the mornings, would I really have the patience to deal with permed hair? For the uninitiated, if you have permed hair and you don't want to look like Diana Ross, you have to apply some sort of sculpting lotion to make the curls set after you wash your hair. You also have to wrap your head in a towel for those treatment thingies at least once a week so your hair doesn't frizz to the high heavens. I'm too lazy to even apply conditioner, would I really do that religiously?
But then again, Michelle's always telling me to gussy up to attract the males, so maybe I can handle that. I mean, if I wanna get married by 30 I'd better start looking now, ya?
I balked at the price though. RM350 for hair? OMG NOTHX. I'd rather go shopping. Low maintenance, that's the way to go.
::Left is Before, Right is After::
Anyways, I was this close to coming back with curls instead of boring old straight hair. Seriously, I was almost seduced by the stylist's spiel and nearly consented to a 'spa' perm, which was supposed to infuse some concoction of essential oils into my hair, making it silky and shiny. Of course, the biggest selling point was that it's supposed to make me look pretty, and what girl could refuse that?
And then I thought, I don't even comb my hair in the mornings, would I really have the patience to deal with permed hair? For the uninitiated, if you have permed hair and you don't want to look like Diana Ross, you have to apply some sort of sculpting lotion to make the curls set after you wash your hair. You also have to wrap your head in a towel for those treatment thingies at least once a week so your hair doesn't frizz to the high heavens. I'm too lazy to even apply conditioner, would I really do that religiously?
But then again, Michelle's always telling me to gussy up to attract the males, so maybe I can handle that. I mean, if I wanna get married by 30 I'd better start looking now, ya?
I balked at the price though. RM350 for hair? OMG NOTHX. I'd rather go shopping. Low maintenance, that's the way to go.
October 20, 2004
How I Lost My Spleen
I'm not talking about Taylor's (though they did mislead me about my exemptions prior to registration). I'm talking about APIIT, the college that's trying to get a University in front of its name. Two words: God forbid. See? I care about this so much I even capitalised God. Onwards to the main body!
How I Lost My Spleen:
From the lecturers, who read from the slides, which can be downloaded from the student web portal anyway. Why the hell am I paying you to read to me?
From the lecturers again, who don't answer the class when questioned about parts of the syllabus we don't understand. Standard answer? "Read the textbook." Why the hell am I paying you again?
From dealing with incompetent-and-sometimes-downright-stupid admin staff, who also manage to be rude at the same time. It's almost like being in secondary school again, except in secondary school I don't pay money to be patronised. They've got the fast food system down to a pat, it's all self-service there.
From the hopeless admin staff, who actually gave us the marking scheme instead of the exam questions for our semester finals, resulting in a delay of about an hour. After which we were given a set of questions, half of them about topics we weren't even taught in class.
From lecturers again, specifically Caroline, who waltzed in after the exam fiasco and demanded that we sit for the exam, which we would fail if we did. Her reasoning? "You are responsible for covering all the topics whether the lecturer taught them or not." Thank god people like her aren't running the country. Oh wait...
From supreme bad timing, which was exactly a day after the above-mentioned exam fiasco. We were sitting for another paper, and the stipulated time was 3 hours. An hour into the paper, an admin staff came in and told us it was actually a two-hour paper. Which is a fancy way of saying, "You're screwed."
From lecturers, who can't make up their minds on what they want to see in our projects. For our Business Research Methods subject, our belovedest lecturer changed her mind 3 times, resulting in mass confusion and general curses (very bad curses) towards her direction. It's not that we're excessively hard on her, it's just that the last time she changed her mind was 3 hours before the project was due, and it wasn't humanly possible to give her what she wanted in 3 hours.
Once more, from 'lecturers' who 'teach' some of the subjects. On the excessive usage of inverted commas, it's because the 'lecturers' themselves are sometimes confused with what they're saying in class, but they keep talking anyway. Mark Twain said, "It's better to close your mouth and remain a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt." Obviously, no one reads Mark Twain anymore. So what do you call a 'lecturer' who can't 'teach'?
Finally, the absolute unfairness of the rules. APIIT students in KL weren't allowed to wear jeans or capri pants, but APIIT student in the now-closed DH branch were allowed to violate those very same rules with impunity. (I had friends in DH, thank you) We were also expected to speak English all the time, even when I'm in the lift conversing with my granma on the phone. My granma who doesn't speak English. And the lecturers used words like 'jeopardisation' and 'best level'.
Sometimes, the irony writes itself.
Towards the end of my Higher Diploma, I was ill for 4 months, (not consecutively though) and that was probably a blessing in disguise, since I didn't have to go to the place and see the people there. It gave me a headache just to look at the place, and talking to the people there made me want to vomit buckets of blood. (translate to Cantonese pls)
Anyways, this is all from my personal experience. I'm sure plenty of APIIT grads have had a great time in APIIT. *snickers*
How I Lost My Spleen:
From the lecturers, who read from the slides, which can be downloaded from the student web portal anyway. Why the hell am I paying you to read to me?
From the lecturers again, who don't answer the class when questioned about parts of the syllabus we don't understand. Standard answer? "Read the textbook." Why the hell am I paying you again?
From dealing with incompetent-and-sometimes-downright-stupid admin staff, who also manage to be rude at the same time. It's almost like being in secondary school again, except in secondary school I don't pay money to be patronised. They've got the fast food system down to a pat, it's all self-service there.
From the hopeless admin staff, who actually gave us the marking scheme instead of the exam questions for our semester finals, resulting in a delay of about an hour. After which we were given a set of questions, half of them about topics we weren't even taught in class.
From lecturers again, specifically Caroline, who waltzed in after the exam fiasco and demanded that we sit for the exam, which we would fail if we did. Her reasoning? "You are responsible for covering all the topics whether the lecturer taught them or not." Thank god people like her aren't running the country. Oh wait...
From supreme bad timing, which was exactly a day after the above-mentioned exam fiasco. We were sitting for another paper, and the stipulated time was 3 hours. An hour into the paper, an admin staff came in and told us it was actually a two-hour paper. Which is a fancy way of saying, "You're screwed."
From lecturers, who can't make up their minds on what they want to see in our projects. For our Business Research Methods subject, our belovedest lecturer changed her mind 3 times, resulting in mass confusion and general curses (very bad curses) towards her direction. It's not that we're excessively hard on her, it's just that the last time she changed her mind was 3 hours before the project was due, and it wasn't humanly possible to give her what she wanted in 3 hours.
Once more, from 'lecturers' who 'teach' some of the subjects. On the excessive usage of inverted commas, it's because the 'lecturers' themselves are sometimes confused with what they're saying in class, but they keep talking anyway. Mark Twain said, "It's better to close your mouth and remain a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt." Obviously, no one reads Mark Twain anymore. So what do you call a 'lecturer' who can't 'teach'?
Finally, the absolute unfairness of the rules. APIIT students in KL weren't allowed to wear jeans or capri pants, but APIIT student in the now-closed DH branch were allowed to violate those very same rules with impunity. (I had friends in DH, thank you) We were also expected to speak English all the time, even when I'm in the lift conversing with my granma on the phone. My granma who doesn't speak English. And the lecturers used words like 'jeopardisation' and 'best level'.
Sometimes, the irony writes itself.
Towards the end of my Higher Diploma, I was ill for 4 months, (not consecutively though) and that was probably a blessing in disguise, since I didn't have to go to the place and see the people there. It gave me a headache just to look at the place, and talking to the people there made me want to vomit buckets of blood. (translate to Cantonese pls)
Anyways, this is all from my personal experience. I'm sure plenty of APIIT grads have had a great time in APIIT. *snickers*
October 18, 2004
The WCG and Jake Gyllenhaal
Sat through my Accounts exams today, and ended up being royally screwed. On the upside I'm officially on holiday and can sit at home and rot till the room stinks of my bodily odours, and no one would care.
Anyway, as promised, pics from the WCG. Hey, it's late, but better than never, yeah? Because I don't want to break your puny little 56k modem, all images open in a new window.
The Finals in LA.
The Finals in LA, Part II.
Shuttle thingy to the WCG.
Layout of the warzone. Calm and pristine before all the inevitable spillage of blood and gore. That is a heck lot of computers. :p
Ooh, mamak stall screenies! I want that banner.
Boy, these sure are more impressive when lighted up. I take back the mamak stall comment because, well, purple owns.
Flashy graphics on the giant screenies!
What's better than flashy graphics on a giant screenie? Why, more flashy graphics on a giant screenie, of course!
And fugly teal heralds the beginning of the competition. At least, I think that's what it's doing.
This should be the warm-up period.
Notice the same guy standing there. :)
StarCraft!
Darkness. Must be exciting. Here's a word of advice though, don't do it with Doom 3 unless you actually like having the bejesus scared out of you. You sicko.
More darkness.
Yet more darkness.
Again with the giant screens. Thought it was over, did ya?
Spectators. Or cheerleaders, minus some spirit and pom-poms.
More spectators. Guy in black looks official-like though. Crowd control, maybe?
Either it's really late or the WCG isn't that exciting after all. :p
Misc pics of gamers doing their thang.
I wonder if they ever get annoyed by the flashes and swat photographers away like you'd swat a fly...?
City of San Francisco.
Spot the Cloakie! :D
Ok, I have no idea what this is. Looks kinda football-ish though.
The awarding of medals. Bloody Yanks. :)
That looks like a mock check. Anyway, this pic is nicer than the one above, cos of the Roman-esque pillar thingy on top.
One of those boring sleep-through-it speech things.
The Aftermath.
The Aftermath, Part Deux. Hmm...someone must have hidden the weed. *grins*
What's a little LAN party without booze? *grins* At least you get drunk in style.
There's a reason for this truck being here. [hint]above 3 pics[/hint]
Throw a bunch of guys together and they play...strip poker? From the right, the second guy standing looks familiar, yes? A gamer who looks a bit like Jake Gyllenhaal...yummy. Btw, this pic is the reason why Jake's name is on the title. Don't you suddenly feel so cheated? :)
Now, to give credit where credit is due, all pics (blurriness and all) are property of Shaun "Redcloak" Skelton, the occasionally-caustic-but-always-funny admin of Blizzforums. He even offered me some higher quality pics to put here, but I politely declined. As you can see, he is an all-round cool guy. :) If you feel a need to demonstrate your gratefulness, RC never says no to good porn.
All commentaries are property of myself, so if there're any mistakes or inappropriate comments, it's all my brain's fault. From the pics, it looks like a pretty successful WCG.
That's it for 2004. See you all in Singapore!
Anyway, as promised, pics from the WCG. Hey, it's late, but better than never, yeah? Because I don't want to break your puny little 56k modem, all images open in a new window.
The Finals in LA.
The Finals in LA, Part II.
Shuttle thingy to the WCG.
Layout of the warzone. Calm and pristine before all the inevitable spillage of blood and gore. That is a heck lot of computers. :p
Ooh, mamak stall screenies! I want that banner.
Boy, these sure are more impressive when lighted up. I take back the mamak stall comment because, well, purple owns.
Flashy graphics on the giant screenies!
What's better than flashy graphics on a giant screenie? Why, more flashy graphics on a giant screenie, of course!
And fugly teal heralds the beginning of the competition. At least, I think that's what it's doing.
This should be the warm-up period.
Notice the same guy standing there. :)
StarCraft!
Darkness. Must be exciting. Here's a word of advice though, don't do it with Doom 3 unless you actually like having the bejesus scared out of you. You sicko.
More darkness.
Yet more darkness.
Again with the giant screens. Thought it was over, did ya?
Spectators. Or cheerleaders, minus some spirit and pom-poms.
More spectators. Guy in black looks official-like though. Crowd control, maybe?
Either it's really late or the WCG isn't that exciting after all. :p
Misc pics of gamers doing their thang.
I wonder if they ever get annoyed by the flashes and swat photographers away like you'd swat a fly...?
City of San Francisco.
Spot the Cloakie! :D
Ok, I have no idea what this is. Looks kinda football-ish though.
The awarding of medals. Bloody Yanks. :)
That looks like a mock check. Anyway, this pic is nicer than the one above, cos of the Roman-esque pillar thingy on top.
One of those boring sleep-through-it speech things.
The Aftermath.
The Aftermath, Part Deux. Hmm...someone must have hidden the weed. *grins*
What's a little LAN party without booze? *grins* At least you get drunk in style.
There's a reason for this truck being here. [hint]above 3 pics[/hint]
Throw a bunch of guys together and they play...strip poker? From the right, the second guy standing looks familiar, yes? A gamer who looks a bit like Jake Gyllenhaal...yummy. Btw, this pic is the reason why Jake's name is on the title. Don't you suddenly feel so cheated? :)
Now, to give credit where credit is due, all pics (blurriness and all) are property of Shaun "Redcloak" Skelton, the occasionally-caustic-but-always-funny admin of Blizzforums. He even offered me some higher quality pics to put here, but I politely declined. As you can see, he is an all-round cool guy. :) If you feel a need to demonstrate your gratefulness, RC never says no to good porn.
All commentaries are property of myself, so if there're any mistakes or inappropriate comments, it's all my brain's fault. From the pics, it looks like a pretty successful WCG.
That's it for 2004. See you all in Singapore!
October 15, 2004
And my faith in Vengeance is restored!
As you can probably deduce from the title, something happened today which made me believe that Nemesis (ctrl+F vengeance pls) does, in fact, exist. Remove all doubts now, O ye non-believers, lest she visits her vengeance upon thee.
I was on my way to college today to sit for my Intro to Human Communication final exam, which was slated at 3pm, and it was 2.26. I was already near Bali, and if you're familiar with the roads there, I need to cut into 3 lanes from the flyover in order to reach the left turning that would take me into the carpark of the Bali building. Right after I managed to inch my way into the final lane that would lead to the left turning, the car behind me leaned on the horn. Very long, very loud.
As some of you know, driving is not something I enjoy. In fact, there aren't many things I wouldn't do to weasel my way out of driving, but that's another story. The reason I don't like driving is because a)I meet a lot of idiots on the road, and b)driving brings out the worst in me. Hey, it's not my fault I don't suffer fools gladly.
Anyway, one of my pet peeves is sore losers who try their best to do everything in an attempt to erase the fact that they just 'lost' a 'competition' and let a car into their lane. For some reason, this always happens to me, and I have solid proof that it's because of the stupid red P sign stuck to my back windscreen. (FYI, I'm no longer on probation, I share a car with my bro.)
It's not that I'm very aggressive on the road. I just try not to let queue-jumpers into my lane and I always let people in when they have their indicators on. Sign of politeness and so on. Whenever people say 'thank you' by raising their hands, I feel warm and fuzzy inside, because there're still good, nice people out there. Outnumbered and outclassed in terms of self-importance, but still, out there.
To all the deadbeats out there who somehow feel that their manhood is challenged by a girl in a black Kembara adorned with a red P sign, please, try to appreciate that driving means getting from one place to another. It's not a battle of skills to the death. So I cut into your lane, big deal, you suffered a lapse of concentration, or maybe you were never that good at driving to begin with. Either way, GET OVER IT.
You wanna lean on your horn to show your displeasure, fine, go ahead. You wanna drive parallel to me and stare me down, hey, knock yourself out. I'm not gonna look at you anyway. You wanna wind down your window and be creative with Cantonese, sure, go ahead. You wanna swerve into my lane in an attempt to scare me, be my guest. Nerves of steel, that's me.
Now, that's enough exposition. Today, that car behind me, which shall be known as The Proton Saga, or alternatively, The Idiot, decided that leaning on the horn wasn't enough. Oh no, he decided to cut to the outer lane and drive parallel to my car, trying to do stare me down. Cars and people work the same way, you don't try to stare down someone taller than you are. For some reason, today I decided to reciprocate, and proceeded to counter-attack with my Evil Eye.
Here's the funny part. He was so busy staring at me that he slammed into the car in front of him. Gee, I hope it's nothing trivial, asshat.
Nemesis, I hereby sacrifice this cute little dog-like thingy to thy Greatness. May your grace be forever upon me.
I just remembered, I even had my left indicator on. Sheesh.
I was on my way to college today to sit for my Intro to Human Communication final exam, which was slated at 3pm, and it was 2.26. I was already near Bali, and if you're familiar with the roads there, I need to cut into 3 lanes from the flyover in order to reach the left turning that would take me into the carpark of the Bali building. Right after I managed to inch my way into the final lane that would lead to the left turning, the car behind me leaned on the horn. Very long, very loud.
As some of you know, driving is not something I enjoy. In fact, there aren't many things I wouldn't do to weasel my way out of driving, but that's another story. The reason I don't like driving is because a)I meet a lot of idiots on the road, and b)driving brings out the worst in me. Hey, it's not my fault I don't suffer fools gladly.
Anyway, one of my pet peeves is sore losers who try their best to do everything in an attempt to erase the fact that they just 'lost' a 'competition' and let a car into their lane. For some reason, this always happens to me, and I have solid proof that it's because of the stupid red P sign stuck to my back windscreen. (FYI, I'm no longer on probation, I share a car with my bro.)
It's not that I'm very aggressive on the road. I just try not to let queue-jumpers into my lane and I always let people in when they have their indicators on. Sign of politeness and so on. Whenever people say 'thank you' by raising their hands, I feel warm and fuzzy inside, because there're still good, nice people out there. Outnumbered and outclassed in terms of self-importance, but still, out there.
To all the deadbeats out there who somehow feel that their manhood is challenged by a girl in a black Kembara adorned with a red P sign, please, try to appreciate that driving means getting from one place to another. It's not a battle of skills to the death. So I cut into your lane, big deal, you suffered a lapse of concentration, or maybe you were never that good at driving to begin with. Either way, GET OVER IT.
You wanna lean on your horn to show your displeasure, fine, go ahead. You wanna drive parallel to me and stare me down, hey, knock yourself out. I'm not gonna look at you anyway. You wanna wind down your window and be creative with Cantonese, sure, go ahead. You wanna swerve into my lane in an attempt to scare me, be my guest. Nerves of steel, that's me.
Now, that's enough exposition. Today, that car behind me, which shall be known as The Proton Saga, or alternatively, The Idiot, decided that leaning on the horn wasn't enough. Oh no, he decided to cut to the outer lane and drive parallel to my car, trying to do stare me down. Cars and people work the same way, you don't try to stare down someone taller than you are. For some reason, today I decided to reciprocate, and proceeded to counter-attack with my Evil Eye.
Here's the funny part. He was so busy staring at me that he slammed into the car in front of him. Gee, I hope it's nothing trivial, asshat.
Nemesis, I hereby sacrifice this cute little dog-like thingy to thy Greatness. May your grace be forever upon me.
I just remembered, I even had my left indicator on. Sheesh.
October 12, 2004
Of Ambitions and The Garden of Versailles
Remember back in primary school when they made you fill in those little forms about what you wanted to be when you grew up? I wanted to be a teacher from primary 1 till 5, and it's not because of some noble intention to educate the young while being paid pittance for it too. No, I wanted to be a teacher because teachers got to write on the blackboards with chalk, and back in my childhood chalk was like the pinnacle of fun. Chalk was like Gameboy Advanced.
Following closely on Teacher's heels was Writer, an ambition I'm slowly fulfilling now that I have about 10 readers on my blog and even celebrity patronage once in a blue moon. I forgot about what I wrote in Number 3, cos I had a really short attention span that usually didn't last beyond the third blank space. Bad news for exams, really.
In primary 6 I wanted to be a Chicken Rice Seller, cos back then chicken rice was very popular and I figured I could make a bundle by chopping up various chicken innards and serving them to businessmen in shirts and ties. Sounded like an easy way to make money, and I could solve the problem of my short attention span in one stroke.
In Form 1, in my rebellious mood, I decided that I wanted to be a prostitute, because it seemed even easier to make money lying on my back. Besides, it shocked the heck out of my teacher. That was, until I found out that it was the pimps who made all the money. The poor girls just get exploited, so scratch that.
From Form 2 to Form 5, I wanted to be a VCD seller. True, I didn't fit the typical mould of the VCD seller, cos I didn't have the dyed tacky blonde hair, the nose/ear/eyebrow piercing, and most importantly, the Magical Inflatable Thingy, but hey, I had a brain and I could probably outwit the DBKL fatcats. Besides, you won't believe the profit margin, sez my VCD-seller friends (now ex VCD-sellers)
After that, I was in APIIT for almost 3 years and all I wanted to do was get out of that atrocious god-forsaken hellhole in one piece. I think I left behind my spleen, but then in the grand scheme of things, I guess spleen ranks lower than, say heart or liver, and I'm already an emotional wreck, so I don't think it's a huge loss.
You may wonder why there're pictures of pretty gardens and statues when I'm talking about chicken rice and prostitutes. Now that I'm in Taylor's and supposed to be all grown up, I'm departing from my childish ambitions and have decided from now on, my life goal is to go to the Gardens of Versailles with the people who matter to me in life, at least once before I die.
October 11, 2004
Exam nerves and pyschosis
It's been a while since I've had exam nerves, and to be honest, I'm too bloody old for this. Exam nerves are for the inexperienced 16s, not the inexperienced 21s. I blame it on my own expectations.
I think it's a relatively Chinese thing to go and speak to those shadowy fortune-teller people who sit by the tokong with their slips of papers with calligraphy on it, and a thick, worn out red book resting on top of their rickety tables. Ok, so that's a description from the HK serial dramas and I've never actually seen one of these mysterious mediums before, but I was nonetheless subjected to their all-seeing scrutiny.
Every mother, or in my case, grandmother, who visits these clairvoyants are bound to hit them with one question, will my daughter marry a rich man, preferably a doctor or a lawyer, and will he be nice to her/not cheat/provide for her/leave her all his property and misc assets upon his death?
My maternal grandmother gave my Chinese name, birthdate, time of birth, weight upon arrival to this world, colour of my hair and number of waggedy fingers (10! Glorious number) to this clairvoyant lady and she rattled off a list of characteristics that supposedly defined my person. Scarily enough, most of them are turning out to be true. Maybe it's because I've known about this and have unconsciously been shaping my life in order to fit The Prophecy.
Wow, that almost made me sound like the main character in an RPG. w00tness.
Anyway, before I digress further and lose the already-obscure point of this blog, the medium lady took one look at all my information and said that while I was relatively smart, (meaning I can count to 21 without taking off my pants. Oh wait...) I lack drive and ambition. She also said a whole load of other things, but this is the only printable one, so bleh.
You may be wondering what's the relevance between the first paragraph with the following ten. The point is, I like my lack of drive and ambition, because it makes my life easier. I spent almost three years in APIIT, and during my final 2 semesters, which is about 6 months long in total, I missed about 4 months of it due to illness, and with a heart as calm as the lakes that sleep, I marched into the exam hall, crapped a shitload on how to perform quality control in a manufacturing organisation, and passed all my subjects.
Therein lies the difference between wanting just a pass and wanting to score an A. With the pass all I have to do is read some of my notes and relax, eat some fruits and maybe play a game of Gunbound or two while I'm at it. You know, to clear the mind. With the A, fuiyo. All the while I'm cramming on my notes I have to wonder how they might phrase the question and completely freak out when I can't remember how many times the Printing Presses and Publications Act was amended. (4)
I can also sleep at night without staring at my ceiling, which, incidentally, is very big indeed.
I want my lack of drive back! I don't want the adrenaline of a pumping heart 12 hours before my exams, and I don't want to toss and turn all night without being able to sleep. I want to be mellow without resorting to alcohol and I want to be cool and calm, not walking around the corridors screeching Close To You like a parrot on valium.
Coming soon to a blog near you, 10 Reasons Why APIIT Sucks!
I think it's a relatively Chinese thing to go and speak to those shadowy fortune-teller people who sit by the tokong with their slips of papers with calligraphy on it, and a thick, worn out red book resting on top of their rickety tables. Ok, so that's a description from the HK serial dramas and I've never actually seen one of these mysterious mediums before, but I was nonetheless subjected to their all-seeing scrutiny.
::Picture taken from Mutant Frog Travelogue::
Every mother, or in my case, grandmother, who visits these clairvoyants are bound to hit them with one question, will my daughter marry a rich man, preferably a doctor or a lawyer, and will he be nice to her/not cheat/provide for her/leave her all his property and misc assets upon his death?
My maternal grandmother gave my Chinese name, birthdate, time of birth, weight upon arrival to this world, colour of my hair and number of waggedy fingers (10! Glorious number) to this clairvoyant lady and she rattled off a list of characteristics that supposedly defined my person. Scarily enough, most of them are turning out to be true. Maybe it's because I've known about this and have unconsciously been shaping my life in order to fit The Prophecy.
Wow, that almost made me sound like the main character in an RPG. w00tness.
Anyway, before I digress further and lose the already-obscure point of this blog, the medium lady took one look at all my information and said that while I was relatively smart, (meaning I can count to 21 without taking off my pants. Oh wait...) I lack drive and ambition. She also said a whole load of other things, but this is the only printable one, so bleh.
You may be wondering what's the relevance between the first paragraph with the following ten. The point is, I like my lack of drive and ambition, because it makes my life easier. I spent almost three years in APIIT, and during my final 2 semesters, which is about 6 months long in total, I missed about 4 months of it due to illness, and with a heart as calm as the lakes that sleep, I marched into the exam hall, crapped a shitload on how to perform quality control in a manufacturing organisation, and passed all my subjects.
Therein lies the difference between wanting just a pass and wanting to score an A. With the pass all I have to do is read some of my notes and relax, eat some fruits and maybe play a game of Gunbound or two while I'm at it. You know, to clear the mind. With the A, fuiyo. All the while I'm cramming on my notes I have to wonder how they might phrase the question and completely freak out when I can't remember how many times the Printing Presses and Publications Act was amended. (4)
I can also sleep at night without staring at my ceiling, which, incidentally, is very big indeed.
I want my lack of drive back! I don't want the adrenaline of a pumping heart 12 hours before my exams, and I don't want to toss and turn all night without being able to sleep. I want to be mellow without resorting to alcohol and I want to be cool and calm, not walking around the corridors screeching Close To You like a parrot on valium.
Coming soon to a blog near you, 10 Reasons Why APIIT Sucks!
October 10, 2004
Another totally pointless update
I'm sitting in my chair playing an anatomical guessing game with a good friend from America, and it's kinda weird. I also have 2 glasses of wine, and I'm doing quite well on the way to inebriation. Been listening to slow songs all day long, so I'm mellowed out and dreamy.
Been thinking a bit too, that some songs just get to me. She, Close to You, When I Fall In Love, Hey Jude, Let It Be, Yu Jian, Tambourine Man, Knocking on Heaven's Door, and a load of others that I've just heard, but can't remember, and am too lazy to open up the winamp and check.
There's something about someone looking you in the eye and singing you a song that's really, I dunno, enchanting. (yes, it's kitschy :p) I've been serenaded exactly once, by a good friend on my birthday. I almost asked him to be my boyfriend. Thankfully there was no alcohol involved, or else it might've been disastrous. I'm particularly susceptible to Close to You. (Incidentally, I never found out the name of the song until yesterday night, heh)
Anyway, being mellowed out and dreamy a day before my finals is not good, so here's a post it note to myself. Never drink and listen to romantic playlist and play guessing games while trying to rememeber Malaysia's media history. I hope I don't do badly and ruin my very pretty CGPA so far.
Sidenote: Let It Be is particularly harmful to the nervous pre-exam nerves. I'm so calm and zen-like now I don't really care if I get a B or less. Which is very bad.
Been thinking a bit too, that some songs just get to me. She, Close to You, When I Fall In Love, Hey Jude, Let It Be, Yu Jian, Tambourine Man, Knocking on Heaven's Door, and a load of others that I've just heard, but can't remember, and am too lazy to open up the winamp and check.
There's something about someone looking you in the eye and singing you a song that's really, I dunno, enchanting. (yes, it's kitschy :p) I've been serenaded exactly once, by a good friend on my birthday. I almost asked him to be my boyfriend. Thankfully there was no alcohol involved, or else it might've been disastrous. I'm particularly susceptible to Close to You. (Incidentally, I never found out the name of the song until yesterday night, heh)
Anyway, being mellowed out and dreamy a day before my finals is not good, so here's a post it note to myself. Never drink and listen to romantic playlist and play guessing games while trying to rememeber Malaysia's media history. I hope I don't do badly and ruin my very pretty CGPA so far.
Sidenote: Let It Be is particularly harmful to the nervous pre-exam nerves. I'm so calm and zen-like now I don't really care if I get a B or less. Which is very bad.
October 09, 2004
Innocent fairytale, or nefarious scheme to corrupt our children?
Little Red Riding Hood has always sounded a little dirty to me. The whole concept of an innocent little girl dressed in provocative red walking through a forest, and being buaya-ed by a Big Bad Wolf is just a little too weird to be a fairytale. And then there's the dialogue.
"My, what big hands you have."
"The better to touch you with, my dear."
"My, what a big mouth you have."
"The better to kiss you with, my dear."
"My, what big teeth you have."
"The better to eat you with, my dear."
See? See?? It's got sexual undertones ALL OVER IT. In fact, it's so blatant we might as well call it sexual overtones. That is prime material to make a porn movie, right after the wolf licks his lips he dives in and, well, eats her. Okay, except for the bestiality involved, but then no one ever said wolf meant real wolf, as in canis lupis. It could mean wolf the way wolf means in Cantonese. Does anyone agree with me?
Or maybe I'm just horny and see sex everywhere. Something tells me I should quit while I'm ahead...
Sidenote: If you think that's sick/weird and wanna leave a comment about my sickness/weirdness, save your breath. I know it and you know it, and it's not bloody likely that I'm gonna change.
"My, what big hands you have."
"The better to touch you with, my dear."
"My, what a big mouth you have."
"The better to kiss you with, my dear."
"My, what big teeth you have."
"The better to eat you with, my dear."
See? See?? It's got sexual undertones ALL OVER IT. In fact, it's so blatant we might as well call it sexual overtones. That is prime material to make a porn movie, right after the wolf licks his lips he dives in and, well, eats her. Okay, except for the bestiality involved, but then no one ever said wolf meant real wolf, as in canis lupis. It could mean wolf the way wolf means in Cantonese. Does anyone agree with me?
Or maybe I'm just horny and see sex everywhere. Something tells me I should quit while I'm ahead...
Sidenote: If you think that's sick/weird and wanna leave a comment about my sickness/weirdness, save your breath. I know it and you know it, and it's not bloody likely that I'm gonna change.
October 08, 2004
Death by Bigfoot
Hmm...found this hiding in the back of my WIP folder. I'll post it for fun. FYI this was written when RO was only available in Malay.
Proclamation of the night: Things never ever work out right for me. Murphy's Law, altered and adapted to suit yours truly. (more to come on this, when author is in another one of those pesky 'rant' moods.)
As some people (poor sods) have been aware of for several weeks now, I've been playing Ragnarok Online on the Malaysian servers. It was most unfortunate that when I made my thief, I chose a distinctly female name, one appended with the name 'Rose'. (I actually hate the name Rose. Don't ask me why I picked it, because you can probably answer that question better than I can.) At this point certain readers are going to think, 'Ok, so this Saffron person is playing an MMORPG, and picked a female thief, and hates the name Rose. Ok. Get to the bloody point already!'
Righto. The reason I babbled about the stuff on top is because recently, my female thief character has been inexplicably transformed into a male (and an ugly one to boot, you have no idea), complete with a working set of genitals. Hooray for hard-ons. What'll we do without em?
Ahem, anyway, I stopped playing for two days because I needed some time off (Oh, the trauma) and then I decided it was enough slacking off, and I yielded to the powers that force me play games. (yes, even crappy ones like Tomb Raider 4. Or was it 5? I lost track) To cut a long story short, I forged on ahead with my (ugly) male thief and ignored the bouts of snickering other Malaysian players were bound to have experienced when they saw a male thief running around hacking raccoons, with a girlish moniker and wearing a lopsided purple bow on his hair. This is taking cross-dressing to a level never seen before by KL eyes.
And then, for some reason, I got bored. Maybe it was because guys are such uninteresting characters to play in an RPG. Maybe it's because the way they hit the cute raccoons are so...uncute. Maybe it's because they're just plain ugly. Whatever the reason, I got bored. So with a sip of my green tea and a mouthful of peanuts, I went and hacked a Bigfoot that I had absolutely no business in hitting. By the way, there's a reason Bigfoot is capitalised while racoon is not, and that's because Bigfoots are, as the name implies, B-I-G. Apparently dumb as heck too, because it took the brute 7 hits before its paw connected. (me thief, remember? High on AGI, thank you)
Anyway, I died, hence the title of this post thingy.
Some readers who're slightly more lucid then a patch of mildew would be wondering what exactly is the point to this post. The answer to this, and I believe to life as a whole, is that There Is No Point. At least not with me. And definitely not this blog.
Proclamation of the night: Things never ever work out right for me. Murphy's Law, altered and adapted to suit yours truly. (more to come on this, when author is in another one of those pesky 'rant' moods.)
As some people (poor sods) have been aware of for several weeks now, I've been playing Ragnarok Online on the Malaysian servers. It was most unfortunate that when I made my thief, I chose a distinctly female name, one appended with the name 'Rose'. (I actually hate the name Rose. Don't ask me why I picked it, because you can probably answer that question better than I can.) At this point certain readers are going to think, 'Ok, so this Saffron person is playing an MMORPG, and picked a female thief, and hates the name Rose. Ok. Get to the bloody point already!'
Righto. The reason I babbled about the stuff on top is because recently, my female thief character has been inexplicably transformed into a male (and an ugly one to boot, you have no idea), complete with a working set of genitals. Hooray for hard-ons. What'll we do without em?
Ahem, anyway, I stopped playing for two days because I needed some time off (Oh, the trauma) and then I decided it was enough slacking off, and I yielded to the powers that force me play games. (yes, even crappy ones like Tomb Raider 4. Or was it 5? I lost track) To cut a long story short, I forged on ahead with my (ugly) male thief and ignored the bouts of snickering other Malaysian players were bound to have experienced when they saw a male thief running around hacking raccoons, with a girlish moniker and wearing a lopsided purple bow on his hair. This is taking cross-dressing to a level never seen before by KL eyes.
And then, for some reason, I got bored. Maybe it was because guys are such uninteresting characters to play in an RPG. Maybe it's because the way they hit the cute raccoons are so...uncute. Maybe it's because they're just plain ugly. Whatever the reason, I got bored. So with a sip of my green tea and a mouthful of peanuts, I went and hacked a Bigfoot that I had absolutely no business in hitting. By the way, there's a reason Bigfoot is capitalised while racoon is not, and that's because Bigfoots are, as the name implies, B-I-G. Apparently dumb as heck too, because it took the brute 7 hits before its paw connected. (me thief, remember? High on AGI, thank you)
Anyway, I died, hence the title of this post thingy.
Some readers who're slightly more lucid then a patch of mildew would be wondering what exactly is the point to this post. The answer to this, and I believe to life as a whole, is that There Is No Point. At least not with me. And definitely not this blog.
October 07, 2004
Idiot box? You got that right!
Today's my day off, and being the hard working, industrious and productive citizen that I am, I've decided to plop myself down on the sofa and while the hours away watching TV. I could switch on the PS2 and try to beat Star Ocean 3, which I confess is what I usually do, but I can feel a headache coming on, so I'll just let my brain cells rot away instead.
Suddenly, I get a flash of insight. I have a working fridge. I have cold stuff in there just waiting to be eaten, though sadly no ice-cream. So I jump up and run to the fridge, hoping the leftover bottle of wine was corked properly. It is. Coolness. On the way out I grab a container of munchies and dry crackers that my mom bought just the other day, and I was all set for channel surfing professionally.
I click and see a man talking on the screen. Bleh. I click again, this time rewarded with an image of some woman with large boobies running on a beach. In a way that makes me think the choreographer used complex mathematical functions to get the most bounce out of her obviously fake mammaries. Sour grapes, yeah, I know. Aesop probably based the story on moi. So I click some more, and I see news of more suicide bomb attacks. Click. Ooh, anime. Unfortunately, it's Ranma. Click. I see a man with blonde tufts of hair climbing a rock, with an armed black man behind him.
Because my fingers are tired at this point, I toss the remote at the foot of the sofa and paused my surfing for some much-needed replenishment, and I was about to make the worst mistake of the day. Without being aware of it, of course. Honest, I'm not such a sadist that I have to torture myself needlessly. Anyway, when I glance up, I see that same blonde guy walking into what appears to be a crack between two granite rocks. It's dark, it's probably musty, and after he tells me that there're Egyptian fruit bats in it, it's probably stinky as heck to boot. But did it stop him? Noooooooo, he goes on yapping about a micro-ecosystem consisting of insects, and then tells me that there're 15 million bats in the cave, approximately.
At this point, you've got to admire the dedication with which these naturalists and scientists go about their work. Or you can be an elitist snob like me and laugh cynically because you just know there's a thin line between dedication and stupidity.
The guy puts down his backpack and tells me that bat poop is called guano. Educational tip of the day babes, in case you didn't know that. It's pronounced exactly the way you pronounce guava, only you replace "va" with "no". Here I stop a while to think about guano, cos as far as I know, every other animal poop is called animal poop. Okay, it's also called shit, faeces, waste etc, but there's no specific name for a particular animal, just bats. Maybe I'm misinformed, in which case I'll be glad if you can point me to other examples, but for now, it seems awfully biased that bats get a special name for their poop while we, Supreme Rulers of the Planet, don't.
In this cave, there're like a trillion gazillion insects (very much resembling cockroaches, ugh ugh) crawling around on the floor of the cave, and the reason is because bats have been occupying said cave for a very long time. How long, you ask? Well, the ground is covered with a 20-metre layer of guano, that's how long. And the roaches are just crawling over every exposed surface. Good lord, that's my worst nightmare right there, being trapped in that cave with roaches all over me and bats screeching overhead. *shudders*
So this blonde guy goes on and on saying what a miracle this microsystem is, because without the bats pooping all over the cave, there won't be that many insects around. Which to me sounds pretty damn good. We can always use a few dead roaches. Or a few million. *shrugs* Then, he squats down and uses his index finger like a stick to poke some of the guano up. I'm not very surprised that he did this, because a few moments ago he used his bare hands to pick up all manner of dirty creepy insects and talking about them like they're long lost relatives of his. The next thing he did, however, made me think Fear Factor is Sesame Street in terms of grossness. He talks some more about the guano, and the cameraman pans closely to show you what an ugly lump of shit it is, then it zooms back out, and the blonde dude just pops the entire lump into his mouth!
Holy cow. If there were ever a doubt between what's defined as dedication and insanity, this is a clear cut case of the latter. The guy's in the middle of nowhere, he needs an armed guard to bring him to this cave, and he goes and puts guano into his mouth. Guano that was literally crawling with roaches, and roaches aren't the most hygienic things to be around.
I think he said something about the taste, but I can't be too sure, cos seriously, I was reeling from the shock of actually seeing a guy eat bat shit for, well, nothing. At least on Fear Factor those people are driven by greed. This man...I don't even want to think about it.
At times like this, I have to thank my mom, my dad, and if there's a god, him too, for giving me enough common sense to know (even without a PhD) that shit can NEVER taste good.
Note: All bat pics taken from this page. Couldn't find any pics of Egyptian fruit bats from Egypt, and wasn't interested in putting pics of roaches up. Ugh ugh.
October 06, 2004
are you a girl?
why?
girls don't play games.
yeah
are you hot?
no
wanna have sex?
sure, fly over to m'sia
what's msia?
purple elephant
haha. wanna cyber?
FRAG FRAG FRAG!
retard whore!!1!
***
His eyebrows raised, "You play games?" he asked, somewhat incredulously.
It was not very flattering.
"Yes, yes I do." She struggles to maintain civility in the face of the condescending 'Oh really?' look on his mug.
"What games do you play? The Sims?" He smirks.
***
I'm hotkeying my buildings and hitting P repeatedly to build my probes.
HI ASL?
Probe, crystal. Money flowing in. Probe, crystal. Ugh, talking.
15 f kl
UR A GIRL? RU HOT??
Zealots! Sent a couple out to scout the terrain.
No
HEY U WANNA GO OUT?
No
Y NOT?
More Zealots, a few Dragoons. Teching up.
U THERE?
NOE WHO HAS A HUGE DIK??
Like I bloody care. Teching up. Sent a bunch of Dark Templars to harass his camp. No sunkens, hmm.
U WANNA GO OUT?
Building a few cannons for my defensive perimeter.
HOW BIG ARE UR BOBS?
He sent a dozen Hydras knocking at my door. There's only 1 ramp to my base, unfortunately, and it's being blocked by a probe with stasis cast on it. (this is why you should always look at replays) Bye bye Hydras, as my Reavers pick em off slowly.
Chokepoint secured. At this moment my forces are amassed and I'm ready to pwn his ass.
Y IGNORE ME? U THINK UR GOOD? CUNT.
I hate that word. Forget owning his ass, I'm ready to rip him a new asshole. He has a few towers on his perimeter, so I distracted his forces with an observer flying brazenly past his base and my dragoons and zealots took out the towers. My carriers move in and soften up his base and kill off his mineral line. Mop up with zealots.
FAG CHEATER RETARD BITCH!!
***
Of course there're no girl gamers. We're all pretending to be guys.
To the majority of guys who've played with girls and who treats them like any other normal person (ie, no constant handouts, harassment, belittlement, abuse, prejudice etc), thank you for making the gaming universe that much more hospitable to the gender without the Magical Inflatable Thingy.
why?
girls don't play games.
yeah
are you hot?
no
wanna have sex?
sure, fly over to m'sia
what's msia?
purple elephant
haha. wanna cyber?
FRAG FRAG FRAG!
retard whore!!1!
***
His eyebrows raised, "You play games?" he asked, somewhat incredulously.
It was not very flattering.
"Yes, yes I do." She struggles to maintain civility in the face of the condescending 'Oh really?' look on his mug.
"What games do you play? The Sims?" He smirks.
***
I'm hotkeying my buildings and hitting P repeatedly to build my probes.
HI ASL?
Probe, crystal. Money flowing in. Probe, crystal. Ugh, talking.
15 f kl
UR A GIRL? RU HOT??
Zealots! Sent a couple out to scout the terrain.
No
HEY U WANNA GO OUT?
No
Y NOT?
More Zealots, a few Dragoons. Teching up.
U THERE?
NOE WHO HAS A HUGE DIK??
Like I bloody care. Teching up. Sent a bunch of Dark Templars to harass his camp. No sunkens, hmm.
U WANNA GO OUT?
Building a few cannons for my defensive perimeter.
HOW BIG ARE UR BOBS?
He sent a dozen Hydras knocking at my door. There's only 1 ramp to my base, unfortunately, and it's being blocked by a probe with stasis cast on it. (this is why you should always look at replays) Bye bye Hydras, as my Reavers pick em off slowly.
Chokepoint secured. At this moment my forces are amassed and I'm ready to pwn his ass.
Y IGNORE ME? U THINK UR GOOD? CUNT.
I hate that word. Forget owning his ass, I'm ready to rip him a new asshole. He has a few towers on his perimeter, so I distracted his forces with an observer flying brazenly past his base and my dragoons and zealots took out the towers. My carriers move in and soften up his base and kill off his mineral line. Mop up with zealots.
FAG CHEATER RETARD BITCH!!
***
Of course there're no girl gamers. We're all pretending to be guys.
To the majority of guys who've played with girls and who treats them like any other normal person (ie, no constant handouts, harassment, belittlement, abuse, prejudice etc), thank you for making the gaming universe that much more hospitable to the gender without the Magical Inflatable Thingy.
There's hope yet
I'm beginning to get the hang of this HTML stuff. If someone who freaks out after finding out her entire blog went italic can begin to make head and tail of HTML, I think nothing's impossible. FYI, it happened because I forgot to close an italics tag. :p
Since this is basically a useless update, I'll also mention that I'm off to finish my my wine and then I'm packing up to go to sleep. Thanks again to the publicity-shy guy for explaining all the CSS stuff.
Goodnight.
Since this is basically a useless update, I'll also mention that I'm off to finish my my wine and then I'm packing up to go to sleep. Thanks again to the publicity-shy guy for explaining all the CSS stuff.
Goodnight.
October 05, 2004
World Cyber Games
The WCG grand finals starts tomorrow at the Civic Auditorium in San Francisco, and one of the admins at Blizzforums, Redcloak, will be covering the event. If you're regular SC player in Bnet maybe you'll recognise his name. Here's to hoping he won't be completely inebriated and forget to take pics.
For local coverage, go here
Cheer on the Malaysian Team! Here's to hoping that Malaysia does better here than we did in the Olympics.
Mad updates today. I'm looking for reasons to delay studying for my exams.
For local coverage, go here
Cheer on the Malaysian Team! Here's to hoping that Malaysia does better here than we did in the Olympics.
Mad updates today. I'm looking for reasons to delay studying for my exams.
Shoutout to some friends
Notice the little banner that says Support Jeff Ooi on the top right corner? It's there because of the efforts of a few friends, who braved late nights and HTML to code the thing in for me. Thanks to Ian, Elcap, TV Smith and last but not least, the publicity-shy guy who refused to be named. You know who you are, sweetie. :)
Overglorified chimp speaks to the masses
For context: Go here.
My plea to the youth of nation:
Please, read Voltaire, and understand his famous quote "I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."
Please, understand that other people's opinions are just as valid as yours, as long as they have the sources to back them up. Listen to them and you may learn something. After all, life is but a learning experience.
Please, differentiate between who said what and who allowed who to say what. Sweeping things under the carpet isn't going to help in the long run. The trick is to be mature enough to deal with valid opinions and insults in a civil and grown up manner.
Please, know that when you question someone, it does not necessarily mean you are attacking them.
Please, always hold your ideals and principles close to your heart and defend them when necessary, and try not to go against them. The road less traveled is less traveled for a reason, but going with the flow and being unoriginal never did yield much pleasure and satisfaction.
Please, never resort to low-blows and try to win arguments fairly without resorting to dirty tactics or name-calling, and most important of all, never lose your dignity. There's a difference between dignity and pride, btw.
Please, don't rely on the education system alone for your education. Look at issues clearly and realise when there are efforts to manipulate you, so that you may make informed and educated opinions of said issues.
Please, acquire the knowledge and skills to read between the lines. Sometimes, it's a reaction too slow and a sentence left unsaid that makes all the difference.
Please, always rely on more than one news source, if necessary, from all sides of the spectrum, for your information needs. That doesn't mean you have to think what other people tell you to think, but rather look at the story from all sides before making your mind. No matter how thin you slice it, there's always more than one side to the story.
Please, when you are disillusioned and disheartened, try to bounce back. Sometimes, you expect that some people will stand up and fight for their standards and beliefs, but sometimes, it also turns out that maybe those people, or worse yet, those beliefs, never existed in the first place. Mourn your naivete, and move on.
Please, most importantly, do not be poisoned by apathy. One person may not be able to do a lot, but at least try. World peace doesn't seem to be achievable in my lifetime, but that doesn't mean we should all pack up and start mauling each other.
Please, when you find yourselves in a position of authority or influence, remember never to underestimate the people whom you address. Not everyone is stupid, and sometimes all it takes is one stroke for you to lose whatever credibility and reputation you've built over the years.
And finally, when you find yourselves in a position to lead the country, remember all this, and so may you never run our country into the ground by disenchanting the youth.
Leadership by example.
...and I'm still waiting...
My plea to the youth of nation:
Please, read Voltaire, and understand his famous quote "I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."
Please, understand that other people's opinions are just as valid as yours, as long as they have the sources to back them up. Listen to them and you may learn something. After all, life is but a learning experience.
Please, differentiate between who said what and who allowed who to say what. Sweeping things under the carpet isn't going to help in the long run. The trick is to be mature enough to deal with valid opinions and insults in a civil and grown up manner.
Please, know that when you question someone, it does not necessarily mean you are attacking them.
Please, always hold your ideals and principles close to your heart and defend them when necessary, and try not to go against them. The road less traveled is less traveled for a reason, but going with the flow and being unoriginal never did yield much pleasure and satisfaction.
Please, never resort to low-blows and try to win arguments fairly without resorting to dirty tactics or name-calling, and most important of all, never lose your dignity. There's a difference between dignity and pride, btw.
Please, don't rely on the education system alone for your education. Look at issues clearly and realise when there are efforts to manipulate you, so that you may make informed and educated opinions of said issues.
Please, acquire the knowledge and skills to read between the lines. Sometimes, it's a reaction too slow and a sentence left unsaid that makes all the difference.
Please, always rely on more than one news source, if necessary, from all sides of the spectrum, for your information needs. That doesn't mean you have to think what other people tell you to think, but rather look at the story from all sides before making your mind. No matter how thin you slice it, there's always more than one side to the story.
Please, when you are disillusioned and disheartened, try to bounce back. Sometimes, you expect that some people will stand up and fight for their standards and beliefs, but sometimes, it also turns out that maybe those people, or worse yet, those beliefs, never existed in the first place. Mourn your naivete, and move on.
Please, most importantly, do not be poisoned by apathy. One person may not be able to do a lot, but at least try. World peace doesn't seem to be achievable in my lifetime, but that doesn't mean we should all pack up and start mauling each other.
Please, when you find yourselves in a position of authority or influence, remember never to underestimate the people whom you address. Not everyone is stupid, and sometimes all it takes is one stroke for you to lose whatever credibility and reputation you've built over the years.
And finally, when you find yourselves in a position to lead the country, remember all this, and so may you never run our country into the ground by disenchanting the youth.
Leadership by example.
...and I'm still waiting...
October 04, 2004
The Greats #1
One of my favourite bands is U2, and while Bono doesn't always enunciate his words properly, there's something to be said about U2 lyrics.
I don't dig poetry, and I'm no authority on it, but I read poetry and short stories pretty regularly, and IMO the best poetry writers are the people who write something and have 10 people read it, and each of those 10 people will have a different interpretation of it based on their life experiences. The appeal of poetry, as I see it, is that it can carry so many different meanings depending on your worldview, and it's interesting to see how people identify with a particular piece of work.
Almost all of U2's songs have profound lyrics, and once I understood the significance of a particular song, it's powerful enough to move me to tears. Even though Bono may have wrote a song while thinking of, say, homosexuality, those very lyrics can be taken to represent something entirely different, and no less appropriate.
One means a different thing every time I listen to it, depending on my mood and what I've just read or felt. It's one of the most lyrically powerful songs out there, and I wonder why MTV doesn't run more of U2 videos. Layers, that's what it's all about.
I hope I don't live long enough to witness a desecration of the greatest songs ever recorded by the I'm-pretending-to-be-rock/punk/alternative-but-I'm-really-pop wannabes.
CD cover on top right: Achtung Baby (1991)
CD cover on center: All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000)
I don't dig poetry, and I'm no authority on it, but I read poetry and short stories pretty regularly, and IMO the best poetry writers are the people who write something and have 10 people read it, and each of those 10 people will have a different interpretation of it based on their life experiences. The appeal of poetry, as I see it, is that it can carry so many different meanings depending on your worldview, and it's interesting to see how people identify with a particular piece of work.
Almost all of U2's songs have profound lyrics, and once I understood the significance of a particular song, it's powerful enough to move me to tears. Even though Bono may have wrote a song while thinking of, say, homosexuality, those very lyrics can be taken to represent something entirely different, and no less appropriate.
One means a different thing every time I listen to it, depending on my mood and what I've just read or felt. It's one of the most lyrically powerful songs out there, and I wonder why MTV doesn't run more of U2 videos. Layers, that's what it's all about.
I hope I don't live long enough to witness a desecration of the greatest songs ever recorded by the I'm-pretending-to-be-rock/punk/alternative-but-I'm-really-pop wannabes.
CD cover on top right: Achtung Baby (1991)
CD cover on center: All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000)
It's amazing how much someone you've never met can affect your life.
Last year, I moped around for days after finding out that a highly-respected poster in Blizzforums, who goes by the moniker of Sardaukar, had died. His brother Andrew contacted the admins in the forum and relayed the news, which resulted in an immense outpouring of grief for Sardie. In our own way, we each tried our best to honour his memory.
I never knew Sardie well, as in, I never talked to him apart from postings in the forum, and maybe a few times when we disagreed on the Iraq war. When I found out he was dead, I remember surfing BF with tears streaming down my face. At that very moment, I realised how much respect I can have for a guy whom I've never met, a VP of a telco with a wife and 3 kids who also happens to be a kickass debator.
Then a few months back, Elcap let me in on a project he was working on. Apparently Sardie wasn't really dead.
Honestly, I still have this image of Sardie in my head, of the man who could hold his own against the onslaught of liberals, and who always maintained his cool even when being attacked and insulted by morons who have no clue what the word 'civil' means. I can't reconcile that image to this very cruel prank he has apparently pulled. So Sard, if you somehow stumble across this blog and you read this, I wish you well in your life and your career, but I do not wish to speak to you again. At least not yet.
Last year, I moped around for days after finding out that a highly-respected poster in Blizzforums, who goes by the moniker of Sardaukar, had died. His brother Andrew contacted the admins in the forum and relayed the news, which resulted in an immense outpouring of grief for Sardie. In our own way, we each tried our best to honour his memory.
I never knew Sardie well, as in, I never talked to him apart from postings in the forum, and maybe a few times when we disagreed on the Iraq war. When I found out he was dead, I remember surfing BF with tears streaming down my face. At that very moment, I realised how much respect I can have for a guy whom I've never met, a VP of a telco with a wife and 3 kids who also happens to be a kickass debator.
Then a few months back, Elcap let me in on a project he was working on. Apparently Sardie wasn't really dead.
Honestly, I still have this image of Sardie in my head, of the man who could hold his own against the onslaught of liberals, and who always maintained his cool even when being attacked and insulted by morons who have no clue what the word 'civil' means. I can't reconcile that image to this very cruel prank he has apparently pulled. So Sard, if you somehow stumble across this blog and you read this, I wish you well in your life and your career, but I do not wish to speak to you again. At least not yet.
My great granma died. Mom and Dad traveled to Penang to see her off, and will be back on Tuesday. I'm skipping the extra class tomorrow cos I have no car to go to college. Well, actually that's just an excuse. I could go early and wait 2 hours for class to start, then hitchhike my way back home, but then I've never been a huge fan of classroom education, so I might as well sleep in and study myself. Seems to have worked so far.
Anyways, I spent the better part of my afternoon translating the Berita Harian report into English so that I can post it in BF, an international gaming community. It's been a while since I've pulled out my English-BM dictionary, and man does my translating skills suck. I remember the days where I could translate entire articles without once refering to the dictionary. Sadly, those days are now past.Went out on a lunch date afterwards, at 3 pm, resulting in my friend yelling at me for having a whacked eating schedule.
Back on topic, yes, I realise the futility of posting this in, of all things, a gaming forum, but that's where I can reach the most people. In my defence, BF has the best Serious Discussion forum I've ever seen in a gaming forum, and the people there can completely own any local politician hands down. Maybe it's from the culture of not sweeping things deemed as 'sensitive issues' under the carpet. Just a guess, you know?
Judging from the responses to my thread so far, it's probably not going to get a lot of attention, but then all my threads have usually been like that. Should've gotten the wildly popular ProtossChick99 to post it. Oh well, as long as some people view it and know about it, I suppose it's good enough.
Naivete has nothing on me. *grins*
Blizzforums link to the thread I posted
Anyways, I spent the better part of my afternoon translating the Berita Harian report into English so that I can post it in BF, an international gaming community. It's been a while since I've pulled out my English-BM dictionary, and man does my translating skills suck. I remember the days where I could translate entire articles without once refering to the dictionary. Sadly, those days are now past.Went out on a lunch date afterwards, at 3 pm, resulting in my friend yelling at me for having a whacked eating schedule.
Back on topic, yes, I realise the futility of posting this in, of all things, a gaming forum, but that's where I can reach the most people. In my defence, BF has the best Serious Discussion forum I've ever seen in a gaming forum, and the people there can completely own any local politician hands down. Maybe it's from the culture of not sweeping things deemed as 'sensitive issues' under the carpet. Just a guess, you know?
Judging from the responses to my thread so far, it's probably not going to get a lot of attention, but then all my threads have usually been like that. Should've gotten the wildly popular ProtossChick99 to post it. Oh well, as long as some people view it and know about it, I suppose it's good enough.
Naivete has nothing on me. *grins*
Blizzforums link to the thread I posted
You're The One
Because of my stupid fingers, I accidentally deleted my belovedest Spike post.
Originally posted September 30, 2004
Love that's gloriously messy, complicated, and very real. Love that brings out (sometimes simultaneously) both the best and the worst qualities. Love that made him get his soul back, and more importantly, love that makes Buffy stronger, that gives her the will to fight. Twice.
Not bad for a bad boy vamp. Not bad at all.
Tonight's episode ranks way up there with the second ep of season 7.
"I love what you are. What you do. How you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're The One."
Dialogue's corny without the killer British accent, the spectacular cheekbones, the bleached blonde hair and the trenchcoat working their magic, but it's not as bad as it looks. Really.
Sidenote: Kennedy is bloody annoying. I wish they didn't kill off Tara. :( Wow, a blog about an episode of Buffy. I guess the only way to top the nerdiness of this post is to do a review of Doom 3.
Sidenote 2: Many many thanks to Arion for getting this post back for me. To quote him, "unlike your other rabid fans, i do not visit your blog every single day. thus, when i went to Offline Mode and click on your link, my IE used the info from my last visit." Smartness. *grins* I love you.
As a gesture of my thanks, this is a link Arion would like everyone to click. According to him, "This is the real Spike, none of that stupid boyband Vampire turned good."
Boyband!? Philistine. As you all know, I'm only posting this because he managed to retrieve my entire post, together with the URL of the picture. There will henceforth be no more blasphemy towards Buffy's Spike. :)
Originally posted September 30, 2004
Love that's gloriously messy, complicated, and very real. Love that brings out (sometimes simultaneously) both the best and the worst qualities. Love that made him get his soul back, and more importantly, love that makes Buffy stronger, that gives her the will to fight. Twice.
Not bad for a bad boy vamp. Not bad at all.
Tonight's episode ranks way up there with the second ep of season 7.
"I love what you are. What you do. How you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're The One."
Dialogue's corny without the killer British accent, the spectacular cheekbones, the bleached blonde hair and the trenchcoat working their magic, but it's not as bad as it looks. Really.
Sidenote: Kennedy is bloody annoying. I wish they didn't kill off Tara. :( Wow, a blog about an episode of Buffy. I guess the only way to top the nerdiness of this post is to do a review of Doom 3.
Sidenote 2: Many many thanks to Arion for getting this post back for me. To quote him, "unlike your other rabid fans, i do not visit your blog every single day. thus, when i went to Offline Mode and click on your link, my IE used the info from my last visit." Smartness. *grins* I love you.
As a gesture of my thanks, this is a link Arion would like everyone to click. According to him, "This is the real Spike, none of that stupid boyband Vampire turned good."
Boyband!? Philistine. As you all know, I'm only posting this because he managed to retrieve my entire post, together with the URL of the picture. There will henceforth be no more blasphemy towards Buffy's Spike. :)
October 01, 2004
The Dildo Song
Warning: Contains adult material. That means you're not supposed to click it, jailbait. Or, if you do, you agree to absolve me of all moral and legal responsibility should your mother or any other similar figure of authority walk in halfway through the movie clip.
Since my blog is now blocked from the school computers, I figured I might as well post this. Linkity link link. I wonder if some sicko pothead parent sings this as a nursery rhyme...
Since my blog is now blocked from the school computers, I figured I might as well post this. Linkity link link. I wonder if some sicko pothead parent sings this as a nursery rhyme...
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