One fine sunny day...
The Saffron was on her way to the kitchen to look at the ice-cream when she passed by the Oaf standing behind the sofa, watching TV. Now, normal people will wonder, 'Why is she going to the kitchen to look at ice-cream?' Other normal people will be thinking, 'Why is he standing behind the sofa watching TV instead of parking his ass on it?'
As with everything else, there is a reason behind all this. The Saffron and the Oaf share the same blood. It is therefore in their genes. Which means it's none of their faults. *grins*
On the way back from her trip to the freezer, the Saffron passed by the Oaf, still standing behind the sofa, and her strides slowed. Standing right behind him, she starting making heavy breathing sounds.
The Saffron, "Hhhhhhorhhhhhh, hhhhhhorhhhh."
Without missing a beat, the Oaf also went, "Hhhhhhhorhhhh, hhhoorrrrrrhh."
After that idiotic exchange no one else on earth probably understood, the Saffron and the Oaf commenced laughing their heads off. When both of them have managed to unstitch their sides, they looked at each other for a while.
The Saffron then snickered and said, "Darth Babi," in her hoarse, raspy, but still squeaky voice, and happily skipped back to her room. The Oaf, perhaps mindful that his sister has been sick for the past week or so, decided that he could afford to be magnanimous and therefore did not slap her silly.
He went back to staring at the TV behind the sofa.
May 24, 2005
May 23, 2005
Taggety tagged.
Tagged by IBlogMe a long time ago. The title is also shamelessly stolen from her, heheh. Ok, disclaimer. This could potentially get very nasty/disgusting/offensive, and may make you very disgusted/angry. Email and contact on the sidebar. :)
if I could be a monkey's uncle...
I'd have a legitimate excuse to fling soft clumps of 2-day-old shit at people I don't like (especially politicians), and then complete it with the whole point-and-laugh routine while they, red-faced, furiously (and futilely) try to wipe the shit off their specs, hair, expensive clothes and other misc bodyparts.
If I could be the Pope...
I will decree that those who attempt to convert other people, even when they are told repeatedly by the subject of conversion that he/she is not interested, will lose an arm. Do it again and you lose the other arm. Do it the third time and you're headed straight to the hottest pits of hell, son.
If you believe in god, you will believe in god. Everything will run its course.
If I could be an game designer...
Male characters will only be dressed in a butt-revealing thong and their bodies will be liberally slathered with oil. It does not matter whether they are questing in a volcano or in the artics, no change of clothing is permitted. They will all be manly and rugged, and they will all be big dumb warriors with shiny, shiny swords. The women will be dressed normally with no cleavage-enhancing porn costumes and they will not all be healers and archers.
Of course, the company I work for will go under, but then again like I'm actually gonna learn enough programming to make a game. I can't even make my own site layout. :p
If I could be the President of the U.S...
I would go to charm school and public speaking classes.
If I could be a Miss Universe...
I will be naive and idealistic, and think that my answer for the Q&A session actually matters more than the size of my boobs, the length of my legs and the perfectness of my features.
World peace, yo'.
In turn , I will now inflict this chain mail meme on:
Pebbles.
Bawang Merah. (Blehh)
Narrowband.
Arion.
if I could be a monkey's uncle...
I'd have a legitimate excuse to fling soft clumps of 2-day-old shit at people I don't like (especially politicians), and then complete it with the whole point-and-laugh routine while they, red-faced, furiously (and futilely) try to wipe the shit off their specs, hair, expensive clothes and other misc bodyparts.
If I could be the Pope...
I will decree that those who attempt to convert other people, even when they are told repeatedly by the subject of conversion that he/she is not interested, will lose an arm. Do it again and you lose the other arm. Do it the third time and you're headed straight to the hottest pits of hell, son.
If you believe in god, you will believe in god. Everything will run its course.
If I could be an game designer...
Male characters will only be dressed in a butt-revealing thong and their bodies will be liberally slathered with oil. It does not matter whether they are questing in a volcano or in the artics, no change of clothing is permitted. They will all be manly and rugged, and they will all be big dumb warriors with shiny, shiny swords. The women will be dressed normally with no cleavage-enhancing porn costumes and they will not all be healers and archers.
Of course, the company I work for will go under, but then again like I'm actually gonna learn enough programming to make a game. I can't even make my own site layout. :p
If I could be the President of the U.S...
I would go to charm school and public speaking classes.
If I could be a Miss Universe...
I will be naive and idealistic, and think that my answer for the Q&A session actually matters more than the size of my boobs, the length of my legs and the perfectness of my features.
World peace, yo'.
In turn , I will now inflict this chain mail meme on:
Pebbles.
Narrowband.
Arion.
Observations Regarding Kitchens
I'd say that in general, having two people at the same time is just wrong, but then again I know what kind of kinky deviants lurk around my blog, so I'll just be more specific and say that there should never be more than one cook in the kitchen at any time.
Of course, by 'cook' I mean those tyrannical and generally obnoxious people who have no qualms bullying other poor souls in the kitchen (like me) into doing things their way. I mean, there're only so many times I can handle someone shrieking, "You're doing it wrong! It's diagonal, then horizontal!!"
'Tis the dicing of potatoes said Tyrant was complaining about. Who the bloody hell gives a flying fuck whether it's diagonal first or horizontal first? It's potatoes. If it's diced, it's done. I swear if I wasn't so doped up on flu meds I'd have clipped the ends of her pretty manicured nails off with my uber Meat Cleaver of the Boar instead of, well, mangling up my own hand. Oh well, it's just my left hand. I mean, it's not like it's a really important body part like my liver (for drinking) and my heart (for living), right?
Notice I never said brain. ;)
Another thing to avoid when dealing with damgerous, kitcheny stuff is people who react to things the way I do. In a nutshell: violence.
Anyway, back to my point about kitchens and cooks and violence and me. If you can cook alone, that would be perfect. If you have to share kitchens with other people, then share it with someone nice and easy-going. If nice and easy-going isn't available, either negotiate turns or keep the other bugger forcibly restrained onto something that isn't mobile (chairs are never a good idea). If you have the misfortune to deal with a Tyrant in the kitchen, it would be very convenient for yourself to develop a saintly disposition and handle every in-your-face yell with dignity, grace and beneficence.
Because when you have someone like the Tyrant and someone like me in a cramped and hazardous environment, things could go south really quickly. In between sharp knives, pointy barbeque forks, heavy-bottomed pots, boiling vats of soup, molten cheese that really hurts upon contact with bare skin etc, we could do a lot of damage to each other. Probably the last thing anyone wants is to have two hot-headed cooks armed with sharp and pointy stainless steel utensils duking it out in a really small space.
I mean, we could literally start flinging cheese at each other! Think of all the innocents!
Of course, by 'cook' I mean those tyrannical and generally obnoxious people who have no qualms bullying other poor souls in the kitchen (like me) into doing things their way. I mean, there're only so many times I can handle someone shrieking, "You're doing it wrong! It's diagonal, then horizontal!!"
'Tis the dicing of potatoes said Tyrant was complaining about. Who the bloody hell gives a flying fuck whether it's diagonal first or horizontal first? It's potatoes. If it's diced, it's done. I swear if I wasn't so doped up on flu meds I'd have clipped the ends of her pretty manicured nails off with my uber Meat Cleaver of the Boar instead of, well, mangling up my own hand. Oh well, it's just my left hand. I mean, it's not like it's a really important body part like my liver (for drinking) and my heart (for living), right?
Notice I never said brain. ;)
Another thing to avoid when dealing with damgerous, kitcheny stuff is people who react to things the way I do. In a nutshell: violence.
Anyway, back to my point about kitchens and cooks and violence and me. If you can cook alone, that would be perfect. If you have to share kitchens with other people, then share it with someone nice and easy-going. If nice and easy-going isn't available, either negotiate turns or keep the other bugger forcibly restrained onto something that isn't mobile (chairs are never a good idea). If you have the misfortune to deal with a Tyrant in the kitchen, it would be very convenient for yourself to develop a saintly disposition and handle every in-your-face yell with dignity, grace and beneficence.
Because when you have someone like the Tyrant and someone like me in a cramped and hazardous environment, things could go south really quickly. In between sharp knives, pointy barbeque forks, heavy-bottomed pots, boiling vats of soup, molten cheese that really hurts upon contact with bare skin etc, we could do a lot of damage to each other. Probably the last thing anyone wants is to have two hot-headed cooks armed with sharp and pointy stainless steel utensils duking it out in a really small space.
I mean, we could literally start flinging cheese at each other! Think of all the innocents!
May 20, 2005
Different Degrees of Chuff-ness
Chuffness Level 1
The other day Narrowband informed me that I was nominated for Neophyte Blog of the Year. It was the same feeling I got when I was nominated for (and won) Best WIP Author in the BF Awards.
Thanks to Loonatik for acknowledging my existence. :)
Now to be pretentious and fake humble, I honestly didn't expect to have this many people read my blog when I first started it. It was more like a venue for me to write embarassing things about myself and not keep the incriminating evidence of my naughty past in my HD so that people like my brother or my mom would not stumble across it. Given that this blog's now jointly-named after my brother, and the kid actually laughs out loud when he reads the stuff I put here, you can all see how well my plan turned out. :p
I only got traffic after I whored myself out on PPS. So newbies, if you're looking to max the mass appeal of your blog, obviously you shouldn't be reading me because I practically do everything a neophyte blogger isn't supposed to do (except whore on PPS).
But it's ok, you can all worship me now. *grins*
Now for the clincher. I am disqualified from the category because my blog is more than 6 months old. It's not like I can win against supreme behemoths like Kenny Sia anyway, the bastard.
Chuffness Level 3
The people (not a lot la, about 3-4 like that) who've told me personally that I write very well. Obviously this is very open to interpretation, and I realise my style of writing doesn't really reach out to everyone, so I'm glad some people like it enough to recommend me to friends. Thank you, I really appreciate it.
Chuffness Level 5
I wonder how long I have to sit there. The Oaf is also going. Working really hard in my first semester helped a lot, and I guess I'll have to pick up the pace in sem 3 to make up for all the slackage in sem 2.
In other news, I am doped up on cold meds, so I'm not going to update. I'm also coughing like heck, and my voice has taken the quality of James Earl Jones, so please don't call me and make me talk.
It irritates my throat and makes me cough more...so I'll end up being James Earl Jones level 2.
Right, I know the levels are just getting lame.
The other day Narrowband informed me that I was nominated for Neophyte Blog of the Year. It was the same feeling I got when I was nominated for (and won) Best WIP Author in the BF Awards.
Thanks to Loonatik for acknowledging my existence. :)
Now to be pretentious and fake humble, I honestly didn't expect to have this many people read my blog when I first started it. It was more like a venue for me to write embarassing things about myself and not keep the incriminating evidence of my naughty past in my HD so that people like my brother or my mom would not stumble across it. Given that this blog's now jointly-named after my brother, and the kid actually laughs out loud when he reads the stuff I put here, you can all see how well my plan turned out. :p
I only got traffic after I whored myself out on PPS. So newbies, if you're looking to max the mass appeal of your blog, obviously you shouldn't be reading me because I practically do everything a neophyte blogger isn't supposed to do (except whore on PPS).
But it's ok, you can all worship me now. *grins*
Now for the clincher. I am disqualified from the category because my blog is more than 6 months old. It's not like I can win against supreme behemoths like Kenny Sia anyway, the bastard.
Chuffness Level 3
The people (not a lot la, about 3-4 like that) who've told me personally that I write very well. Obviously this is very open to interpretation, and I realise my style of writing doesn't really reach out to everyone, so I'm glad some people like it enough to recommend me to friends. Thank you, I really appreciate it.
Chuffness Level 5
I wonder how long I have to sit there. The Oaf is also going. Working really hard in my first semester helped a lot, and I guess I'll have to pick up the pace in sem 3 to make up for all the slackage in sem 2.
In other news, I am doped up on cold meds, so I'm not going to update. I'm also coughing like heck, and my voice has taken the quality of James Earl Jones, so please don't call me and make me talk.
It irritates my throat and makes me cough more...so I'll end up being James Earl Jones level 2.
Right, I know the levels are just getting lame.
May 17, 2005
Something's been wrong with my computer. I can't load hotmail, or google, and even blogger's giving me problems. If anyone's been sending me emails and is expecting a reply, I'm not ignoring you on purpose.
If it's really really important, call me, or you can register at one of the forums I frequent and leave me a PM. Haha free plug whee. :)
Okay, I got to go be sick again, cya.
If it's really really important, call me, or you can register at one of the forums I frequent and leave me a PM. Haha free plug whee. :)
Okay, I got to go be sick again, cya.
May 11, 2005
Because it's the in thing to blog about Star Wars Episode III
It just occured to me.
After the very expensive, very impressive and very high tech disappointments that were Star Wars Episode I and Star Wars Episode II, I wonder why I still carry a flicker of hope in my heart that Star Wars Episode III would at least match Episodes 4, 5 and 6.
I've been thinking about it for the past 5 minutes, and I still don't know why. Faith? Denial? Naivete? Idealism? Irrational hope?
Is anyone else hoping as I am hoping, or am I alone in this venture that borders on idiocy? It would really help for me to know I'm not alone (it's a complicated pyschology thing I don't exactly remember right now), so if you're out there, gimme a holler.
Last attempt to lull myself to sleep with my words.
Hmm, I just remembered that I had some weird chocolate ice-cream in Ikano from a corner shop called Becka Lecka or Lecka Becka. It wasn't good.
PS: I realise the last three posts were all over the place. I can't help it, I need to sleep but sleep eludes me. That's why I'm using weird words, remembering weird stuff and writing about weird things.
If I could bottle this I won't have to buy another lottery number again in my life.
After the very expensive, very impressive and very high tech disappointments that were Star Wars Episode I and Star Wars Episode II, I wonder why I still carry a flicker of hope in my heart that Star Wars Episode III would at least match Episodes 4, 5 and 6.
I've been thinking about it for the past 5 minutes, and I still don't know why. Faith? Denial? Naivete? Idealism? Irrational hope?
Is anyone else hoping as I am hoping, or am I alone in this venture that borders on idiocy? It would really help for me to know I'm not alone (it's a complicated pyschology thing I don't exactly remember right now), so if you're out there, gimme a holler.
Last attempt to lull myself to sleep with my words.
Hmm, I just remembered that I had some weird chocolate ice-cream in Ikano from a corner shop called Becka Lecka or Lecka Becka. It wasn't good.
PS: I realise the last three posts were all over the place. I can't help it, I need to sleep but sleep eludes me. That's why I'm using weird words, remembering weird stuff and writing about weird things.
If I could bottle this I won't have to buy another lottery number again in my life.
Sook Chun-ness
Originally titled: Insomnia 1, Saffy 0
Freedom of speech and freedom of expression does not equal to freedom from responsibility.
Sure, you can say what you want as long as you have the vehicle to transmit that message, but that doesn't mean people are going to agree with you. Controversial issues are, by their very nature, going to inspire (sometimes endless) discourse. That's why they're controversial.
The best way for these arguments to end is for all participants to agree to disagree. Not because that's the easy way out, but because they understand that there's no point in arguing any further, and each camp has their respective reasons for believing what they believe. Note that under my profile I have listed 'naive and idealistic' as one of my traits.
I don't see the point in stating your stance on something and not defending it when you're challenged. To me, that says one of two things:
Lame excuses like "I already know what you want to say, it's stupid and I don't want to hear it", "I know you trollish liberals/conservatives/whatever people will flame me" and "I don't want to provoke a flame war and ruin friendships" are exactly that: lame excuses. If you really care so much in the first place, don't write about the controversial issue.
You can tell I don't like people who disable comments (and their minds, apparently) after they blog about something that other people disagree with. Learn to deal with the fact that when people question and challenge your opinions, it doesn't necessarily mean they don't like you. It just means that they don't agree with what you're saying.
Who knows, you might just learn something from one another.
And stop whining about flames already. If you're old enough to blog, you're old enough to know that it takes all kinds of people to make up the world. You can either ignore potshots or lob one right back at them. Pick one.
Freedom of speech and freedom of expression does not equal to freedom from responsibility.
Sure, you can say what you want as long as you have the vehicle to transmit that message, but that doesn't mean people are going to agree with you. Controversial issues are, by their very nature, going to inspire (sometimes endless) discourse. That's why they're controversial.
The best way for these arguments to end is for all participants to agree to disagree. Not because that's the easy way out, but because they understand that there's no point in arguing any further, and each camp has their respective reasons for believing what they believe. Note that under my profile I have listed 'naive and idealistic' as one of my traits.
I don't see the point in stating your stance on something and not defending it when you're challenged. To me, that says one of two things:
- You don't know enough about the subject matter to defend your stance, which leads to questions about the vehemence of your stance in the first place.
- You don't actually know what you're talking about, and are opening your mouth because you are sadly deluded into thinking that everyone (including yourself) loves your voice.
Lame excuses like "I already know what you want to say, it's stupid and I don't want to hear it", "I know you trollish liberals/conservatives/whatever people will flame me" and "I don't want to provoke a flame war and ruin friendships" are exactly that: lame excuses. If you really care so much in the first place, don't write about the controversial issue.
You can tell I don't like people who disable comments (and their minds, apparently) after they blog about something that other people disagree with. Learn to deal with the fact that when people question and challenge your opinions, it doesn't necessarily mean they don't like you. It just means that they don't agree with what you're saying.
Who knows, you might just learn something from one another.
And stop whining about flames already. If you're old enough to blog, you're old enough to know that it takes all kinds of people to make up the world. You can either ignore potshots or lob one right back at them. Pick one.
Insomnia strikes again!
In the very PC world where we live in, I thought it might be prudent to insert a disclaimer. This post is potentially sexist and/or cruel, and could offend you if you are male or female.
Pssst, I was reliably informed that that line would get anyone to read anything, so we'll see if it works as a tantalising lead-in or not.
Okay, the real blog post.
"I dress for my man," proclaimed a girl friend, rather unabashedly.
She was very obviously expecting feminazi challenges to her statement, and was prepared to defend it to the very death, with her manicured nails and all. You can gather all that information from the slightly stubborn/challenging tilt of her chin. Boyfriends beware, when a girl looks at you at an angle, eyebrows slightly raised, head tilted, chin out, you just know you're in for a long night.
Of what, exactly, really boils down to the type of girl you're with. I just hope she makes up as good as she wallops.
Anyway, I got to thinking about who I dress for. Of course, it's a given that I dress for myself, because hey, I'm cool like that, and I have certain ideals that I aspire to. But apart from all the overwhelming coolness and individuality that I possess, do I dress in a way that gets men looking, or do I dress in a way that gets women looking?
If you're thinking, 'Hey, you forgot the kids!', kindly remove yourself from the playground in a calm and orderly fashion, and go get some professional help. Paedophilia (as a trend) went out about the same time we stopped burning women at the stake, so wise up already. Trust me, it's better than having to go through a million dollar lawsuit. [REFERENCE TO POPULAR CULTURE]
Back on topic, I pondered my friend's statement, and noted that she was taking the easy way out. I mean, how hard is it to attract (straight) male attention?
[WARNING GENERALISATION ALERT]
You just have to put on something that's tight, short, or low cut. Or, if you really wanna look like a cheap desperate whore, all three.
Women now, those are tough bitches to please.
Pssst, I was reliably informed that that line would get anyone to read anything, so we'll see if it works as a tantalising lead-in or not.
Okay, the real blog post.
"I dress for my man," proclaimed a girl friend, rather unabashedly.
She was very obviously expecting feminazi challenges to her statement, and was prepared to defend it to the very death, with her manicured nails and all. You can gather all that information from the slightly stubborn/challenging tilt of her chin. Boyfriends beware, when a girl looks at you at an angle, eyebrows slightly raised, head tilted, chin out, you just know you're in for a long night.
Of what, exactly, really boils down to the type of girl you're with. I just hope she makes up as good as she wallops.
Anyway, I got to thinking about who I dress for. Of course, it's a given that I dress for myself, because hey, I'm cool like that, and I have certain ideals that I aspire to. But apart from all the overwhelming coolness and individuality that I possess, do I dress in a way that gets men looking, or do I dress in a way that gets women looking?
If you're thinking, 'Hey, you forgot the kids!', kindly remove yourself from the playground in a calm and orderly fashion, and go get some professional help. Paedophilia (as a trend) went out about the same time we stopped burning women at the stake, so wise up already. Trust me, it's better than having to go through a million dollar lawsuit. [REFERENCE TO POPULAR CULTURE]
Back on topic, I pondered my friend's statement, and noted that she was taking the easy way out. I mean, how hard is it to attract (straight) male attention?
[WARNING GENERALISATION ALERT]
You just have to put on something that's tight, short, or low cut. Or, if you really wanna look like a cheap desperate whore, all three.
Women now, those are tough bitches to please.
May 09, 2005
With battle standards flying
The story: When I registered for this course, I clearly stated that I wanted to major in Journalism. No where did I suddenly change my mind and decide to do something else. Admin staff were aware of my choice. Lecturers were aware of my choice.
A few weeks after classes commenced, I found out I was the only one who was going to do journalism. Not a problem, I thought, the less people who choose my same major = less competition in the field, hurray for me.
My third semester starts somewhere in July. This morning, I was jolted out of a deep sleep because my college called and told me to go see the bitch tomorrow. Apparently there's a problem with my major because I'm the only one taking it and they're concerned that 'I might be alone'.
Bloody hell, anyone can read between the lines, you asshats.
I'm still waiting for the call to confirm the time for the appointment. By the looks of it, I'm not gonna get it today cos it's already 6.51 pm. At any rate, my calm zen-like holiday-mode existence has been shattered. When I go, I'll be going in warrior woman mode. I hate people who stare me down, or at least attempt to anyway, so I retaliate in kind.
Turning the other cheek really does not apply to me. I plan to graduate with my ass planted firmly on the Dean's List, and I'm comfortably on my way.
Don't fuck with my major.
A few weeks after classes commenced, I found out I was the only one who was going to do journalism. Not a problem, I thought, the less people who choose my same major = less competition in the field, hurray for me.
My third semester starts somewhere in July. This morning, I was jolted out of a deep sleep because my college called and told me to go see the bitch tomorrow. Apparently there's a problem with my major because I'm the only one taking it and they're concerned that 'I might be alone'.
Bloody hell, anyone can read between the lines, you asshats.
I'm still waiting for the call to confirm the time for the appointment. By the looks of it, I'm not gonna get it today cos it's already 6.51 pm. At any rate, my calm zen-like holiday-mode existence has been shattered. When I go, I'll be going in warrior woman mode. I hate people who stare me down, or at least attempt to anyway, so I retaliate in kind.
Turning the other cheek really does not apply to me. I plan to graduate with my ass planted firmly on the Dean's List, and I'm comfortably on my way.
Don't fuck with my major.
May 08, 2005
What happened on Thursday
The most important part is where he mentioned that Saffy is t3h h4wtn3ss!!! *grins*
I never thought blog meets could be so fun. Stilted convos have always been a big worry of mine (it's one-sided), but I'm glad it turned out so well. It should be fun to do this again. Usually, the people I chat with online don't get much response from me IRL, and I'm glad we an be both friends online and friends IRL.
I had a great time, and I was very comfortable. From the looks of it he did too, heheh, so it's all good. I'm also looking forward to meeting her. Fingers crossed I'll still manage to be sociable then. *grins*
Something funny though. So far, I've met 2 male bloggers, and both of them are older, live in Setapak, and have conked front car doors.
In other news, I'm completely back to my normal self. I thought it was just denial at first, cos I didn't think I could get over stuff so quickly, but I could read something without feeling anything I shouldn't feel. Yes, tis hard to write cryptically. SMSes are expensive, and this is the easy way to inform people. :)
I never thought blog meets could be so fun. Stilted convos have always been a big worry of mine (it's one-sided), but I'm glad it turned out so well. It should be fun to do this again. Usually, the people I chat with online don't get much response from me IRL, and I'm glad we an be both friends online and friends IRL.
I had a great time, and I was very comfortable. From the looks of it he did too, heheh, so it's all good. I'm also looking forward to meeting her. Fingers crossed I'll still manage to be sociable then. *grins*
Something funny though. So far, I've met 2 male bloggers, and both of them are older, live in Setapak, and have conked front car doors.
In other news, I'm completely back to my normal self. I thought it was just denial at first, cos I didn't think I could get over stuff so quickly, but I could read something without feeling anything I shouldn't feel. Yes, tis hard to write cryptically. SMSes are expensive, and this is the easy way to inform people. :)
May 06, 2005
Fixations
When I was a kid my maternal granma's jewellery drawer was like a treasure trove. She had all her jewellery pieces in this cake box, with a specially cut sponge to anchor the stuff so that they didn't slide around whenever the drawer was opened or closed. For a lady her age, she had a lot of jewellery, beautiful pieces that were magical to me.
I loved exploring, laying them all out on her bed and pretending that they were all mine. It was easy to pretend to be a princess, even with raw scraped knees and a tongue green from sucking sweets, when you have a ruby brooch on. I'm still waiting for my Prince Charming though. :p
Of course, any sane adult would declare that precious drawer off-limits to my clumsy childish hands (they're still clumsy :p), so whenever I was caught red-handed I got whacked. As Calvin's dad likes to say, it builds character. *grins*
I had a favourite. It gave me a thrill every time I saw it in the box, twinkling at me. It gave me an even bigger thrill when I wore it (I wasn't supposed to). For some reason, I always played with it the last.
The other day, I finally got to wear it. Legitimately. I didn't even have to sneak around and preen at the mirror with the door half-closed. No one would come in at an unopportune moment and whack the bejesus out of me if they saw me with the pendant on.
I don't quite know what to feel though. It's a piece of beautiful jewellery, that's for sure. It's just not magic anymore. Thrill's not there. Maybe it takes being 6. Maybe I get off by being a kleptomaniac. I'm hoping it's the former more than the latter though.
I loved exploring, laying them all out on her bed and pretending that they were all mine. It was easy to pretend to be a princess, even with raw scraped knees and a tongue green from sucking sweets, when you have a ruby brooch on. I'm still waiting for my Prince Charming though. :p
Of course, any sane adult would declare that precious drawer off-limits to my clumsy childish hands (they're still clumsy :p), so whenever I was caught red-handed I got whacked. As Calvin's dad likes to say, it builds character. *grins*
I had a favourite. It gave me a thrill every time I saw it in the box, twinkling at me. It gave me an even bigger thrill when I wore it (I wasn't supposed to). For some reason, I always played with it the last.
The other day, I finally got to wear it. Legitimately. I didn't even have to sneak around and preen at the mirror with the door half-closed. No one would come in at an unopportune moment and whack the bejesus out of me if they saw me with the pendant on.
I don't quite know what to feel though. It's a piece of beautiful jewellery, that's for sure. It's just not magic anymore. Thrill's not there. Maybe it takes being 6. Maybe I get off by being a kleptomaniac. I'm hoping it's the former more than the latter though.
I don't know why
I just had a nice cold shower, late late at night, and my toes are cold now. Instead of WoWing, I've been thinking about some stuff.
A blogger whose blog I love to read is experiencing a personal tragedy that I would not and could not even begin to understand. As such, I can offer no words of comfort because I really don't know what to say. I hope I can be as strong as he is when I am faced with the same inevitable situation someday, which I hope remains in the far, far future.
People would normally label me under the good girl category. It would be nice to be a wild happening party chick, but I'm realistic enough to know that in actuality I'm the plodding, goody-two-shoes type.
I live a very cloistered and protected life. My parents worry about me, probably more than most parents with daughters who're 22 going on 23. Sometimes it gets to me, when they make noises about me going out of the house in low jeans exposing my belly button. Or when I show more skin than they're comfortable with. Sometimes they don't like the people I hang out with, sometimes they ask too many annoying questions, sometimes they irritate the hell out of me by thinking that I'm 8 years old. Sometimes I get fed-up with them calling and calling and leaving messages when I'm out late with friends. Sometimes I want to scream.
But then, to be honest, I have a hand in this, because I always capitulate. It's almost become routine that they know I will give in in the end, so when I don't it's like the end of the world. Sometimes I feel that things are starting to get ridiculous when I wake up wanting soft-boiled eggs for breakfast but my granma insists that I eat cornflakes instead. I'll sulk a bit but end up eating the cornflakes at the end of the day.
Sometimes, friends have asked me why I put up with this, why I don't rebel, why I don't try to be more independent.
When you live in close proximity with some people, I think you'll invariably end up taking them for granted. I know I do. I think it comes hand in hand with intimacy. Sometimes I get impatient, I give short-tempered barks, and I'm defensive. The whole thing I'm focusing on now is to try and not to do this so much. Keyword try.
When I was a child, I remember being happy most of the time. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my parents. There was a host of problems that they had to deal with, and they were under a tremendous amount of pressure that no one sane should have to go through. I didn't understand it back then, but I do now, and it's only made things more complicated. Up to now, the whole point of my life has pretty much been to make my own life better, not anyone else's.
I think I will never know what it's like to be a parent until I've had kids myself, and understand what it's like to read newspaper articles about rapes and murders, and worry that the very same thing could happen to my sons and daughters. I suppose it takes pushing out a kid to understand, really understand, what it's like to live life where the main objective is to do all you can so that your kids have a better life.
There have been times when I doubt my ability to survive should I suddenly be tossed out into the world with no one to help me. If I had no one to depend on, what would happen to me? In complete honesty, I will say that I'll probably stumble and fall, and end up bruised and (hopefully just) a bit battered , but I know I will learn, and I know I will survive. If I really wanted it, there's no reason to think that I can't.
So, back to the question.
I tend to treat people more or less the way they treat me. If you think I'm nice to you, it's always because you've been nice to me first. Ditto bitchy. Hence I always have a problem saying no to people who've been good to me.
My family is under no obligation to give me everything that I have right now. It sounds 'holy', but I earned none of it, everything was given to me.
Every battle fought has a cost. A battle won is a battle where the benefits outweigh the sacrifices the entire army has to make. I won't make a good general. I fight some battles; I let the others slide. It's just not worth it. It's hard for me to be angry at someone whose intentions I know, for sure, are for my well-being. It may not necessarily be the way I want them to love me, but it doesn't mean they love me any less. Changing my clothes is not a big deal when I think about it.
Maybe I really don't know where to draw the line. Maybe this is just a whole guilt-trip thing. Maybe I'll never be an individual of my own right as long as I keep demuring to my parents and my grandmother. Maybe I'll be a child until I'm into my 30s.
It's a choice I made quite a while ago. I don't regret it now. I think I will doubt the wisdom of this decision when I'm the only 30-year-old (and embarassed) kid around. I hope I won't regret it in the long run. Doesn't mean I won't bitch about it on bad days though. :)
We'll just have to see how it plays out.
A blogger whose blog I love to read is experiencing a personal tragedy that I would not and could not even begin to understand. As such, I can offer no words of comfort because I really don't know what to say. I hope I can be as strong as he is when I am faced with the same inevitable situation someday, which I hope remains in the far, far future.
People would normally label me under the good girl category. It would be nice to be a wild happening party chick, but I'm realistic enough to know that in actuality I'm the plodding, goody-two-shoes type.
I live a very cloistered and protected life. My parents worry about me, probably more than most parents with daughters who're 22 going on 23. Sometimes it gets to me, when they make noises about me going out of the house in low jeans exposing my belly button. Or when I show more skin than they're comfortable with. Sometimes they don't like the people I hang out with, sometimes they ask too many annoying questions, sometimes they irritate the hell out of me by thinking that I'm 8 years old. Sometimes I get fed-up with them calling and calling and leaving messages when I'm out late with friends. Sometimes I want to scream.
But then, to be honest, I have a hand in this, because I always capitulate. It's almost become routine that they know I will give in in the end, so when I don't it's like the end of the world. Sometimes I feel that things are starting to get ridiculous when I wake up wanting soft-boiled eggs for breakfast but my granma insists that I eat cornflakes instead. I'll sulk a bit but end up eating the cornflakes at the end of the day.
Sometimes, friends have asked me why I put up with this, why I don't rebel, why I don't try to be more independent.
When you live in close proximity with some people, I think you'll invariably end up taking them for granted. I know I do. I think it comes hand in hand with intimacy. Sometimes I get impatient, I give short-tempered barks, and I'm defensive. The whole thing I'm focusing on now is to try and not to do this so much. Keyword try.
When I was a child, I remember being happy most of the time. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my parents. There was a host of problems that they had to deal with, and they were under a tremendous amount of pressure that no one sane should have to go through. I didn't understand it back then, but I do now, and it's only made things more complicated. Up to now, the whole point of my life has pretty much been to make my own life better, not anyone else's.
I think I will never know what it's like to be a parent until I've had kids myself, and understand what it's like to read newspaper articles about rapes and murders, and worry that the very same thing could happen to my sons and daughters. I suppose it takes pushing out a kid to understand, really understand, what it's like to live life where the main objective is to do all you can so that your kids have a better life.
There have been times when I doubt my ability to survive should I suddenly be tossed out into the world with no one to help me. If I had no one to depend on, what would happen to me? In complete honesty, I will say that I'll probably stumble and fall, and end up bruised and (hopefully just) a bit battered , but I know I will learn, and I know I will survive. If I really wanted it, there's no reason to think that I can't.
So, back to the question.
I tend to treat people more or less the way they treat me. If you think I'm nice to you, it's always because you've been nice to me first. Ditto bitchy. Hence I always have a problem saying no to people who've been good to me.
My family is under no obligation to give me everything that I have right now. It sounds 'holy', but I earned none of it, everything was given to me.
Every battle fought has a cost. A battle won is a battle where the benefits outweigh the sacrifices the entire army has to make. I won't make a good general. I fight some battles; I let the others slide. It's just not worth it. It's hard for me to be angry at someone whose intentions I know, for sure, are for my well-being. It may not necessarily be the way I want them to love me, but it doesn't mean they love me any less. Changing my clothes is not a big deal when I think about it.
Maybe I really don't know where to draw the line. Maybe this is just a whole guilt-trip thing. Maybe I'll never be an individual of my own right as long as I keep demuring to my parents and my grandmother. Maybe I'll be a child until I'm into my 30s.
It's a choice I made quite a while ago. I don't regret it now. I think I will doubt the wisdom of this decision when I'm the only 30-year-old (and embarassed) kid around. I hope I won't regret it in the long run. Doesn't mean I won't bitch about it on bad days though. :)
We'll just have to see how it plays out.
May 04, 2005
In addition to being the Lich Queen
...I am also the Gazelle Killer.
Plugged to show that I am a magnanimous person who does not mind being the butt-end of jokes, heheh. Stop slandering me, btw.
Also, dear friends, my handphone no credit liao, so to everyone who've been calling/SMSing me, I'm ignoring you out of necessity, not because I want to.
Plugged to show that I am a magnanimous person who does not mind being the butt-end of jokes, heheh. Stop slandering me, btw.
Also, dear friends, my handphone no credit liao, so to everyone who've been calling/SMSing me, I'm ignoring you out of necessity, not because I want to.
Non-WoW rant
Today I went shopping with my mom. On a fine, sunshiny Tuesday when
a) normal, productive citizens are stuck in their dreary, boring offices till 5pm, or
b) normal, procrastinating students are b1.1) stuck in lecture halls listening to boring lectures, or b1.2) rushing assignments in computer labs.
Yeah, sucks to be you, doesn't it? *grins*
Anyway, I bought two tops that make me look fairly anorexic, both of which are identical except for colour. Don't pass judgement, that's what Saffron does when she shops. In the future, there will be a photoblog series on the 5 identical sweater tops that I own. It'll happen, once I get over the fact that people I have never met would have seen my mug here.
By the way, judgement is spelled judgment. Did you know that? I didn't, not until I woke up at the unholy hour of 6am to sit for my MUET last Saturday.
Okay, today's post is not to talk about how sorry your life is or how weird I am. Nopers, today, I want to blog about PDAs.
In case you're wondering, no, playing WoW has not magically morphed me into a PAS member. I think holding hands are fine. I think an occasional cheeky slap on the ass is fine. I think walking arm-in-arm is fine. I think walking arm-over-shoulder is fine. I think a peck on the cheek is fine. I think huge and pretentious displays of happiness when you meet someone is fine. I think hugging is fine.
What is not fine is when you walk around with your hand on your girlfriend's ass, inside her jeans. Notice I said 'inside'. It's generally not acceptable to shove your tongue down your girlfriend's throat and slobber spittle everywhere in full view of the entire promenade. It's also considered very bad form to dry hump your girlfriend's ass when she's leaning against the railing watching a show in the open area a floor below. Especially with kids around.
Imagine this happening. Little 5-year-old Tommy is skipping around (or skating in one of those wheel-shoe-abominations) happily in the mall when he suddenly stops short and points. Mommy looks adoringly at what he is pointing at and gets the shock of her life.
"Mommy, why is that kor kor acting like Bobo did before we took him to the vet?"
Oopsie, what in the world should mommy do?
People don't generally get this insane urge to be sinfully passionate with their partners while they're strolling around in a shopping mall. Not even when they look at various lady mannequins in various states of undress posing in shop windows. If you beg to differ, please, go get some professional help right now before you endanger anyone else.
Rooms don't go for very high rates in KL, you can usually get one for RM50, which is value for money considering you get to spend the entire day and night there, and you get breakfast as well. 24 hours or so should be plenty time for you to tire yourself out doing whatever it is you do when you have a girl with you. If you're cheapskate and don't want to blow RM50 (or if you can't last 24 hours or so), there're always those skanky hourly-rate motels you can go to in Kotaraya. When push comes to shove, cars work pretty well too. However, if you're really cheapskate, you can always ask your mom, very politely, to get out of your room so you can snoogle with your girlfriend and hopefully not make any Ah Beng babies.
In short, plenty of options for you to pick from.
Just don't do it in a place where I may see you on one of my many shopping excursions, because I don't want to gouge my eyes out mid-splurge. It goes against my mission to look pretty because I can't be pretty if I can't see what I'm buying.
Edit: Spectacular, I'm bleeding. Thursday will be day 2, sob sob.
a) normal, productive citizens are stuck in their dreary, boring offices till 5pm, or
b) normal, procrastinating students are b1.1) stuck in lecture halls listening to boring lectures, or b1.2) rushing assignments in computer labs.
Yeah, sucks to be you, doesn't it? *grins*
Anyway, I bought two tops that make me look fairly anorexic, both of which are identical except for colour. Don't pass judgement, that's what Saffron does when she shops. In the future, there will be a photoblog series on the 5 identical sweater tops that I own. It'll happen, once I get over the fact that people I have never met would have seen my mug here.
By the way, judgement is spelled judgment. Did you know that? I didn't, not until I woke up at the unholy hour of 6am to sit for my MUET last Saturday.
Okay, today's post is not to talk about how sorry your life is or how weird I am. Nopers, today, I want to blog about PDAs.
Taken from here
In case you're wondering, no, playing WoW has not magically morphed me into a PAS member. I think holding hands are fine. I think an occasional cheeky slap on the ass is fine. I think walking arm-in-arm is fine. I think walking arm-over-shoulder is fine. I think a peck on the cheek is fine. I think huge and pretentious displays of happiness when you meet someone is fine. I think hugging is fine.
What is not fine is when you walk around with your hand on your girlfriend's ass, inside her jeans. Notice I said 'inside'. It's generally not acceptable to shove your tongue down your girlfriend's throat and slobber spittle everywhere in full view of the entire promenade. It's also considered very bad form to dry hump your girlfriend's ass when she's leaning against the railing watching a show in the open area a floor below. Especially with kids around.
Imagine this happening. Little 5-year-old Tommy is skipping around (or skating in one of those wheel-shoe-abominations) happily in the mall when he suddenly stops short and points. Mommy looks adoringly at what he is pointing at and gets the shock of her life.
"Mommy, why is that kor kor acting like Bobo did before we took him to the vet?"
Oopsie, what in the world should mommy do?
People don't generally get this insane urge to be sinfully passionate with their partners while they're strolling around in a shopping mall. Not even when they look at various lady mannequins in various states of undress posing in shop windows. If you beg to differ, please, go get some professional help right now before you endanger anyone else.
Rooms don't go for very high rates in KL, you can usually get one for RM50, which is value for money considering you get to spend the entire day and night there, and you get breakfast as well. 24 hours or so should be plenty time for you to tire yourself out doing whatever it is you do when you have a girl with you. If you're cheapskate and don't want to blow RM50 (or if you can't last 24 hours or so), there're always those skanky hourly-rate motels you can go to in Kotaraya. When push comes to shove, cars work pretty well too. However, if you're really cheapskate, you can always ask your mom, very politely, to get out of your room so you can snoogle with your girlfriend and hopefully not make any Ah Beng babies.
In short, plenty of options for you to pick from.
Just don't do it in a place where I may see you on one of my many shopping excursions, because I don't want to gouge my eyes out mid-splurge. It goes against my mission to look pretty because I can't be pretty if I can't see what I'm buying.
Edit: Spectacular, I'm bleeding. Thursday will be day 2, sob sob.
May 02, 2005
WoW Screenies
From the title, you know that this post is graphic-intensive. If you didn't, well, now you do.
Me in my full Undead glory.
Sometimes I embarass myself by behaving like a snivelling rat.
Standing in front of a bonfire, cooking my Undead flesh. Actually I just like the sparks. I think they're pretty. :)
My batride.
The reason these pics look so dark and gloomy is because they were taken while I was still stuck in Undead territory. In keeping with the general I'm-dead-boo-hoo theme, everything's bleak and, well, dead.
The next series is better, cos Arion took me to The Barrens.
Okay, so not such a big improvement, with the dryness and the parchness. :p But it gets better...
See? Told ya. This is so pretty. Of course, I was too busy snapping pics that I lost sight of Arion. Luckily there was only 1 road to travel on. :)
We saw a herd of passive kodo beasts. There're matriach kodos, mommy kodos, and even baby kodos. That's Arion posing in front of the herd.
Kodo asses galore!
Unfortunately, Arion, like Lance, cannot leave passive herds alone. Arion chain lightning-ed them and they dropped dead, resulting in the carnage above. Bye bye poor kodos, it was nice meeting you.
We also passed by a group of gazelles gracefully leaping over the road, but then Arion killed them all before I could take a screenie. :(
Riding a chimera. Notice he has no balls.
Windrider platform in Oggrimar. The circle is where I accidentally fell off the stupid thing.
Yes, I waste a lot of time flying around. I try not to spend so much time in the Undead territory. It's pretty depressing.
You can really see the rot in this pic. Note my elbow joints and knee joints. Ugh.
If you read the conversation going on between the rest of the guys you'll notice that this is like one big gay fest. :)
The moon. Lance and I are actually in the water, but I'm so petite you can't even see my head.
Finally, the gazelle pic I've been wanting to take for so long! Not a very good shot though, cos they're bloody fast. Or I'm bloody slow, whatever.
Blade and Frosty lying on the ground in a dungeon. Doing what? I have no idea. :p
I died 4 times in that dungeon. Party wipes are so fun. :p Bloody end boss so sook chun, teleport here and there. Okay, to explain a bit, if you die, you're resurrected at the nearest graveyard and you have to run back to the place you died to retrieve your body. So, after 4 cross-country marathons, we got fed-up and cheated a bit.
Actually, I'm not sure how many times our party was wiped. I remember 4, Lance says it was 6. Someone correct me please.
So in the end, Arion brought out his level 60 character and beat the living daylights out of the end-boss. Here, you can see that dungeon clearing has become a spectator sport. :)
L-R: Blade, me, Frosty and Lance. Arion's the uber-cool troll with the blue magic. Standing in front of him is the poor Undead bastard who's getting his ass handed to him.
More gazelles, yayness. The only reason I was able to take this pic was because neither Lance nor Arion were with me. :p
Tranquil night.
Tranquil night, part 2.
This is the extent of my travels so far. I've died twice today, once cos I was lagging, and the other cos I was stupid and jumped off a zeppelin (flying transport) before it stopped. The whole zep-ful of people were watching and I guess they were laughing as well. Boohoo.
Come join me. :)
sook chun: no-balls kind of wimpy bastard.
Me in my full Undead glory.
Sometimes I embarass myself by behaving like a snivelling rat.
Standing in front of a bonfire, cooking my Undead flesh. Actually I just like the sparks. I think they're pretty. :)
My batride.
The reason these pics look so dark and gloomy is because they were taken while I was still stuck in Undead territory. In keeping with the general I'm-dead-boo-hoo theme, everything's bleak and, well, dead.
The next series is better, cos Arion took me to The Barrens.
Okay, so not such a big improvement, with the dryness and the parchness. :p But it gets better...
See? Told ya. This is so pretty. Of course, I was too busy snapping pics that I lost sight of Arion. Luckily there was only 1 road to travel on. :)
We saw a herd of passive kodo beasts. There're matriach kodos, mommy kodos, and even baby kodos. That's Arion posing in front of the herd.
Kodo asses galore!
Unfortunately, Arion, like Lance, cannot leave passive herds alone. Arion chain lightning-ed them and they dropped dead, resulting in the carnage above. Bye bye poor kodos, it was nice meeting you.
We also passed by a group of gazelles gracefully leaping over the road, but then Arion killed them all before I could take a screenie. :(
Riding a chimera. Notice he has no balls.
Windrider platform in Oggrimar. The circle is where I accidentally fell off the stupid thing.
Yes, I waste a lot of time flying around. I try not to spend so much time in the Undead territory. It's pretty depressing.
You can really see the rot in this pic. Note my elbow joints and knee joints. Ugh.
If you read the conversation going on between the rest of the guys you'll notice that this is like one big gay fest. :)
The moon. Lance and I are actually in the water, but I'm so petite you can't even see my head.
Finally, the gazelle pic I've been wanting to take for so long! Not a very good shot though, cos they're bloody fast. Or I'm bloody slow, whatever.
Blade and Frosty lying on the ground in a dungeon. Doing what? I have no idea. :p
I died 4 times in that dungeon. Party wipes are so fun. :p Bloody end boss so sook chun, teleport here and there. Okay, to explain a bit, if you die, you're resurrected at the nearest graveyard and you have to run back to the place you died to retrieve your body. So, after 4 cross-country marathons, we got fed-up and cheated a bit.
Actually, I'm not sure how many times our party was wiped. I remember 4, Lance says it was 6. Someone correct me please.
So in the end, Arion brought out his level 60 character and beat the living daylights out of the end-boss. Here, you can see that dungeon clearing has become a spectator sport. :)
L-R: Blade, me, Frosty and Lance. Arion's the uber-cool troll with the blue magic. Standing in front of him is the poor Undead bastard who's getting his ass handed to him.
More gazelles, yayness. The only reason I was able to take this pic was because neither Lance nor Arion were with me. :p
Tranquil night.
Tranquil night, part 2.
This is the extent of my travels so far. I've died twice today, once cos I was lagging, and the other cos I was stupid and jumped off a zeppelin (flying transport) before it stopped. The whole zep-ful of people were watching and I guess they were laughing as well. Boohoo.
Come join me. :)
sook chun: no-balls kind of wimpy bastard.
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