de-stressing

Today, I found out how much of a klutz I was. Well ok, I already knew how much of a klutz I was, but I was reminded again today. :p I thought my SP exam was on Friday, which was correct, only it was next Friday instead of this Friday, so I find myself with an excess of 9 days between stressful exam season, and what do I do?

I actually wanted to go out and have a drink so that I can get completely smashed and forget everything I've learned so far. Before you go and judge me, there's a reason why I want to do that. You see, I've sat for 4 subjects thus far, and I've memorised a lot of stuff I don't like, so in order to clear my head to memorise yet more stuff I don't like, I have to get drunk, hungover and recover over the weekend to start studying on Monday. Tadaa!

Love my logic, don't ya? My science teachers used to love me for that too. :p Unfortunately hangovers aren't conducive for lunches, so instead, I blog.

Hmm...The topics to choose from when I'm all calm and zen-like... Thought I might wanna talk about the kind of god I believe in, but that would be too philosophical for a relaxed post. Then I thought maybe I wanna talk about what Lorena Bobbitt did and how it's completely justified, but then again I don't want to deal with flames this close to my exams. So in the end, I remembered what a sort-of mentor told me when I said I wanted to be a writer. He said, "Saffy, write about something you know very well. And for the love of god don't write when you're drunk."

Sage advice. I should have that pinned somewhere in my room so that I'll remember it.

Anyway, I've decided to talk about how I de-stress during exam periods. Palpitating hearts and fluttery stomachs aren't good for writing clear, consice answers that will help me score a pass, so the trick is to relax.

Last semester, I had a subject taught by a lecturer that we called the Dragon Lady. From that name alone you know she's not someone you can play play with. 15 minutes before the exam, I was walking around the corridors outside the exam venue with my brother, and singing Close To You. Very warbly, very loudly, and very very off-key.

In retrospect it probably wasn't very de-stressing, especially if you were my brother, but at least I was doing something to distract myself from the impending doom (I scored an A, btw).

This semester, my trick to relaxing is by understanding and accepting the fact that there's no way I can get spectacular scores, so I settled for something lower, less stressful, and altogether more healthy. So that's the answer to life. Keep your expectations low and you won't get disappointed. Tadaa!

What an utterly useless post, eh? I have wine. *grins*

Filler filler filler

circa 1998, probably done during chem class :p

Cropped pic cos my graphics cannot exceed 400 pix if I don't wanna completely weird out the alignment of my blog. This looks fine to me, but if you're on IE you're probably screwed anyway. Just a little heads up. :)

Click on the pretty little heads for the original image.

This is very obviously a filler post, cos now I need to take a shower, eat my dinner and get cracking at CTR, which I haven't even touched all day. I will be doing 2 questions out of the required 3, and I will be hoping that I will somehow, by the grace of whatever it is that protects me during exam season, pass my CTR.

I've been good, I just want a pass. It's not like I want something completely unachievable, like OMG Hugh Jackman OMG.

random exam update

Today I was stuck in the exam hall for 2 hours with approximately 30+ other kids, and there was no air cond. Worse, the invigilators never thought about opening the bloody doors or something. Thank fuck I'm not claustrophobic.

I also found out that I cannot fan myself with a piece of paper and write at the same time. So much for crowing about multitasking, bleh. I also woke up with a crick in my neck, only it was in the left portion of my back. I sleep flat on my back or I sleep face down, so how the heck I managed to sprain myself sleeping is completely beyond me. Someone help me out with this, please.

In other news, I've recently (and by that I mean the past week or so) spent a lot of credit SMSing Jun while we're both supposed to be 'studying for exams'. Of course, sometimes she SMS to bug me about study stuff, of which I have absolutely no idea, thank you. Sometimes I SMS her and tell her it's futile to study and we should just relax and enjoy life. She told me I was very selamba about the whole exam thing.

I've blogged about how much it sucks to want to score good results. Surprise surprise, I got my total lack of ambition back. Right now, I'm just bumming around and studying when I feel like it, and updating my blog when I'm not in the mood to analyse scholars.

Of course, being totally realistic, I hope to get a 2.5 this semester, which would probably screw up my CGPA, but then I was never one to believe in exams anyway. Ren seng duan duan hau ji nian, don't waste it on studying.

The Queen of Winging It is back, folks, and she's enjoying every bloody minute!

Notes:
The relentless spate of SMSing I've been on probably means that I will be incommunicado sometime around the April-May-Jun period. I can't top up my credit before it expires, it's this thing I have.

Ramblings of a sotong

I hate people who...

Ask stupid questions like, "Do you know you're eating a cow?" Like I'm the only idiot on the planet who doesn't know that, oh wow, beef comes from moo cows that like to chew cud when they're standing around meadows. Or your regular factory farm, whatever.

Ask stupid questions like, "Do you know that's cig's gonna kill you?" Like I'm the only...okay, so I don't smoke. That doesn't mean I don't cringe when people assume they're the only people who know that cigarettes are bad for health. So's drinking, so's driving, so's breathing, but I don't see anyone complaining about those.

In other news...

Exam season. Hate scholars. Hate CTR. Wished week was over.

Yet more news...
Was taken to an audio company on Friday. Was also given a grand tour of the rooms they use to make movies not sound like bad porn. Naturally I wouldn't know anything about porn, bad or otherwise. A friend of The Man also explained a lot of audio-related tidbits to me and I never knew how much work went into creating one simple scene in a movie. Well, if you wanna do it right, of course.

Went for some ice-cream. I love ice-cream, there's something about cold, sweet, creamy stuff melting in your mouth that just makes the world a prettier place. Went for a drive afterwards, exploring some places and watched a lot of scenery. Tarred roads are fine, especially if you're only clad in cheap plastic slippers, but I kinda like dead-ends more, especially if they're untarred with weeds and trees by the side. They're kinda mysterious in a way, cos you already know there's absolutely nothing when you reach the end of the road, but if you keep your eyes peeled there's bound to be some stuff along the way that makes your eyes sparkle and the whole trip'll worthwhile.

Kinda like life.

Went for wonderfully soft and juicy tandoori chicken. Not like the tree bark my dad bought once. :p Also went for beer later in the evening, and my magic lucky pen came to the rescue! Free beer, w00tness! Free beer always puts me in a good mood, heheh.

Expenses were all on The Man, who has this weird thing about splitting the bill and Swiss Mushroom burgers. That day we chatted about sunsets, my parents, tentacle porn, my normal-ness, relationships, bloggers, anal sex, rainbows and stalkers. Of course, there were other stuff, but I'm blur when I'm cramming for exams, so I can't remember most of the topics right now.

Thank god for Friday. Would definitely have not have been able to keep a sane mind today if it weren't for the relaxing bits. I hate exams. Can't wait for the end of this week before I'll be free, finally free of this stupid cannonball chained to my leg.

Then I can play KoTOR 2 with a clear conscience.

Scribbles:
The people who should be named have already been named, and those who have not shall remain unnamed for the time being. God I'm horny. And that was totally random. Thanks for wading through that block of text, and g'night.

Something new to try out

Because I was not doing what I'm supposed to be doing (get cracking at my books), I decided to play a game with Jun and her friend Evelyn (hi Evey!). We'll do simultaneous blogs about the same subject.

My perfect Valentine's day

Being that I'm only in my early 20s, I don't really know what I want. I have trouble deciding what to eat for lunch, so when I think about the 'perfect' VDay, my brain short circuits.

(Of course, we can start by debating the existence of perfection, but that would be a kill-joy)

Instead, I'll talk about some sweet stuff people have done for me in the past. Let's see, the sweetest thing a guy has done for me was when my brother stole a purple balloon when he attended his prom thingy a few months back. It was helium-filled, and it came with a pinkish ribbon. The oaf tied it to his wrist and walked around the fashionable part of town with the balloon bobbing around like an inflated dog, all night, until he got home and gave it to me.

The thing that kills me is it was his prom night, he was supposed to be out having fun and kicking up some hell, and instead he saw purple floating balloons and he thought of me. How sweet is that? *melts*

My favourite ice-cream is Coffee Crunch that comes in a gold tin. 1.9 litres, about RM19. I think they stopped making it, but it doesn't stop the oaf from searching for it whenever he's in supermarkets. I don't remind him about this, but he does it because he remembers. This from the guy who forgets to pick up his dirty clothes when he showers. :p

I suppose what I'm trying to say is I don't want flowers and romantic dinners (ooh, especially not those) on a special day. Just sweet thoughts on normal days would suffice. Which is not to say that romantic stuff like this isn't appreciated, just don't go the whole flowers-to-the-office (assuming I have one) route.

The end.

Notes:
You may think that I have an unhealthy obsession about Vday. You would be wrong.
You may think this post reeks with heavy incestuous undertones. You would again, be wrong.
You may think this post reads like a kindy "What do you want to be when you grow up" essay. You would be right. :)

Perfection

I stupidly closed my compose window earlier while typing a post, so potong stim. *grumble grumble*

Instead, I'm going to blog about something Seanna said. She told me that my blog's alignment was off . Apparently, the pic of the fugly CNY top I posted was too big, causing the lines to go sideways. Or something like that.

Apparently IE fucks things up, cos it looks fine to me in Opera. If you've been reading this blog pretty regularly, you'll know that fiddling with HTML doesn't really get me all excited, so I leave things as they are. It's pretty obvious that this blog isn't about flashy graphics anyway. :p

Seanna then said I should bullet my sidebar. She has purple/pink hearts. I hate hearts. I asked her for dancing condoms, she just laughed and pretended I was making a joke. So much for bullets, heheh.

The she told me my blog was disorganised (disorganised? My links are in alphabetical order!!) and that I should justify my text. At this point I told her, very sweetly, that I was gonna make her the topic of my blog post. This is the result. If you flip after reading this Seanna, let this be a reminder never to try and be perfect with me. :)

Explodes!

I am just an ordinary person who is good in looking for excitement in this ordinary world! Blogging is my new found excitement and credit has to go to Saffy. Many people told me that I am creative, but I think my creativity only shows in my appreciation for arts. Like how I appreciate photography but it is not necessary that I take good pictures. I enojoy cooking and going for pilates classes. I have never smoke in my entire life but enjoy smoking cigar occasionally. I also like trying out new makan let it be mamak stalls or fine dining.I am blessed because I have people around me who love me dearly and that is the reason why I look forward to each brand new day!

From Suanie's profile.

Obviously, the most important line is the one containing my name, heheh. This is the one person I never thought I'd be sharing information about sexual preferences and manga porn with, blog celebrities notwithstanding. Reproduced in case she changes it in the future. :)

Have no idea how long it's been there, cos I don't usually read profiles. Kinda like the way I completely ignore the links in people's siggies. *grins* It's really remarkable what a single blogpost can do in terms of ushering along serendipity. Ex-classmates still can't believe it. They now look at me with awe, something I've never managed to achieve in all my years of schooling.

Good things come in threes, they tell me. The day I saw this, not only was I mentioned in Buaya's post, but I was mentioned in the same breath as Lilian. My life has meaning now. *grins*

Things to do before going to prom

Being asked to go to prom as a date of the askee is pretty romantic, no? Unfortunately, it's not as much fun when you know you're the backup date because no one else is desperate/blind/adventurous/stupid enough to go with him. :p

So, Some Things I Need to Do Before Going to Prom:

One: find contact lenses

Because girlies look better in strapless evening dresses in contact lenses than in dorky specs. Unfortunately, I look like this if I wear em for more than 4 hours. More bad news: I think my lenses have expired, cos the last time I wore em was two years ago. Dare I chance it? Cataracts are extremely gross, I'm told, but I'm too cheapskate to go get myself a new pair of lenses.

Two: find dress
You generally need to be clothed in order to impress people socially, unless you're built like Angelina Jolie, in which case you can parade around with nary a stitch on and people'll still cheer. Or try to stab you with their jealous death stares, whatever.

My hottie friend with a body that makes men want to do naughty things to her has a lot of pretty gowns. Unfortunately, I'm flat as a slat and built like a boy, so none of that would fit me. I'm trying to see the logic in blowing more than RM100 on a dress I'll wear 0.8 times a year, if I'm lucky (running out of relatives to marry off), when I only spend about 40 bucks on jeans that I wear everyday.

Nope, doesn't work out.

Three: find make-up
I own a tube of lip stick (expired), mascara (ditto) and a stick of colourless lip balm (hijacked by the Oaf). He's not a trannie, btw. He just has fugly chapped lips. Now I have to borrow makeup from friends because I'm not terribly partial towards my mom's blood red lipstick and auntie-style makeup. Ever notice how auntie-fied women always wear blood red lipstick? I wonder if that's a requirement to join the Almost-50 Club.

Reminder to self: Also enlist help of erection-inspiring hottie friend in application, cos I always manage to stab myself in the eye while wielding the mascara stick.

Maybe my mom will read the first paragraph and kill me before prom rolls around.

Four: find shoes
I own a pair of pale pink (now dirty-looking) running shoes that I wear everywhere, a pair of sparkly sandals that I wear whenever "formal" exists in the dress-code, and a pair of clunky man-style slippers that I wear to the pasar malam or to 2020 for my supper. (if you live in Pandan Indah you'll know where it is) I also have a pair of inch-high wedges I bought on a whim.

Obviously none of these can be worn to prom, and it's kinda tough to find flats that flatter a prom dress. Unfortunately, I can't walk in heels. I can stand pretty spectacularly though.

Saffron admires women who can walk in heels. Respect maut. She has even more admiration for women who can run in stilettos. Tabik hormat.

Five: practice talking normally to complete strangers
Easier said than done. I wish we could revert back to stone-age grunting and moaning to communicate. Less chances of committing embarrassing faux pas, eep.

The whole point of this whole post is to play the sympathy card and ask if anyone would like to go to prom with my friend. He's pretty well-built with a head full of shaggy hair that falls into his eyes, and he's quite tall. When sober, he's also relatively intelligent and can debate chemical reactions. The downside of him being drunk is that he likes to talk about physics equations, and he drives like a maniac, drunk OR sober. Any takers? Free food and drink beckons, and I'll owe you a debt of gratitude.

Image of the Evil Eye monster taken from DarkFallOnline.

Was half asleep when some stupid piece of moulding char siew on a motorbike decided to rev his engine up the little hill outside my flat and woke me up. I hate being jolted out of sleep. Now I'm cranky AND hungry.

So I got to thinking about marriage proposals ala baseball park style. The kind where they write "Will you marry me, (insert name here)?" and advertise it all over the baseball stadium and the audience enunciates "Awww" collectively and the girl says yes.

I don't like stuff like that. The very same reason why I don't want flowers on Valentine's day. Or any other day for that matter. Sounds kinda tacky and kitschy. The prude in me doesn't like PDAs either. Real love doesn't need any advertisement.

Friend says I make good mistress material. When I'm sober, I'm inclined to agree.

Scribbles:
A secondary school friend told me earlier that he reads my blog. So babe, the next time you SMS me, there will be absolutely no mention of me ending up alone, and there will be no smart comments about counting my chicks before they're hatched, or there'll be hell to pay.

Now I have to decide whether I should trek downstairs for more burgers, or if I should just root in the fridge for some cornflakes. On second thoughts, maybe I should just curse the char siew and go back to bed.

Bone Crushers

I have this very weird habit of turning up in the same colour clothes as my best friend. We take 'sam ling siong tung' to a whole new dimension. Therefore, it should've been no surprise that we'd both be stuck in the same emotional dilemma at the same time.

Insane urge to swear is rising again, damnit.

Anyway, I'm not gonna talk about it anymore (privacy issues), so I'll just blog about something that I hate doing: shaking hands.

Usually when I meet someone I try to deflect the inevitable social practice of shaking hands by lifting my right hand and waving it around, kinda like the way you say goodbye to a kid, y'know? Unfortunately, being the bastards that they are, they always grab my right hand and give it an energetic pump before giving it back to me.

Okay, so it's commonly accepted that people shake hands when they meet, and they're not really bastards for doing it, but damn I hate having my hands shaked. I hate people who have a limp, wet (from sweat) grip. I hate people who grip so hard my fingers are squashed together and tears form at the corners of my eyes. I hate people who pump so hard it feels my arm socket's gonna come off. But most of all, I utterly, utterly hate people who grip hard and pump hard.

So, question time. What the heck is the common practice? Are you just supposed to grip till the other guy screams and chews off his arm from the wrist, or are you supposed to move your hand in an upward and downward motion (ooh, jackoff 101) while having a fake smile plastered on your face? Would it be bad form to completely ignore the hand offered and say hi with a sincere smile instead?

Can you believe I did 2 years of Business? *shakes head*

What do you do when you're locked out of your house?

Happened today, when me and the Oaf came home with no house keys. Granma didn't answer the door cos she way busy yakking on the phone, and couldn't hear her handphone ring cos it was in the kitchen. After calling our parents, we had to wait outside the house in the corridor.

After talking for 10 minutes, we got bored and started a Bollywood dance routine with massively-exaggerated hip movements and wide toothy grins. Music was playing in my head, which, in retrospect, doesn't really augur well for my state of mind, but who cares about my sanity anyways?

Unfortunately, our road to international stardom ala Aishwarya Rai was thwarted when some guy and his girlfriend walked up the stairs. Stares are not conducive to dancing, unfortunately.

Some people can be so rude. *grumbles*

With half a foot into the future...

First of all, if you can't somehow figure out what the title of this post means, don't bother asking me, cos I have no idea either. I have a bad habit of saying things without knowing what they mean. Depending on your perspective, it either makes me very mysterious or very stupid.

So yesterday we went to a cafe called 69, which is located somewhere behind Times Square. The main reason we went there was because JW said there was this guy there who did horoscope readings. If you don't believe in prediction bullshit, this is not a post you should be reading.

The guy, who's seriously pretty and cute, complete with funny (in a good way) little mannerisms and gestures, did our readings for us. The first thing he said to me was, "You are a person who does not believe in fortune telling. I do not do fortune telling. Instead, I will analyse your personality and tell you about yourself, because your personality determines your future."

Hokay, I was thinking, what a bunch of gobbledygook. Quit with the whole philosophy thing and get on with it. He then asked me my name, DOB and started flipping his little book that was filled with Chinese characters. He also wrote some stuff on a piece of paper that gave a whole new definition to the term 'cakar ayam'. If I had my camera software installed I'd take a pic of the piece of paper and post it here. Unfortunately, I can't find my CDs, so it'll have to wait.

Stuff he (Simpson, if I got that right) got right:
I do not like responsibility
No one fought as hard as me against my modship in BF, I'm told. Harhar, with power comes responsibility, and I'd rather just have a laid-back experience rather than having to worry about stupid idiots who can never find the Edit button even though it's staring them right in the face. I'm getting used to it now though.

I do not like stress (which probably comes from responsibility)
Like I said, laid-back is good.

I do not plan for the future
So I am a happy person, sez Simpson, because I do not attempt to analyse or predict things that are completely out of my control. Unfortunately, it also means I am a person who does not have a clue what I'm going to do because I take winging it to the extreme.

I do not play mind games
I don't like people who keep me guessing and who try to trip me up with wordplay or manipulation. Simpson says that doesn't mean I don't know if people are playing mind games with me, though I think he may be over-crediting my intelligence. This probably explains why I have no patience for guys who have to wait x number of days before contacting me after we go out.

I like things straight to the point
Simpson says I don't like to waste my time, so I don't like people who beat around the bush.

I am blunt
Which results in a lot of hurt feelings if the person I'm with doesn't know me very well.

I don't like people who make a promise and then don't keep it
Similarly, I don't promise anything to anyone unless I intend to keep it. I expcet that if you say you'll do something, you'll follow up with it, and if I say I'll do something, then I'll see it through too.

Things he got wrong:
I don't like being with my family
Wrong. My family is the most important part of my life, and I'm not staying with them because of necessity.

I am an optimistic person
I'm one of the most negative and cynical people I know, so that's not right.

That's about it. I'll go into my friend's reading, but that would make this so long that even fans of granma stories won't read it. Moral of the story? I paid RM25 for the horoscope drink just to hear someone tell me stuff I already know. Yayness.

On a sidenote: Thoughts are with T right now. Hope things get better soon.

See, orginally I had a long ass post, but just as I was about to publish it something happened and my Opera shut down. Crossing my fingers, I reopened it and my post was gone. Half an hour of my life, gone just like that. Fuck.

Anyway, instead of doing one of those weird little posts I'm so fond of writing, I'm just gonna say that I'm on my study break now, and my first exam will be on next Friday. Being that I'm me, I guess I'll start studying somewhere around Wednesday, which is definely not good news cos this sem I have 3 heavy subjects and I've missed more classes than I can afford to.

So what do I do with the remaining time I have to catch up on my lessons? I hit a gay bar tonight with my friends. The I go eat supper. Then I go yamcha. Then...depending on whether I get an SMS, I'll either stay out later or go home and drop dead.

I'm trying to pack my weekend full so I don't have to read any of the boring academia potheads and their theories. Enough time next week. I'll even say yes to the dog if he wants me to take him out for his regular neighbourhood liason with the whores in heat, and I hate watching animals hump.

I've decided that for the rest of the month, my motto will be "Exams? What exams? To hell with it. To hell with it all!"

101

Hey, you're not naked!
This is an FAQ about my blog, so there'll be no naked pics of anyone around. Feeling cheated? Tough nuts. :)

On a sidenote: That pic is my avatar in BlizzForums, which I suspect is the reason why people there now know that if you click on the avy it takes you to the profile page. I giggle every time I receive a PM about it, heheh. Can't believe I'm actually 22, can you? It's no biggie, just a little sensationalism. :) If you're from BF, Saffron porn does not exist, so you can stop dreaming.


Why do I write?
In my spare time, I like to pretend I'm a columnist, so I have stuff lying all over my folders. Some of the posts here are old, between a few months to a few years. I'd like to be cool and say I don't write for other people, only for myself, but I get a kick if I get more than 3 comments per post, so that shows what a shameless attention-whore I am.

At first I was kind of uncomfortable with the idea of exposing myself to people I don't know, because, well, it just makes me uncomfortable to know that someone I don't even know exists knows about my alcoholicness and that I am a scaredy-cat. This is the reason why it took me a few months to finally decide to advertise on PPS.

After reconciling myself to the fact that I am vain and crave attention, advertising on PPS was probably the smartest thing I ever did. :)


When did the blogging bug bite you?

In 2002, when Johann and Bryan asked me to be a staff writer at Healthy Frowns, a now-dead blog. They're both Yankees, and being that the Land of the Free is notoriously immoral, I suspect they were both drunk and high when they popped the question, but lets not get into that now.

After HF closed, I was only a forummer, not a forummer/blogger, and I never realised there was a Malaysian blogosphere thing around. I also never went searching for one, cos frankly the idea just never occured to me. I'm like those cartoon characters that go "Eh?" and scratch their heads when they see the shadow of a giant boulder growing bigger and bigger on the ground where they're standing on.


What's this blog about?
My life. One thing you will NOT see here is the fiery debates I used to get into in BlizzForums, because I don't feel like spending 3 hours to do research anymore. Also, there's no Raptor here saying stupid things to piss me off, so I'm nice and zen-like most of the time.

Mostly the topics are about stuff that I find interesting, though Nub once commented about the amazingness of my ability to stretch what can be said in one sentence into three paragraphs. That's what they teach you in college, dearie, only they call it academic writing. And it may be three paras, but they're three entertaining paras.

Topics will range depending on my mood, but I suppose you should be told that I have strong opinions about abortion, gay rights, and treating people with respect. I have a problem with people who refuse to even acknowledge that other people's opinions may be as valid as their own, and hypocritical religious bastards. I am also pretty judgemental and stubborn, though that doesn't mean I won't hear you out. It just means I've already made up my mind and am probably not going to change it. Other than that, I'm a pretty nice girl. :)

Rest assured that if I ever blog about something controversial (which would probably never happen), the comment section will be left open. It won't be fair if I'm the only one who gets to say things, even if I'm the owner of this blog. I don't believe in censorship, since if you're old enough to understand me then you're old enough to think like an adult. Missives will be replied in the spirit which they are lobbed at me, so don't cry when I completely own your ass. :)


What's with all the numbers?
27th and 6th are important dates. 27th is my birthday, and now that you know I expect at least a greeting from you, heheh. 6th is The Oaf's birthday, and he's sorta important, being that he's the one who drives me to school, so he gets the honour of being on the top of this site.

The bitter irony is I absolutely hate numbers. That's why I'm in Mass Comm, no math here. :) The bitterer irony is that I actually spent 2 and a half years doing finance, quantitative analysis, management accounting and other numbery stuff like that.


Why is there no sitemeter thing on your blog?
The last time I put one in, I didn't like the idea of knowing how many people I don't know were reading stuff about my personal life, so I took it out again. Now I don't have to worry about whether the stuff I write is too personal or too weird, cos I don't know if anyone's actually reading it.

Cypher got it right when he said "Ignorance is bliss," but only if you're sorta-anal like me. :)

If you've linked to me and don't see a link back on my sidebar, I'm probably not aware of it. Refer to the part about clueless cartoon characters getting crushed by giant rocks, thx. Drop me a note somewhere so I know. Contact info is on sidebar.


Why is there no picture of you anywhere?
Because I'm afraid my face would scare off my reader base. :)

I'd entertained thoughts of putting my mugshot here, but then that would mean I cannot write about embarassing personal stuff anymore, cos if someone saw my pic and read my blog and saw me in walking in a pasar malam, they'd snicker, and I hate to have people snickering behind my back. It's so insensitive.


Your site looks weird
That's because I'm using Opera, and if I publish my post and it looks fine, I'm going to assume it looks fine for everyone. What're you doing with IE anyway? Get Firefox or Opera, they're much more secure.


This blog exists because of:
Lance, who made the sidebar pretty.
Elcap, who taught me some html stuff and was very, very patient.
Nub, who fiddled with my html and made my text nice and readable. Also helped me with the Support Jeff Ooi banner before switching templates removed it.
Arion, for checking stuff for me and giving me suggestions with the blog topics.
Seanna, for banner help as well.

Everyone here has my password to this blog, so if anything happens to it I know who to blame. :)

Finally...
This little FAQ has made me happy, cos I can indulge in my fantasy of being famous and important enough that people would want to know the story behind this blog. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon, I say.

Sepet the Movie

THIS POST DEFINITELY CONTAINS SPOILERS.
THAT MEANS YOU SHOULD STOP READING NOW IF YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT STUFF BEING SPOILED.
WHAT SPOILERS? READ TITLE PLEASE.

The thing about being an impatient, bad driver (that's me) is that I already know what's going to happen to motorcyclists who zoom in and out of traffic.

Yesterday, I was invited to the premiere of Yasmin Ahmad's Sepet because, well, I dunno why, but I'm still thankful nonetheless. I'm also thankful that my nameless benefactor sat next to me and whispered little titbits of information to me while I was watching the movie, which was invaluable because then the ah-soh, gossipy me can fume about what was cut from the film. I'm not going to go into the banality of the Board, cos that's a widely-known fact. I just wish they'd make public the mugshots of the people who populate said Board so we know when to give them a wide berth should we ever have the misfortune to meet any of them in public.

I like the poem in the starting scene, and it helps if you understand mandarin cos the subtitles are fine as they are, but the nuances are better grasped if you understand the language. Or maybe that's just me trying to show off.

Certain scenes got me laughing even though it wasn't that funny because that's what I usually do when I'm trying to annoy my brother, like dancing around him energetically just as the legions of Roman centurions are about to crush his puny armies.

Orked was very good. Very, very good. And she has nice straight hair right from a shampoo advertisement. Loong (first-time actor) was a little wooden, but then I think he was trying to play the shy, awkward out-of-his-depth guy-in-love part and overshot it a bit. Guys in love can read love letters with emotions too. Oh well, I suppose over-wooden is better than melodramatic.

It's really too bad that the scene where Loong really sparkles is the scene where I don't understand more than half the dialogue. I'm told the double entendres were lost in the translation, so here's another reason to blame my family for not teaching me Hokkien during my formative years.

Keong is cool. Anyone who can think of jacking off even as his right arm is in a cast deserves an honourary mention. *grins* Orked's family also provides a very nice distraction from the expositional sections.

And I believe I do like the alternative ending better. :)

For a comprehensive review written by a pro, please visit TV Smith's Sepet Movie Review. For the movie's official website, please click here.

Buy a ticket and watch Sepet when it's released. Buy a ticket even if you don't have time to watch. It's only the price of a cup of over-priced coffee that's so popular around town, and our arts are worth more than that.

If I had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day...

In the spirit of this blog, I will now talk about Valentines day after it's been over for a week.

If I had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day...
...There will be none of the following:

Perfume
Flowers of any variety
Candy
Chocolate
Jewellery
Store-bought cards
Stuffed toys
Candle-light dinner
Romantic dinner
In fact, any other dinner in places where jeans are frowned upon
Sickly sweet nicknames like Darling and Honey

...The perfect Valentine's day gift would be:

WoW starter pack and a 6-month access fee, fully paid
Family dinner
Bungee jumping
Marathon roller-coaster ride together-gether.
10 Things I Hate About You/Dogma DVD
PS3
Leatherbound copy of Little Women
Leatherbound copies of the entire Anne Shirley series
Walk around the neighbourhood and have Ramli burgers for dinner
Watching sappy chick flicks together-gether
Purple velvet-lined handcuffs (because they are cool and pimp-ish)

...And the old fallback:

running over to Little Genting and doing the whole false flash thing again. Hopefully I won't be too old for this by the time I get a boy-boy of my own.

Hmmm...Making a list based on fantasies is pretty fun.

A Scientific Approach to Fantasies

Fantasies. Everyone has em, most of em are sick and twisted, and a lot of people will lie about em. This is a tongue-in-cheek 101 guide to how to articulate your darker desires without (hopefully) you ending up having to surgically remove the charred jagung stuck to your forehead.

In matters involving life and death, obviously timing is very important. If you're notorious for doing the wrong things at the wrong time, obviously you might want to practice more before embarking on this perilous journey. Like maybe level up on your good-timing aptitude.

Examples of good timing: right after you've done something incredibly sweet for her, like maybe the dishes, without her having to ask. Orgasms are pretty good too.

Examples of bad timing: football halftime. In fact, doing anything (except the dishes) during halftime is a pretty bad idea.

The way you articulate your desires is also fairly important. Like they keep telling us in my course, communication is the most important aspect of human life. Without communication, we'd still be organised like a society of mute monkeys and swing from tree to tree happily, complete with cute little waggedy tails. Of course, this way males will then retain a very important part of their anatomy as well: their hearing.

The gist of the point is to pick your words very carefully. This is not a situation where you just blurt stuff out and hope for the best. Nay, even myself, the Queen of Winging It, would advise against it in this case because it could very well involve another very important part of your anatomy: the family jewels. The keyword here is practice. And rehearse. But don't make it sound too stilty or you're screwed (in a bad way) as well.

For example, it's fine to ask her to be Princess Leia, but it's definitely not okay to ask her to be Angelina Jolie, even if you temper it by asking her to play Tomb Raider.

The only tomb you'll be raiding will be your own, babe.

Instead, you can ask for Lara Croft and hope that she tries the Jolie route while doing research. Of course, she may have done too much research and end up looking scarily similar to a pixellated babe with a seriously deformed body, complete with twin Uzis and grunts. Either way, I figure you win.

Remember, the Cardinal Rule is that fantasies about other people are fine as long as you don't ask her to actually be someone else (real) while you're going at it.

Finally, we come to the point of place or location. If you've nailed timing and communication, screwing up the place could still throw a monkey wrench into the works. Naturally, you want to approach the slightly-taboo topic of fantasies in a location where you're fairly comfortable. That rules out your mother-in-law's house because a) her mother might overhear you, b) you do not think about sex when her mother's in the area, c) her dad may have agreed to let you marry his daughter, but it doesn't mean he'll be equally agreeable to you asking her to dress up as Little Red Riding Hood, and d) her father may secretly own an arsenal of dangerous firearms.

Examples of good places: Bedrooms, because it's comfortable, or a nice quiet cafe. Basically anywhere you can talk without shouting is good. Beware of eavesdroppers though.

Examples of bad places: MIL's house, kitchen (knives = bad), nursery (childbirth = painful. Don't literally remind her about what would ensue if an accident accidentally happened) and places where there are charred jagungs lying around within easy reach.

And so, with this little beginner's guide, I'm sure the process of realising your needs will go much smoother and with much less losing of important limbs. Therefore, I shall end on this note and bid you good luck, and farewell.

Scribbles:
jagung - corn

This article is mainly written for males because a woman who articulates her desires is a godsend and will therefore need no help in getting her fantasies realised. Even if she demands that her guy take a day off from work and spend a day involving a bed, silk ties and an ice-cube, he'd probably still do it.

Day 1:
Hum-drum boring stuff, visiting relatives I haven't seen since, well, the last CNY. Endured the standard wah-so-tall! routine from grinning relatives sweating in chinese-style red RED clothes. These people actually wear them by choice. On the other hand, I don't stick out like a sore thumb. Or maybe I do, on account of the pukey greenness.

Day 2:
More visiting, cheers. At least we got to gamble here, and won about RM5. We were entertaining the younger kids who only bet 10 sen. God, the good old days when I used to make 10 sen wagers. Food sucked, went home and cooked maggi. Mom said we made her feel guilty, so note to self is to stuff face next year even though it's killing me.

Day 3:
Got drunk. Don't remember much.

Day 4:
Went to youngest auntie's house. Her super husband (who can build rattan sofa sets from scratch, knock down walls, replaster them professionally with cement, cook a mean steak, drink like 10 sailors, fix doors, make firecrackers) cooked dinner for the entire clan, which comes up to about 20 people. Roughly. The menu was varied, from chicken maryland to lamb chops with lime sauce to fish and chips to juicy steaks. And they were GOOD.

I had 1 serving of lamb chops with lime sauce, 1 grilled prawn platter, 1 standard grilled lamb chop and 3 bites of steak from my 2nd aunt's plate. It would be prudent to note that almost everyone had second servings, so I'm not really as gluttonous as that first sentence sounds. The food was really good. Also moonlighted as a waitress cos uncle couldn't keep track of the orders. As a result of my good deed, I managed to stop a covert attempt to hijack my prawns (they were very limited), and I got unlimited supply of Heineken cos the bottles were right in the kitchen, whoohoo!

After-dinner entertainment consisted of playing contraband firecrackers. Heineken bottles are good for sticking rockets in so that you don't blow off your fingers. C'mon, common sense. Mild excitement ensued when my cousin brother threw one of those bomb-like thingies and it rolled almost under a neighbour's car. Everyone survived, including the car. Uncle bought one of those huge containers of fireworks that cost RM50, and it went off like those RM3 million fireworks display. Beautiful.

Spent the rest of the night drinking warm Heineken and playing Blackjack. Finally found uncle's Achilles heel: he cannot gamble to save his life. Have taken to calling him Choi San Yeh.

Day 5:
Bro kacau-kacaued and convinced my mom to gamble money while playing mahjong. I don't gamble money in mahjong cos I like to keep my cards and make sets even though I can win by chi-ing the numbered tiles. Which translates to: if I play money I will lose. Big time.

Since it was the oaf who suggested it, I figured I can afford to lose 10 bucks. Surprisingly I was the big winner, muahahaha. Lesson in life #76: no skill nevermind. Nothing beats pure luck. Lesson in life #77: luck is fickle. Do not gamble.

Went to maternal uncle's house at night. Stuffed face with more prawns, yum yum.

Scribbles:
Choi San Yeh -- God of Prosperity. Has something to do with money.
Mahjong -- Chinese gambling game with ivory tiles. If you don't understand me then you're probably not a player, and mahjong cannot be explained here if I want to keep this under 1k words.

I love my youngest auntie and her husband. They're like uber cool. They have a fridge upstairs that holds nothing but beer and wine. Read that sentence again. How cool is that? Uncle is also very easy-going and generous, auntie's funny. Haha funny. I've never spent such an enjoyable time in a relative's house before. Lesson in life #98: alcohol is the ultimate cure-all. With enough alcohol, world hunger and the Middle East can be easily kau timed.

Said the cynic...

GOT IT FROM A FRIEND, WHO GOT IT FROM DRIBBLEGLASS.COM

There, my obligatory tribute to the season of love. Now to figure out WTF I'm doing up at 8 on a day I don't need to go to school...

I can tell it's going to be a good year

ACT 1, SCENE 1
Today, at an undisclosed location...

Auntie: Eh, Ah Laine, I heard from your mummy you haven't bought CNY clothes yet hor?

My spider sense tingling, I answered meekly, "Yes, auntie. No time to go shopping lately." I am always meek with my relatives. Keeps up the good girl image, muahahaha. Anyways...

Auntie said, "I got something for you. Come, come."

Little did the meek little girl know that she was walking straight to her doom.


ACT 1, SCENE 2
Inside one of the many rooms at the previously undisclosed location...

Auntie was rummaging in a cupboard. "See, I bought this from China one, thought want to give to you for CNY."

Me, thinking deep thoughts. Whenever relatives go to China, they always come back with tacky and completely inapropriate stuff. Shiny kitschy China-style clothes with frog buttons should only be worn by non-living things (like Hello Kitty dolls and dead relatives), and I don't want fake jade, thank you very much.

After Auntie removed almost all the contents of the cupboard, she pulled out something. As far as I could see, it was a piece of green cloth. Then she turned it over and I gasped.

OH, THE HORROR, THE HORROR!

Auntie: See, this one is good quality cloth, not silk so it won't stick to you when you sweat. CNY mah, sure sweat a lot cos so hot. You must remember to wear sunscreen okay?

I'm sure she said more, but I was in a state of total and complete shock. All I could think off was there's no way I could get out of wearing this for Chor Yat cos we have to visit this auntie on that day, and she would expect to see me in it. I nodded along with a frozen rictus plastered on my face as I ran through all the possibilities, including faking stomach aches and arson. Thankfully, years of drilling and indoctrination at the hands of a sergeant major aka maternal granma meant I could fake decorum even as my insides were churning in a diarrhea-ish way. Oh well, spider in a web. Maybe I should just grin and bear it, after all, it's only a piece of clothing.

I hope the contortion of my features passed for joy and happiness, cos (not so deep) inside all I could think of was, "Please, if there is a god, kill me. Kill me now."

Oh look, I didn't die.


ACT 1, SCENE 3
15 minutes spent modelling that piece of...thing for my auntie, much to the amusement of my cousins. Oaf was smart enough to realise I would deliver a flying kick to his groin and completely decimate his balls if he so much as snickered, so he was the model of serenity. At certain times, I don't give a shit if he's the only one to continue the family line. Piss off the tai ka cheh and there'll be hell to pay.

Back to The Thing. Another pic here for emphasis on fugliness.

In addition to being a horrible shade of puke green and brown, it was 5 sizes too big for me. From the front I look like a kung-fu nerd. From the side I look like I'm pregnant. From the back, well, I don't know, but I fully intend to wear it with a pair of tight jeans in hopes that my ass would distract people from all that horrible green-ness.

You know what'd be the best accessory to go with this? A brown paper bag for my head.


Scribbles:
Ah Laine is not my real name. For some reason my relatives like to call me that. I have been on a campaign to re-educate them, but Iraq is progressing better than the stubborn family I was born into. I blame my mother. If you think my nickname sounds a lot like "Ah Lian", you are wrong. VERY WRONG!

Chor Yat is the first day of CNY, where people visit the most respected members of the extended family.

Tai ka cheh is cantonese for eldest sister. Also triad slang for The Boss Lady, which I am not. Demure, sweet and sunshiny, that be me. *grins*

How to construct a sandwich in 10 seconds.

In the vein of my usual How-Tos, I've decided to forever damn sandwich-making by putting it in the list today. Not as brainless as this, but pretty close.

Pop sandwich meat into oven for 15 seconds. While waiting for the ding!, rip off enough clingfilm or foil to wrap 2 pieces of bread. This is the part that kills me, cos I either rip off too little, which results in some creative maneuvering (read: squashing) in order to get the whole thing wrapped, or I rip off too much, which is not a big deal but then mom goes on and on about wastage.

Sidenote: never put your tongue in a place where shit comes out of. Clingfilm (never ever foil) works nicely.

Lay out two pieces of wholemeal bread. When oven goes dingly ding, lick fingertips, grab meat directly from oven and fling it onto the general vicinity of where your bread is. When done correctly, this maneuver saves time. Given enough practice, the meat will land almost squarely on top of the bread. Beginners, it is mathematically impossible for you to hit the zone the first time around, so be prepared to wipe off various surfaces (table, chair, fan, brother's head) when you miss.

Layer lettuce (or any other green of your choice) and tomatoes, squirt some mustard on, cover with the other piece of bread and press. Not squash, honey, press. Then,wrap clingfilm so that the sandwich is nicely bundled up. Note that I use 'wrap' in the loosest sense of the word. As long as the stuff you plan to put in your mouth is covered, you're safe. Hurray, done!

If you're thinking that all that takes more time than stipulated in the title, you're right. But "Mom, can you make my sandwich for me?" takes all of 10 seconds. *evil grin*

Lesson in Life #39: If you do something incompetently enough, someone (usually your mom) will do it for you instead. That's why I blow up kitchens when I cook, uh huh.

My peace-loving, tree-hugging days are over

You know how they always tell us to be nice and polite when we were kids? I figure I've been screwed over.

I'm the grandkid who goes around the whole house calling everyone who's older than me. This practice may seem a bit weird to you (if you're from BF) but we've been indoctrinated to call "Granma" when we see granma and "6th uncle" when we see 6th uncle. "It's only polite to greet your elders," maternal granma squawked.

My younger cousins never do this; it's only me and my brother. I was never allowed to touch the fridge when I was a kid cos my maternal granpa was some sorta sadist. Needless to say, cold food was very seldom acquainted with my youthful mouth. Now, my younger cousins revel in chilled apple juice and ice-cream whenever they're at my maternal granma's house. Evidently, politeness flies straight out of the window when you're a generation younger. You see what I mean about getting screwed over?

I never talk back and people think I'm dumb. Hmm, wait, that actually plays to my advantage, so I'll stop whining about it. I smile at the people at the front desk and someone cuts into my line. Nevermind, have faith in the cashier person. Have faith that she will politely ask the friggin queue-jumper to, hey, why is she serving him instead? Grrr...

If I want my place back, I'm going to have to sock the guy over the head myself.

Being meek and accomodating gets you nowhere. People cut into your queue, they intimidate the heck out of you on the highways, they force you to do more work, they take advantage of you, blah blah list goes on. What's the point of saying thanks when all you get in return is a stony face? What's the point of being understanding if the other person's just going to do it again, and again, and again, until one day you lose it and glue the pages of his library book together?

The meek will only inherit the earth after the bold are done with it.

The other day I was called to the program office to explain my absences. I have documentation covering all my absences, which were caused by illness, hence legit, and still the program director chose to give me a hard time. My friend Geo, who's in the same predicament, was absent less than me and she was forced to defer her entire semester because the director was a bitch about it. That's RM 7K down the drain.

God damn I was pissed. I know how much power she has over me, and I know I'm not Indonesian, so can the bloody intimidation. I hate people who act like they're the Queen Bitch just because they have a plaque on their door. Wanna play staredown? Sure, I'm game. Wanna throw me off with sarcasm? Well, right back at you, bitch. I walked in knowing what I wanted to get out of this, and I walked out getting exactly what I wanted.

Courtesy campaign? Pah!I was very proud of myself. Being a counter-bitch suits me just fine.

Notes:
Defer, means to give up this semester and rugi all the fees already paid, and to re-take the subjects I've already done halfway this semester, and pay the full fees again. Also means graduation will be delayed.

February compilation #1

'Tis the month of February. Thought I'd compile a list of gifts from Valentines past that struck a chord with me. Immitate at your own risk, and for personal health reasons always make sure the receiver has a sense of humour before proceeding.

Case Study #1
A friend of mine gave his girlfriend a plastic bottle full of panadol, meant to relieve a condition that commonly afflicts half of all the human beings on the face of this planet: chronic headaches.

They're still together, so I don't think his injuries were particularly life-threatening.

Case Study #2
A friend of mine was this close to receiving the fairytale Valentine's gift, a bouquet of 99 red roses wrapped with fluffy pink and white tissue paper. She got her bouquet...of dried roses that didn't cost RM10 a stalk. Boyfriend went up to Cameron Highlands for cheap flowers about a month in advance and dried them himself. I have to say he did a pretty great job of packing them into the tissue paper too, cos god only knows beautiful bouquets are extremely unwieldy to fashion unless you're a professional florist.

She would've killed him if he spent RM100 on flowers that would've been droopy in 2 days anyway.

That's all I can remember for now. I'll tack on more later when the old memory gets some juice and gets going.

Again, I cannot even begin to stress the extreme need for caution if you're thinking "Hey, this is a good way to perk up my Valentine's Day,". I happen to have crazy/weird friends who're reasonably open to pranks like these. When in doubt, don't. A repeat of the St Valentine's Day Massacre is not everyone's definiton of 'perking up'.

Dengue Pahtay!

Granma was discharged, and my bro was admitted for dengue fever. My house is like a fucking orgy-party-maksiat zone for mozzies.

The other day my mom came home from the hospital to find me furiously typing away at the computer trying to rush my assignments that were due the next day. Note the plural, heheh. She took one look at the plugs next to my PC and started lecturing me on the need to switch on the electric mosquito coil thingy.

Yes, I don’t know what it’s called. Or maybe I just forgot. I dunno.

Ever since half of the family was infected with the mozzie disease, we’ve been spraying the whole house with racun serangga perosak every single night. My family is probably single-handedly responsible for the peak in Ridsect’s 4th quarter sales. The electric mosquito coil thingy with the slightly-cheap-sweet-cologne smell is switched on almost 24/7, except when I forget. The uncle who sells the blue rectangle refills for the electric mosquito coil thingy positively genuflects (in a happy way) at the sight of me or my dad.

We’ve tried our best to wipe out all surviving mozzies in the family home. If there are any survivors left, we can all rest happily in the hospital beds with an IV tube up our left arms, peaceful in the knowledge that we’ve created a strain of super mutated Aedes mosquitoes that would only die if we nuked the whole of Cheras. (don’t even think of nodding, you Ah Beng haters you)

Oh man, I just found a mozzie bite on my neck. Die, spawn of the undead, DIE!

Note: If I get dengue, remember to come visit me at SJMC. I like grapes more than apples, and oranges above all. *grins*

Confirmed Dengue

Granma's in SJMC, recuperating from a bout of dengue. (Yes, I realised I spelled that wrong in my previous post, thanks Arion)

There won't be any substantial updates for a while, apart from heads ups like these to inform people that I am in fact neither dead nor married, just busy. I'll probably be spending most of my time in SJMC with my gran. Platelet count is down to 28 hundred thousand, normal people have between 150 to 400. She'll need more platelets if the count drops below 20, so we're still hoping it doesn't have to come to that.

Just to show you how beautiful my gran is, she's the one with the snow white hair. Pic's a bit blurry, but it's not my doing. Originally posted in Notes from PD.

To look that good at 71, that is my wish. Oh heck, I'll settle for being alive. :p

Back when I was in Form four my best friend decided to try out for a prefect position. Obviously we all thought she was nuts and tried to talk her out of it, but then she's stubborn as a mule so it was all for naught. Three months after we told her she was crazy, she put on the blue uniform and proudly pinned her prefect badge on her left shirt pocket. And proceeded to be bullied into utter submission by the 'bad boys' in the Form 5 classes.

Crucial lesson of the year: nothing changes, school lines were still drawn the same way.

Because of her position, I got to know the KM of the school, whose name is Ooi Keng. He jokingly refered to himself as Ketua Maksiat, and he was one of the less anal KMs in the history of our school. He doesn't lose his head whenever an infrcation's committed, and he doesn't pop a green vein yelling at students who're apparently deaf when it comes to bring bossed around by prefects.

Since Form four freshies don't go around mixing with worldly, sophisticated Upper Six guys, I don't thik he ever knew who I was, apart from maybe 'that tall specky girl'. I remembered him as being very reasonable and approachable, so unlike all the other anal retentive KMs we've had in the past. The next KM after Ooi Keng would forever be remembered in the annals of SMKDL history as being the Most Anal Of Them All.

Yesterday I got a phone call from my best friend, informing me that Ooi Keng has passed away because of denggi. Our ex-KM was working in Sabah, and left his fever untreated until it was too late for anyone to do anything.

He was 25 years old.

Anomalos

"Zhok fan ah, fatt siew zhong yam kopi!"

Translation: WTH do you think you're doing drinking coffee when you're feverish?

She walked like a baby penguin, with unsure footsteps, as she went to the loo. I found her cup with coffee in it this afternoon and to my horror, proceeded to grumble and nag like a fishwife on menopause, completely unaware that I was doing it.

For as long as I have known her, my granma has never been sick. Well, except for that one time she was hospitalised for a uterus operation thingy, but that was back when I was still at the age where crying was acceptable, and it's not technically an illness.

You know the disconcerting feeling you get when you're tossed into an unfamiliar situation?

I won't exactly say this is out of my comfort zone, but it's weird that I'm the one checking on her when she's sleeping in her room, and refilling her thermos for her. Most of all, I understand now why she nags me to go see the good doctor in Pudu instead of Pertama whenever I'm ill (Pertama has quack docs, depending on the time and day of visit) and tells me to stop shovelling ice-cream down my throat when I'm having some mild coughing (it would develop into something worse, like the bout of bronchitis I got earlier). I also know why she worries when I don't have an appetite, and why she forces me to eat even though everything tastes like cardboard. I've known she cares a lot about us, I just didn't comprehend how it feels like to be on the other side.

It's funny what it takes for me to realise that she's well into her 70s.

People who play around with medication

Halp me, halp me! I'm repressed! (Shamelessly stolen from Chaos, who probably stole it somewhere else)

Seriously, no. I was rooting around in my medicine cabinet for some of my leftover codeine pills and I found this packet of weird-looking stuff instead.

FRONT VIEW

THE SHINY SHINY BACK

On the back it says:
BETASERC
16 mg tablets
betahistine.2HCl

Googling yielded nothing much, as the only website I understand on the list says it's a tranquiliser of some sort. Okay, so maybe it's not a tranquiliser tranquiliser, but it's supposed to steady your nerves. Or something.

I'm pinging this in PPS cos that's what every normal person would do: ask for help on the internet. Sorta like this thread. On a Gaming forum. So, does anyone know what it's supposed to do?

What's another word for 'screwed'?

"Fucked," apparently.

We were supposed to hand in an assignment that's worth 30% of our grade today, but apparently the entire class got the paradigms wrong. Paradigm's a big word, innit? To give you a simplified, everyday idea of the assignment, they show you two fruits, say an apple and a durian. You're required to identify the fruit before writing your paper. The entire class said the apple was the durian and wrote about how apples are pokey and foreigners (who have no taste) can't stand the smell.

Now let's play a game. Hold up your left hand. Got it? Now test your motor skills and try to hold your thumb and index finger so that they're about an inch apart. Right, now imagine that space filled with paper. Imagine that paper filled with size 10 font. To really make the game interesting, the words are written by stuffy academics with names like Durkheim, Hovland and Horkheimer. One look at the names and you know you're waist-deep in manure.

That inch of paper is the only glimmer of hope we have of ever getting this assignment right. Told you paradigm's a big word. Gotta hand it to the guys who invent swear words, "I'm fucked," is a pretty eloquent way of summing up my whole day. In fact, the whole week.

Hooray for boobies.

That statement was totally irrelevant. I just wanted to be random cos I need a stiff drink and I can't have one.

The good news is we got an extension. The thing is now due on Thursday. The bad news is at the rate we're going, failure is the only bloody option.

Animal show

Click here

You need flash and Mandarin to play.

Chemical exploits

Every science stream student, pure or otherwise, cannot possibly get his or her Sijil Berhenti Sekolah without blowing up the chem lab at least once. For those of you too old to remember, Science streams now comes in Pure and, uh, Impure. I forgot the name, will edit it in later when I remember or when someone tells me what it's called. Anyway, today I'll talk about my embarassing exploits while dealing with dangerous chemicals.

So...let's start with the real post now.

You know those spiffy white coats and the eye-protector thingies we're supposed to wear when we're in the chem lab? Forget about those. It's a fantasy, like we're supposed to be wearing protective headgear and be sober while wielding rusty mallets in the bengkel Kemahiran Hidup. It only exists in textbooks and private schools. My alma mater was an el-cheapo government-funded school with gangfights every other Friday (people in the Pandan area would recognise the name Gangster School), so I guess we were pretty lucky to have a chem lab at all.

One fine day while I was in Form 4, we were lining up outside the lab waiting. Now that I think about it, I have no idea why they make us stand outside when the teacher's already in. I mean, god forbid if anyone ever tried to explain the sense of it all to us.

That day, we were supposed to be doing some sort of experiment listed in the book, and if memory serves we were supposed to heat up some magnesium tape in a little ceramic bowl. We had six tables in the lab, so about 8 of us were assigned to each table. We gathered the necessary apparatus and happily began assembling the Bunsen Burner. As with all chemical stuff, the trick of this experiment is the bowl must not touch direct flame, so you had to hover it on top of the Bunsen burner and move your hand (that's holding the tongs that're gripping the bowl) around.

Because we didn't have enough tongs, some of us had to heat it holding the ceramic bowl itself. Obviously this needed some tricky maneuvering so you don't heat up your fingers in the process, so the guys, who're naturally more limber and lithe than us clumsy girls, had to relinquish the tongs. Not a peep about sexism out of y'all please, thanks.

After about 3 minutes of hovering, I got bored. Ever notice how kids are usually subdued and zen-like before lunch and crazy and jumping around after lunch? I think they do it on purpose and time chem periods right after lunch so that kids will start thinking about some wacky experiments to do with all those tempting bottles of chemicals lying around, just so they can send more kids to the principal's room.

So what I did after feeling bored was let go of the tongs and placed the bowl right on the burner. Now from this action you know 2 things. First, that I never pay attention during McGyver or I would've known that magnesium + fire = not good in a confined space. Two, that I never paid any attention in chem class, otherwise I would've known that magnesium + fire = not good in a confined space.

It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd been the only one to do that, but one by one my friends from the other tables started putting down their ceramic bowls on the burner as well. From this, you know that no one in my class watches McGyver and/or pays attention during chem class. You would also be able to make an educated guess that out of a class of 40+ students, maybe 2 or 3 manage to get into double digits in their ujian bulanan.

Now, because the magnesium has been heating up while we were happily chatting away, eventually the one in my bowl started to spit black stuff. No one gave it any notice except for the class nerd (which is most definitely NOT me), and she started to look in the textbook to see if the magnesium was supposed to do that. While she was looking, suddenly all the bowls in the lab starting spitting too, and everyone was distancing themselves from the table cos they didn't want to get any of the tar-like substance on their clothes, especially the girls in baju kurungs. Now that I know how to cook, I know that whenever something doesn't look right the first thing you do is turn the fire off.

I did not how to cook back then.

While we were watching, white acrid smoke started pouring out of the ceramic bowl right before our very eyes. Honestly, for a small piece of tape like that, you'd think it would be easy to handle, but boy you'd be wrong. The smoke seemed to be endless, and at this point the teacher woke up from her slumber cos it really was very bad. She was kinda angry and spitting herself, but then I guess a lab full of smoke is not really a welcoming sight to wake up to.

In short, the lab was evacuated and the school gardener (who doubles as lab assistant, apparently) went into the lab with his lidi broom. I have no idea what he did in there, but lab classes were cancelled the whole day. I didn't get into trouble either, cos technically it wasn't my fault if I never verbally instigated anything. The downside was the teacher never slept in our chem class anymore.

The end.

You'd realise that this entry isn't very embarassing, considering. Because of my itchy hands, I've pasted a code thingy that tracks links to my site, and I found out that today my site got 130+ hits. To your everyday celebrity like Uncle Buaya or Kim, that might not be a lot, but it kinda freaks me out that 130+ people know that my cousin brother called me up to ask about bjs. Previously I thought at most 20 people read what I write.

So no more of the really embarassing stuff until I get used to this number.

Scribbles:
Sijil Berhenti Sekolah: The cert you get to certify you've never been expelled during your years in secondary school.
Bengkel Kemahiran Hidup: The place where they keep rusty saws and mallets for students to build cassette holders. Yes, cassettes were still in fashion back then. Official translation is Life Sciences workshop.
Pandan area: the place where my secondary school is located.
ujian bulanan: directly translated, monthly exams. Funnily enough, our exams were held once every 3 months, so it was 1st monthly exam, followed by mid sem exams, followed by 3rd monthly test and finally the final exam.

Science streams in Malaysia are categorised under Pure Science, which means the student takes Add Maths, Chemistry, Physics and Biology, and the other Science stream means you take a combination of science and arts subjects.

She bakes too!

Didn't turn out so good, meat was tough and I put too much black pepper. But it still looks pretty. I swear to god this is my last I-can-cook-aren't-I-super? post. :)

Kids bare the oddest body parts

A few days ago...

Me: "Hello?"

Curt, gruff. Haven't had lunch yet and I get a little cranky when I'm hungry, only I don't know it's because I'm hungry.

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "Hello? Ah Laine jie jie ah?"

That's not really my name. They just like to call me that.

Cranky ogre: "Yes la, who's this?"

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "I'm Ah Hong ah. I got a question to ask you ah jie jie,"

Sure is some stupid math question. Luckily he's still in primary school, so I don't have to mess up my brain thinking about stupid Physics equations. Should use a more grumpy voice so he quits asking after question number 5.

Cranky ogre: "Gong la,"

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "What is blowjob?"

Cranky ogre sputtered into the phone. It must be a mistake, I just heard wrongly. It's all my dad's fault for buying a cheap-ass wireless phone that has absolutely no quality at all. Pull out the whole antenna thingy also static like heck. Standing on the balcony also static like heck.

Cranky and nervous ogre: "What do you mean? How do you spell that?"

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "Blowjob ah. B-L-O-W-J-O-B."

Cranky and nervous ogre: "Who ask you this one? You online now ah?"

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "Yes lor, my friend on MSN ask me what is blowjob,"

I thought he was surfing for porn, the bastard. Okay, not a bastard anymore. He just needs better friends. Hmmm, okay. Do I explain what a blowjob is to him? The kid's 10, he has no business knowing what adults like to do to other adults. Does he? Jesus, that's not a question I should be answering, I've never even entertained the thought of having kids before, much less what kids should be hearing at 10! Right, parents! Ask his mom!

Close-to-panic-attack ogre: "Err, err, your mommy at home or not?"

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "She's taking nap wor."

Close-to-panic-attack ogre: "Wake her up la!"

You can see I have absolutely no sympathy at all for stay-at-home moms who choose napping over answering their inquisitive son's questions about uncomfortable things like this.

Close-to-panic-attack ogre: "Who's your friend? From school ah? Why he ask you question like this geh?"

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "Yes lor. He say his friend ask him wor,"

Close-to-panic-attack ogre: "Tell him to ask his mommy la."

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "Hah?"

Ooh, bad move. That could get everyone in trouble.

Ogre in panic attack: "Okay, I tell you now. You go and tell your friend that's what married people do. If he wants further explanation tell him to ask his mom. Or you can ask your mom when she wakes up? Okay? Settle? Byebye,"

Squeaky disjointed voice on phone: "Bye bye jie jie,"

***

As clearly illustrated in the example above, I cannot handle kids at all. Adults I can manage, you either yell or sweet talk. Kids are a whole new breed of... things that should never be allowed to use the phone to call hungry and unsuspecting cousin sisters for information.

Parents, what do you say when your kid tosses out something like this?


Minor scribbles:
jie jie: sister. In this case it means cousin sister, cos I'm his cousin. Bleah.

Saffy's Challenging Thursday

Step 1: grab 10 Jacob's crackers (I like mine full of wheaty goodness).
Step 2: challenge your oaf of a brother to an eating game.

Of course, crunching dry crackers 5 at one go would not be challenging unless your teeth are made of tofu, so the rule is to not use your hands. At all. Once your hand(s) touches any part of the biscuit you lose. Once a crumb bigger than your pinky nail drops off you lose. Once you sputter at the sight of a grown adult trying to maneuver a biscuit around his mouth without hands you lose. Needless to say, once you start spewing hunks of half-masticated biscuit dough all over the floor/face you lose automatically as well.

Since this could get pretty messy it's advised that you do this in a bathroom or the balcony. Easy-cleaning is the word of the day here.

The reason I picked crackers is because they're the only stuff I can eat due to the stomach virus I got when I went to school on Monday. I went to school for ONE day and came back with a virus. This is great, you know. It proves Becker's rubberband theory. Things were going too good for me last semester, so this semester the rubberband is taking back all the stretch it gave me before.

Broken dreams

There are some men who affect you more than others, people who walk in your life and spend some time with you, and as all relationships are wont to play out, when the time comes for them to leave you, they leave you forever changed. You never know if it's for better or for worse, but you have changed.

You lie awake at night thinking about the whole relationship, thinking about the decisions you made, and you want to fantasise about what it would have been like if you'd been willing to give up your career and have babies with this man, the one whom you really love.

A few years down the line, the memory still lingers, sweetness tinged with regret. You don't want to forget him but you don't want to think about him either, because it still hurts to know you're not together till the end of time. You want to think he misses you too, but you dismiss it as romantic nonsense. You want to think about where you would be now with him to inspire you, to arouse and energise.

And then there are some men whom you meet serendipitously. Men whom you still hold dear, men you miss, achingly at times, but you would never admit it. These men you talk to haltingly, eagerly, all the time marvelling at the chance sleight-of-hand that brought the two of you together again.

Men who are married now. Men who have a kid with their Beijing-born wives, men who say they don't believe that they are only entitled to one single love in their entire lives. These men say yes when you ask them if they're hinting at an affair with you. These men don't notice the hurt and betrayal they have so cavalierly inflicted on you. These men casually ask you if you'd like to work with them someday.

"I will never work for, or with you, Michael,"

When these people leave, they rip a chunk off your bleeding heart and they don't even know it.

CLICKITY CLICK

Cliched? Maybe. But when 'the men' is actually 'the man', broken hearts are bad enough. Broken hearts couched in broken dreams should never be endured alone, no matter how strong she thinks she is.

*story has been anonymised. it's not me, obviously.

It happened again

I read yesterday's Star (yes, I'm weird, I read yesterday's newspaper today. There's a reason for the weirdness, I'll explain it in a later post) and came across something about homosexuality and confused gender issues in Section 2.

And saw it happening again. By a reporter in a prominent newspaper. For the love of all things green and natural and pretty, if I ever see someone making a stupid mistake like this again I swear I'm going to...actually, I don't know what I'll do apart from fuming in rage. Kicking my pesky neighbour's kid might be good, but taking my anger out on someone else isn't healthy at all.

The point was whether homosexuality was inborn or nurtured. You know, the old nature vs nurture argument. The excerpt:

Regardless of whether homosexuality is inborn or nurtured, the greater question is: where does society draw the line in sexual behavior? If homosexuality is justified if it is inborn, what about adulterous, incestuous, paedophilic or bestial relationships if they are also proven "inborn"?

Violent behaviors are now thought to be genetically influenced, so are they legitimate because they are inherited?" asks Dallas.

Dallas, Joe. former gay rights activist and founder of Genesis Counselling in California. Cool dude, you're a former gay rights activist and you can't even differentiate between a valid comparison and a stupid one.

I've said this before, I'll say this again. You cannot bloody compare homosexuality to incest, paedophilia, adultery and/or bestial relationships because homosexuality is consentual and does not involve a victim or a perpetrator. No one suffers damaging pyschological scars as a result of that relationship. Incest is not consentual, and there's at least one party who's gonna be needing therapy as a result of that action. So's paedophilia. So's adultery. So's bestiality. Yes, bestiality too, cos unless you can manage to communicate with the animal you plan to have relations with, it's technically considered rape.

If you're going to argue about something, don't use stupid analogies like that to cloud the issue and try to turn people against the issue of homosexuality by linking it to disgusting and appaling things like paedophilia and bestiality. It only insults the general intelligence level of your audience and makes you look stupid as heck.

I'm going to ignore all the tacit implications that all homosexuals (male AND female) have suffered some sort of pyschological trauma and need counselling to get out of their current lifestyle. If people have suffered trauma or abuse as a kid, they may do all sorts of things when they're adults. Some 'turn gay', so to speak. Others make like Ralph Fiennes in Red Dragon and start glueing people to vintage wheelchairs. And that's just for starters.

Does anyone fact check (or have common sense) at all in the newsroom or are they blinded by the spin?

A good book...

"...BUT HISTORY
WILL CALL US WIVES."

CAN'T ACTUALLY
REMEMBER A QUOTE,
WHICH MEANS IT'S
TIME FOR A RE-READ.

"TLEILAXU EYES WERE
NOT IMMUNE TO
TEARS"

...Is one that you can bring into the jamban and read at least half of it perched on your porcelain god of choice, nevermind that your 'official business' ended 3 hours ago; nevermind that you get pins and needles in your legs after the first half hour you spend 'perching'; and nevermind that people have been banging on the door for the past 2 hours and 45 minutes wondering if you've passed out from your own noxious fumes.

A truly spectacular book is one that makes you do the same as above, except that the only toilet you own is a squat toilet. Now that's dedication!

Today's post is both mindless and mildly disgusting.

THE PENULTIMATE
IN COOLNESS

10 YEARS OLD THIS
JUNE! HB DARLING.

ACHINGLY SAD, BUT I
STILL LIKE IT. DON'T
SAY OUT LOUD WHAT
YOU'RE THINKING,
THANKS.

Scribbles...
Jamban: toilet in Malay.
'official business': given that jamban = toilet, 'official business' = ?? You do the math.

My resolution is 800x600 (yes I'm blind, I like my font huge). If the post looks weird to you I'm sorry but I don't know enough HTML to fix it.

A compendium of sorts

DELICATE, NOT JANGLY

Windchimes are such pretty things, no? Unfortunately for me, I was raised on a diet of crappy Chinese serials/movies where the delicate tinkle tinkle heralded the arrival or existence of scary ghosts that like to do nothing but spend their entire days (and nights) scaring the living and generally causing much mayhem (losing a limb is mayhem).

So today, under the glaring fluorescent lights of the RM5 shop, I closed my eyes and thoroughly enjoyed myself listening to the tinkle tinkle of the pretty little chimes. And hoped that tonight, I will be peacefully sleeping alone.

SEZ 'SAGITTARIUS' IN CHINESE
NOW YOU KNOW THREE WORDS :)

My friend SMSed me today and told me, rather excitedly, that according to my horoscope readings, I will start a relationship this year that will last for quite a while. Yes, we're girls, we like to kaypoh and compare horoscopes once in a while. I said, "Define 'quite a while' please," and she answered, "Your whole life!". Well that's scary. Item #1 on my 2005 wishlist has been dealt a grievious wound.

I wonder if the horoscope meant that we'll date for a while, break up and then remain friends for our entire lives. But I already have one of those, I don't need another one.

Also saw a pair of pants at Zara that resembled these. Unfortunately, they didn't have it in my size, so woe is me. I really really like them. *sniffles* Potong stim events like these (no available size, no avaliable colour) totally take the wind out of my sails. Bad mood and no ice-cream to help alleviate the pain, oh the horror.

THIS IS WHAT A JOURNALIST LOOKS LIKE

I think this whole journalism thing isn't working out; I ramble too much. Looking through some of my old posts, it's a wonder how anyone made it through the blocks of text, and I'm NOT fishing for compliments here. (I never fish. ;)) Of course, I've never actually sat through a Journalism lecture yet, so what I'm doing now is basically just writing stuff like normal people do.

Okay, so maybe not quite so normal.

ONLY COLOUR PIC OF THE NIGHT, HOW ABOUT IT? :)
AHEM, SELF EXPLANATORY, AHEM.

Final note: my mom is going to be reading my blog. I don't know when, I don't know why, but she'll be dropping by soon. Should I start deleting all the nasty things I said about her and all the sex-related posts in my blog? I don't think she'd appreciate reading about my Valentine's Day exploits (stupid would be linking this to make it easier for her to find :p) and I can just see myself answering "HOW do you know asparagus is bad, young lady?" (the term 'young lady' is strictly reserved for times of dire, uh, anger)

If you don't hear from me in a week, either my Streamyx conked again or I'm dead. Killed by my own mother, how sad is that? (These last few paras and the pic would probably contribute to my untimely demise, but then again life's not worth living if you don't live it dangerously)

Bring it on!

Malatlou Central

So far, Knight is the only one of my local friends who has been hitting on orc females on the wonderful World of Warcraft. Unfortunately, this tranquil scene is about to change.

Yesterday (I think it was yesterday) he was joined by Lance (warning: extreme blueness if you click on the link), who was in charge of buying 3 copies of WoW for himself, Arion and Uncle Seth Frostheart. Expect them to be in the game somewhere... oh heck, they're probably in the game already, except for poor Frosty who has to wait till Lance comes visit him to give him his precious copy of WoW.

So Lance blogged about his happiness followed by a brief explanation of his troll world, and Arion decided to showcase his smart and witty side by contributing this hilarious contribution to Berita Malam Ini. Or whatever it is they call the news now. As for Frosty, he decided to blog about his casanova-ing and lolita-ness in general.

Absolutely no mention of WoW. You can obviously see where his priorities lie. *grins*

Sour grapes are temporarily held back to congratulate these SOBs on their investment, and to wish them a great time in WoW.

Why asparagus is bad for you

No, this is not a medical warning thingy. This is a real life conversation I got stuck in when my friend abandoned me because she couldn't stand Pompous Smart Aleck. Surprisingly enough, that's not really her name.

Pompous Smart Aleck: So, as I was saying, I for one will never ever go down on a guy. It's demeaning and humiliating to women. It's just another way for men to oppress women through sex.
Me: *shrugs* If that's what you think.
Pompous Smart Aleck: You don't think I'm right?
Me: I don't even want to be in a conversation with you. (In retrospect, that wasn't very nice, but I REALLY can't stand her)
Pompous Smart Aleck: But you can't deny the fact that oral sex propagates the stereotype that a woman should always kneel before her husband, the supposed 'lord and master' of the home. (I hate it when people do the finger thing to indicate quotes. Or maybe it's just her)
Me: So don't do it at home.
Pompous Smart Aleck: *bristles* That's not the point! The point is, by indulging men by pleasuring them orally, you're technically telling them to walk all over you because you are willingly submitting to a servile position. Relationships are about balancing power, and if you let a man have power over you, your rights are being trampled upon!
Me: Balance of power?
Pompous Smart Aleck: Yes!
Me: Look here Miss SA, if I stop doing what I'm doing right before he blows his left nut, who do you think has power over whom?

At this point I had enough and walked off, so I had no idea how she reacted. Called my friend and told her I left. Not surprisingly, she had also left. Fortunately for the preservation of her good health, a meal at Chili's was promised. If you think I'm making this up, by god I only wished I was. :~( That was a painful 15 minutes I could've done without.

As for the title, asparagus is bad for you because it makes your spunk taste seriously funky. Of course, my sample size was very limited, so it's by no means conclusive.

A quick google on the words "asparagus" and "semen" found this (rather informative), this, this, this, and this (contains images not appropriate for minors). And that's just on the first page. :)

Marvel, sorta

Bro had a get-together to attend on New Year's eve, and it was a potluck thing. My friends JW and WS were also coming over, so I decided to try out my spaghetti sauce recipe, and hence the process of decimating produce began. This time, my bro helped me out and it was fun watching the goof chop up tomatoes, heheh.

SPAGHETTI SAUCE BUILT FROM SCRATCH.

Contains about 10-15 tomatoes (diced), 1 can of button mushrooms (sliced), shitloads of garlic + onion + chopped chillies, peppercorns, extra virgin olive oil, black pepper, cayenne chili powder, and McCormick's Lemon and Pepper.

Bro was standing next to me burning bacon bits to a crisp while I made the sauce. 2 firsts for me that day: first time handling so much edible material (that is a HUGE container), and first time using a normal wok instead of a non-stick pan, the kind pansies like me like to use. :)

TWIRLY PASTA + BASIL (DARK GREEN BITS) + CAPSICUM (LIGHT GREEN BITS)

Pasta was boiled, dipped into cold water to stop it from cooking any further, and set aside. Added olive oil to it to stop the whole thing from congealing into a mass of gelatin-like dough. Lube is good. ;)

Before JW and WS arrived, I dumped the pasta into the wok and heated it, adding finely-chopped capsicum for colour and basil for taste. I only had green capsicum, so had to make do. Red would've been nice.

WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE IN A BOWL

Yes, we used styrofoam bowls. Washing up is a bitch, and I like to avoid that as much as possible. The dark red stuff is the fried bacon bits. The reason the bowl is kinda dirty-looking is because this is a second helping. *grins*

BACON + TOMATOES + MUSHROOMS + PINEAPPLES + ONIONS + BASIL = SAFFY'S PIZZA

My brother's pizzas were halal. This is not. Looks nice, doesn't it? It tastes better than it looks, muahahahaha.

I was told the food tasted pretty good, although my brother's friends complained that the sauce was a tad too sour. "Be thankful you have food to eat!" was my defensive retort, heheh. While best friends tend to be biased in their judgement, there was a Ramli stall just downstairs, so it wasn't like they were held hostage by a lack of available food. JW also saw fit to bring loads of chips and soft drinks along, which is fine and dandy except I couldn't touch any of the stuff. :(

Anyway, this is much better than the horrible lasagna experience. *shudders*. I'm not the kind who can follow step-by-step instructions, so no cookbooks for me. Randomly flinging stuff into the pan and then hoping for the best is a much more funner way to cook, heheh.