I was set up by a friend yesterday.
The day before I stupidly left my phone at her place, so yesterday we went out so that she could pass my phone back to me, and she ambushed me with a friend of hers who’s “really cute and nice, drives a BMW and he’s single!” It wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d used those superlatives say, more than 5 minutes before I actually had to meet the guy.
There’s one thing I hate more than being set-up, and that’s being ambushed and set-up.
In the end, the guy was cute, if you’re into those Taiwanese popstar looks (see: androgynous, prettier than a lot of girls, leng zai mou bun sam). He was also nice (of course, first meeting mah, sure nice ler) and he did drive a BMW (rich and handsome, worst combo ever). The only ‘bad’ thing about him was he was about a quarter head shorter than me, which is pretty normal.
Yes, I be cynical. I have an almost pathological distrust of men, and it has nothing to do with previous relationships. My ex was actually a very nice guy, and in a completely objective review of the relationship, I can honestly conclude that he was better for me than I was for him.
Michelle, among other well-meaning friends, spends a lot of time telling me how to package myself, how to apply makeup, how to make my hair look better, how to attract guys, how to be diplomatic. Because “if you don’t do all that, you’ll never get a boyfriend.” I don’t wear makeup, I talk to girls exactly the same way I talk to guys, haircare consists of running a comb through my hair, and I am not diplomatic. To put it nicely, I’m ‘honest’. If you have a problem and are depressed and you come to me, you’re more than likely to end up suicidal.
I don’t go partying in nightclubs. I’d rather spend the night at home reading a book and drinking some wine with my family, or watch some TV, or chat with my bro, or play a game. If I do go out it’s usually to a coffeehouse or one of those Taiwanese tea houses with cute drinks. I’m combative and tenacious, and I never let go if I think I’m right, which is like, 90% of the time. I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, I don’t have sex, I lead a pretty boring life.
It’s a pretty bad combination of traits. I wouldn’t want to inflict myself on anyone sane. Some people think this is sad, depending on how you look at it, but I’m not going to change, because I like the way I am, zits and all. That’s why I have never made any resolutions. My family accepts me the way I am, so do my best friends (all 2 of them :p), and that’s enough.
This may have been the catalyst that compounded my anti-socialism. I’m not sure. I try not to think about it.
Moral of the story: I appreciate your efforts, really, I do. It’s nice to know that someone cares about me. Please stop telling me to change and setting me up with guys. My life may not look like much, but I really am happy. Well, a little more money would be nice, but I have everything I want right now.
November 03, 2004
November 01, 2004
PD Scrapbook
These are just pictures taken during times of boredom. All blurriness are results of my shaky hands and not an attempt to take artsy-farsty photographs.
High shutter speed is fun to play with.
::The sky, from the balcony::
::Feathery trees on an island thingy::
::Rocky outcrop, from balcony. Extreme zoomage.::
::View from the balcony, straight down::
::Various vessels, from balcony::
::Views from balcony::
::More views from balcony::
::The hotel, from carpark. Taken out of a moving car::
::More pictures taken out of a moving car::
::Yet more pictures taken out of a moving car, I like this one.::
High shutter speed is fun to play with.
Notes from PD
I’m back from PD, in one piece and suffering from a sore bum. I’ll get to that in a minute.
We suffered a 2 hour journey from KL to PD, during which I complained about the utter boringness of sitting in a car. That was when my dad told me, very succinctly, that 2 hours was how long it took for him to drive me to Sg Wang and then make the trip back himself on Friday. That shut me up pretty good.
Anyway, after the 2 hour trip, we reached the Bayu Beach Resort and waited at the guardhouse for my uncle to get us the blue parking slip so we’d be allowed into the compound. When we got to our rooms, we were greeted by this:
It’s beautiful, innit? I want a view like that in my house. While I’m dreaming, might as well wish for a better camera (Or a better camera man, snorts my bro) Ok, so my hands shake and sometimes my pictures are missing some heads, but that’s no reason to turn on your own flesh and blood. :p
This is the view from the balcony.
After dumping our bags, my bro and I decided that instead of sitting in the living room eating duku langsat with the rest of my extended family, we should make use of the remaining light and hit the beach instead. However, when we got down (apartment was on the fifth floor), it started drizzling, so after taking a few pictures we dashed back upstairs.
I am most decidedly NOT responsible for that picture. Haha, guess bad photography skills run in the family. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.
Righto, I'm done being juvenile. Fast forward all the chatting, munching on peanuts/kuachi and watching cousins drive crash-tastically in Need For Speed 2, we went out for dinner. We're near the sea, see, so what else are we supposed to do but to snack on various members of the seafood family? I gorged myself on the crabs and my bro even broke from his strict dietary regiment and ate to his heart's content.
After dinner, my dad and my 2 uncles played mahjong and my various relatives were sitting around chatting and eating more duku langsat, while I entertained myself by pranking my many many small cousins. It's good to be the eldest, muahaha. I also learned how to play Mahjong properly, so yay.
Lady on the left is my aunt's mother-in-law while the lady on the right is the woman who brought me up and contributed a lot to the person I am today. She's not responsible for the weird parts though; those I was born with. Not that I blame my parents, maybe I just got all the cumulative repressed weirdness genes over the generations.
Hmmm...A bad thing about vacationing with family members is that the nights are boring. If I was with friends we'd have a BBQ on the beach, and some booze, guitars and a campfire thingy. We'd also have torchlights and various other lighting thingamajigs like lanterns if we're feeling adventurous for beach-combing purposes. If someone has a stash of illegal fireworks we'd bring those along as well. Later in the night we'd go hunting for various shellfish while some of my attached friends would go 'crab fishing'.
On second thoughts, that's probably not a good thing to be teaching young, impressionable kids.
The next morning dawned cloudy, and since it's the ninth lunar month, that's like saying Nicole Kidman is beautiful and Tom Cruise is an idiot. I was rudely awakened by my small cousins who were banging around the living room. I'm always cranky when I'm startled out of sleep, so the day started off badly. Had 4 pieces of biscuits for breakfast cos, ugh, food is never meant to go into my stomach that early in the morning.
We hit the beach around 9 am and I played a game of pseudo-beach volleyball with my relatives. It's pseudo-volleyball because
a) the ball was NOT a volleyball. More like the rubber balls kids play, evidenced by the pictures of Pikachu plastered on it.
b) the number of players kept changing. People (related by blood or marriage, but not both) kept walking in and out of the court and getting hit by the ball.
c) it did not involve only hands. At times, people (related by blood or marriage, again not both) randomly started using their feet to kick the ball or using their heads to uh, head it over to the other side. In the case of my poor cousin, he even used his face. Which, I think, he didn't intend to.
d) the net was ignored. The ball travelled over, under and through the net. One time, it even hit the embankment next to the net posts and bounced to the other side, which of course, totally counted as a valid point for our team.
While we were doing this, the younger kids were amusing themselves by digging holes and splashing volleyball-playing adults with seawater. After running up and down the beach, we had a piggy-back racing competition and me and my bro won, yay. We got splashed by more seawater for our efforts.
I'm afraid of the sea, because I've had some bad experiences involving the sea, and because I can't swim. I'm also extremely short-sighted, and as good as blind without my glasses, so I was very reluctant when my uncle suggested a banana-boat ride. But then again, I'm on vacation, and the best way to conquer my fear is to face it head on, and my bro + dad + various relatives who can swim were with me, so I should have all bases covered, right? Recklessly, I signed up for the ride, only to regret the decision because my own flesh and blood tried to kill me.
When the man on the boat signalled that he was about to flip us, we all raised our hands the way people do on roller coasters, and duly plopped into the water. My mom screamed and got a mouthful of seawater for her efforts, heheh. I didn't fare so well. After I hit water, I was trying to break the surface when someone fell directly on top of me and, in the ensuing tangle of arms and legs, I couldn't find my way out of the water. I began to panic and just as I got free, someone else slammed a body part against my head, resulting in more panic and a noseful of burning seawater.
Well whaddya know, I'm still afraid of the sea. *rolls eyes*
After a while my bro cautiously approached and suggested we go canoeing. On top of being afraid of the sea, I'm also afraid to step on boats, cos the Titanic sank and there's nothing to stop a canoe from flipping over. However, all that saltwater must have impaired my brain functions, cos I agreed and we set off on red canoe. I even got a broken oar, how fun.
That's my brother teaching me how to paddle a canoe, because he did it before in NS. Faces pixellated for that mysterious effect. *grins*
After canoeing, dad said he rented a jet ski. Ooh, I've never been on a jet ski, but my brother has (not in NS though) so he drove it first. We had fun zipping up and down the length of the beach, and the waves made for a bumpy but very fun ride. It was very cool to watch the wide expanse of blue sky just fly through while the spray misted my face. Wish I had the camera with me then, but then again, it would probably have just fallen from my hands into the sea, lost forever.
There're no pictures of us on the jetski, cos we were too far out for my mom to shoot us. Bumpy waves makes for painful ass, which explains why I'm walking bowlegged now. :)
For lunch (at 1pm), this is the place we tahpau-ed (take away) our Bread Chicken, which is a layer of bread wrapped over a layer tinfoil and plastic wrap, which contains curry chicken. It's a pretty good dish, at RM22 for a big one, but the place only opens for business at 5.30 pm. Hence all the tahpau-ing.
After lunch, I was conked, and spent the rest of the day lazing with my cousins until it was time to head home.
All in all, it was a great trip. The beach was pretty, with none of the gravel and scrapey rocks, nor the black oil-like substances usually associated with PD beaches. My first time on a banana-boat, my first time on a canoe, AND my first time on a jet ski. Not bad for a scaredy-cat geek.
We suffered a 2 hour journey from KL to PD, during which I complained about the utter boringness of sitting in a car. That was when my dad told me, very succinctly, that 2 hours was how long it took for him to drive me to Sg Wang and then make the trip back himself on Friday. That shut me up pretty good.
Anyway, after the 2 hour trip, we reached the Bayu Beach Resort and waited at the guardhouse for my uncle to get us the blue parking slip so we’d be allowed into the compound. When we got to our rooms, we were greeted by this:
It’s beautiful, innit? I want a view like that in my house. While I’m dreaming, might as well wish for a better camera (Or a better camera man, snorts my bro) Ok, so my hands shake and sometimes my pictures are missing some heads, but that’s no reason to turn on your own flesh and blood. :p
This is the view from the balcony.
After dumping our bags, my bro and I decided that instead of sitting in the living room eating duku langsat with the rest of my extended family, we should make use of the remaining light and hit the beach instead. However, when we got down (apartment was on the fifth floor), it started drizzling, so after taking a few pictures we dashed back upstairs.
I am most decidedly NOT responsible for that picture. Haha, guess bad photography skills run in the family. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.
Righto, I'm done being juvenile. Fast forward all the chatting, munching on peanuts/kuachi and watching cousins drive crash-tastically in Need For Speed 2, we went out for dinner. We're near the sea, see, so what else are we supposed to do but to snack on various members of the seafood family? I gorged myself on the crabs and my bro even broke from his strict dietary regiment and ate to his heart's content.
After dinner, my dad and my 2 uncles played mahjong and my various relatives were sitting around chatting and eating more duku langsat, while I entertained myself by pranking my many many small cousins. It's good to be the eldest, muahaha. I also learned how to play Mahjong properly, so yay.
Lady on the left is my aunt's mother-in-law while the lady on the right is the woman who brought me up and contributed a lot to the person I am today. She's not responsible for the weird parts though; those I was born with. Not that I blame my parents, maybe I just got all the cumulative repressed weirdness genes over the generations.
Hmmm...A bad thing about vacationing with family members is that the nights are boring. If I was with friends we'd have a BBQ on the beach, and some booze, guitars and a campfire thingy. We'd also have torchlights and various other lighting thingamajigs like lanterns if we're feeling adventurous for beach-combing purposes. If someone has a stash of illegal fireworks we'd bring those along as well. Later in the night we'd go hunting for various shellfish while some of my attached friends would go 'crab fishing'.
On second thoughts, that's probably not a good thing to be teaching young, impressionable kids.
The next morning dawned cloudy, and since it's the ninth lunar month, that's like saying Nicole Kidman is beautiful and Tom Cruise is an idiot. I was rudely awakened by my small cousins who were banging around the living room. I'm always cranky when I'm startled out of sleep, so the day started off badly. Had 4 pieces of biscuits for breakfast cos, ugh, food is never meant to go into my stomach that early in the morning.
We hit the beach around 9 am and I played a game of pseudo-beach volleyball with my relatives. It's pseudo-volleyball because
a) the ball was NOT a volleyball. More like the rubber balls kids play, evidenced by the pictures of Pikachu plastered on it.
b) the number of players kept changing. People (related by blood or marriage, but not both) kept walking in and out of the court and getting hit by the ball.
c) it did not involve only hands. At times, people (related by blood or marriage, again not both) randomly started using their feet to kick the ball or using their heads to uh, head it over to the other side. In the case of my poor cousin, he even used his face. Which, I think, he didn't intend to.
d) the net was ignored. The ball travelled over, under and through the net. One time, it even hit the embankment next to the net posts and bounced to the other side, which of course, totally counted as a valid point for our team.
While we were doing this, the younger kids were amusing themselves by digging holes and splashing volleyball-playing adults with seawater. After running up and down the beach, we had a piggy-back racing competition and me and my bro won, yay. We got splashed by more seawater for our efforts.
I'm afraid of the sea, because I've had some bad experiences involving the sea, and because I can't swim. I'm also extremely short-sighted, and as good as blind without my glasses, so I was very reluctant when my uncle suggested a banana-boat ride. But then again, I'm on vacation, and the best way to conquer my fear is to face it head on, and my bro + dad + various relatives who can swim were with me, so I should have all bases covered, right? Recklessly, I signed up for the ride, only to regret the decision because my own flesh and blood tried to kill me.
When the man on the boat signalled that he was about to flip us, we all raised our hands the way people do on roller coasters, and duly plopped into the water. My mom screamed and got a mouthful of seawater for her efforts, heheh. I didn't fare so well. After I hit water, I was trying to break the surface when someone fell directly on top of me and, in the ensuing tangle of arms and legs, I couldn't find my way out of the water. I began to panic and just as I got free, someone else slammed a body part against my head, resulting in more panic and a noseful of burning seawater.
Well whaddya know, I'm still afraid of the sea. *rolls eyes*
After a while my bro cautiously approached and suggested we go canoeing. On top of being afraid of the sea, I'm also afraid to step on boats, cos the Titanic sank and there's nothing to stop a canoe from flipping over. However, all that saltwater must have impaired my brain functions, cos I agreed and we set off on red canoe. I even got a broken oar, how fun.
That's my brother teaching me how to paddle a canoe, because he did it before in NS. Faces pixellated for that mysterious effect. *grins*
After canoeing, dad said he rented a jet ski. Ooh, I've never been on a jet ski, but my brother has (not in NS though) so he drove it first. We had fun zipping up and down the length of the beach, and the waves made for a bumpy but very fun ride. It was very cool to watch the wide expanse of blue sky just fly through while the spray misted my face. Wish I had the camera with me then, but then again, it would probably have just fallen from my hands into the sea, lost forever.
There're no pictures of us on the jetski, cos we were too far out for my mom to shoot us. Bumpy waves makes for painful ass, which explains why I'm walking bowlegged now. :)
For lunch (at 1pm), this is the place we tahpau-ed (take away) our Bread Chicken, which is a layer of bread wrapped over a layer tinfoil and plastic wrap, which contains curry chicken. It's a pretty good dish, at RM22 for a big one, but the place only opens for business at 5.30 pm. Hence all the tahpau-ing.
After lunch, I was conked, and spent the rest of the day lazing with my cousins until it was time to head home.
All in all, it was a great trip. The beach was pretty, with none of the gravel and scrapey rocks, nor the black oil-like substances usually associated with PD beaches. My first time on a banana-boat, my first time on a canoe, AND my first time on a jet ski. Not bad for a scaredy-cat geek.
October 29, 2004
Close to You
Surprisingly, my bloodlust is gone. Ok, I've been playing GTA for a while now, and it got so bad that every time someone rammed my newly spray painted Banshee (tight handling, baby, tight) I'd get out of my car and pump that bastard's car full of lead. It explodes, and I'm off on my way until the next idiot bumps into me.
I'm kinda like this in real life, only without the guns. :)
Been listening to some slow, sweet songs. Let's see...
Hey Jude
She
A Kiss to Build A Dream On
Dancing in the Moonlight
When I Fall In LOve
It Had To Be You
Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You
Yesterday
Let It Be
What If
Mr Tambourine Man
May It Be
My Romance
The Lion Sleeps Tonight
Close to You
Knocking On Heaven's Door
Are You Gonna Be My Girl (c'mon, I need something loud :p)
This is my Mellow List. Calms me down right away. Hmm, maybe I need to keep a CD in my car when I'm driving so the green veins on my forehead don't pop when someone flips me the birdie.
Anyways, I'm off to PD tomorrow, so probably no updates for a while. Yes, I like to pretend that enough people read my blog to warrant a notice like this, heheh. Also, I'm not bringing my phone along, lazy to take care of it while I'm sorta-swimming in the oil, so if you can't reach me, I'm not dead. Or married.
I'm just on vacation.
*Walks off into the sunset, singing offkey*
Why do birds suddenly appear, every time...
I'm kinda like this in real life, only without the guns. :)
Been listening to some slow, sweet songs. Let's see...
Hey Jude
She
A Kiss to Build A Dream On
Dancing in the Moonlight
When I Fall In LOve
It Had To Be You
Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You
Yesterday
Let It Be
What If
Mr Tambourine Man
May It Be
My Romance
The Lion Sleeps Tonight
Close to You
Knocking On Heaven's Door
Are You Gonna Be My Girl (c'mon, I need something loud :p)
This is my Mellow List. Calms me down right away. Hmm, maybe I need to keep a CD in my car when I'm driving so the green veins on my forehead don't pop when someone flips me the birdie.
Anyways, I'm off to PD tomorrow, so probably no updates for a while. Yes, I like to pretend that enough people read my blog to warrant a notice like this, heheh. Also, I'm not bringing my phone along, lazy to take care of it while I'm sorta-swimming in the oil, so if you can't reach me, I'm not dead. Or married.
I'm just on vacation.
*Walks off into the sunset, singing offkey*
Why do birds suddenly appear, every time...
Bombay Burke
I hate ties. Now you may wonder why I'm even complaining, since I'm female and don't really have to put on a tie for work unless I'm masochistic and want to, but back in secondary school we had to wear a tie for the whole day every first day of the week, and it irritated the heck out of me to have to wear a tight band of polyester around my neck. What can I say, I never forget.
A few weeks ago we had to do a sketch for our CS class and I played the role of a male chauvinist pig, so it was hello tie again. Bad, bad memories.
It's a bit funny to me, and not in a ha-ha way, that almost every working man has to tie a noose around his neck to be presentable at work. What a way to start the day. Might as well have your last meal and be done with it. That said, one of my ex-college mates used to wear a black shirt with a really sexy matte silver tie whenever he did presentations, and that was yummy-looking.
Anyways, recently, I found out a lot about ties, specifically, the different knots used by different men to garrote themselves. I'm glad to report that after 6 years of being forced to wear a tie, I have completely forgotten how to fashion an acceptable tie knot thingy, so it was dad to the rescue again.
IMO, Silk ties are only good for one thing. I wonder what's the name of the knot you use to tie your significant other to the bedposts...
A few weeks ago we had to do a sketch for our CS class and I played the role of a male chauvinist pig, so it was hello tie again. Bad, bad memories.
It's a bit funny to me, and not in a ha-ha way, that almost every working man has to tie a noose around his neck to be presentable at work. What a way to start the day. Might as well have your last meal and be done with it. That said, one of my ex-college mates used to wear a black shirt with a really sexy matte silver tie whenever he did presentations, and that was yummy-looking.
Anyways, recently, I found out a lot about ties, specifically, the different knots used by different men to garrote themselves. I'm glad to report that after 6 years of being forced to wear a tie, I have completely forgotten how to fashion an acceptable tie knot thingy, so it was dad to the rescue again.
IMO, Silk ties are only good for one thing. I wonder what's the name of the knot you use to tie your significant other to the bedposts...
October 28, 2004
of Dungeons and Dragons
No, this is not a blog topic about D&D. It's bad enough I understand the rules, I don't need to further demonstrate my utter geekiness. At least not online anyway.
Ok, this blog is entirely based on this link I stumbled across the other day. Be forewarned, it contains adult material. Oh hell, it says literotica, so you can pretty much guess what the site's about. So, standard warning here. If you're below the age of consent in your state/locality, do us all a favour and don't click on the link, jailbait. Or, if you do click on the link, you agree to absolve me of all moral and legal responsibility for exposing you to the very thing that caused 6 billion people to roam the earth. If you get any popups while visiting that site, you have spyware on your pc. :)
Anyways, I can't even begin to tell you how many of my gamer friends would kill for a girlfriend like that. And, prior to this I thought 20-sided dice were just a new-fangled invention by computer games publishers. Ooh, I remember a D&D-related convo about a year ago.
Me: And with a toss of my six-sided coin...
Him: Oh, a six-sided coin. You mean what we usually refer to as a dice?
Me: *blush*
On another note, this is inspiration for my new blog topic. Why You Should Never Date A Gamer Guy. Yes, I have managed to piss off about 90% of my online acquaintances, but hey, I'll still frag you. *grins*
Ok, this blog is entirely based on this link I stumbled across the other day. Be forewarned, it contains adult material. Oh hell, it says literotica, so you can pretty much guess what the site's about. So, standard warning here. If you're below the age of consent in your state/locality, do us all a favour and don't click on the link, jailbait. Or, if you do click on the link, you agree to absolve me of all moral and legal responsibility for exposing you to the very thing that caused 6 billion people to roam the earth. If you get any popups while visiting that site, you have spyware on your pc. :)
Anyways, I can't even begin to tell you how many of my gamer friends would kill for a girlfriend like that. And, prior to this I thought 20-sided dice were just a new-fangled invention by computer games publishers. Ooh, I remember a D&D-related convo about a year ago.
Me: And with a toss of my six-sided coin...
Him: Oh, a six-sided coin. You mean what we usually refer to as a dice?
Me: *blush*
On another note, this is inspiration for my new blog topic. Why You Should Never Date A Gamer Guy. Yes, I have managed to piss off about 90% of my online acquaintances, but hey, I'll still frag you. *grins*
Apple Pie
Today's blog is inspired by two of my friends who recently broke up with their boyfriends. Advertising messy breakups publicly in a blog to be read by all netizens is the best way to cement a friendship, btw, if you didn't know already. Okay, so perhaps a grand total of 10 people read this blog regularly, but still...
This blog also contains gross generalisations about almost everything, including, but not limited to, male behavior, female behavior, and sex. The author asks, cordially, that readers, especially of the male persuasion, to take this lightly and resist the urge to write rude things about her. Thank you very much. Onwards.
Lately, a number of people close to me have witnessed the end of some pretty serious relationships. After spending much precious time listening to them snivel and sob and blubber their hearts out, I've decided to waste more time by writing this mildly entertaining but ultimately useless piece of junk. Let's start, shall we?
There comes a time in every relationship when a woman needs to assess the whole couple thing and decide whether or not to up the commitment quotient and take the next big step in terms of the evolution of the relationship: moving in together.
Now that may seem like a fairly simple question to answer, but it's actually made up of a few annoying parts. I love him, check. He loves me, check. I want to have sex on a regular basis without having to return to my own house for fresh knickers, check. Does he? Check. Split the rent, the bills, the food? Check check and check.
However, one question remains unanswered. The question that will never occur to most people, the question that will either make or break the fledgling relationship.
Is he house-trained?
Yup, this may seem totally irrelevant and insignificant, but trust me, two couples have recently gone on their separate ways precisely because of this trivial issue, and I'm not talking about the toilet-seat.
Every woman must be doubly sure of her mate's ability to keep himself and his surrounding area clean, say, within a radius of 20 feet. Also, every woman must make sure that her and her mate's definition of clean is on roughly the same highway. It would also be nice if he could actually fit the toilet roll onto the toilet roll holder instead of just lobbing it on top of the water tank cover, but sometimes that's asking too much. Personally, I'd settle for not leaving shirts/shorts/pants/other articles of clothing on the floor where he took them off. (reference: bro and dad)
Some may be asking, why do all this? What is the point of talking about house-training when I can suck her face off in the backseat of my car? Because, dear readers, if he ranks lower on the Darwinian level of cleanliness, the relationship will be a chore once the romance and passion fizzles. Then, you'll start seeing the slimy fungi, the month-old beer stains, the horrifyingly humongous dust balls, and you'll want to sock him over the head with a baseball bat when he tells you that he bought the green shower curtain to match the mold on the tiles.
And the whole point of this article is to hopefully stop people from breaking up over trivial reasons like...leaving mugs by the sink for so long that strange organisms have grown in the leftover milk and sprouted something that looks disturbingly similar to legs.
This blog also contains gross generalisations about almost everything, including, but not limited to, male behavior, female behavior, and sex. The author asks, cordially, that readers, especially of the male persuasion, to take this lightly and resist the urge to write rude things about her. Thank you very much. Onwards.
Lately, a number of people close to me have witnessed the end of some pretty serious relationships. After spending much precious time listening to them snivel and sob and blubber their hearts out, I've decided to waste more time by writing this mildly entertaining but ultimately useless piece of junk. Let's start, shall we?
There comes a time in every relationship when a woman needs to assess the whole couple thing and decide whether or not to up the commitment quotient and take the next big step in terms of the evolution of the relationship: moving in together.
Now that may seem like a fairly simple question to answer, but it's actually made up of a few annoying parts. I love him, check. He loves me, check. I want to have sex on a regular basis without having to return to my own house for fresh knickers, check. Does he? Check. Split the rent, the bills, the food? Check check and check.
However, one question remains unanswered. The question that will never occur to most people, the question that will either make or break the fledgling relationship.
Is he house-trained?
Yup, this may seem totally irrelevant and insignificant, but trust me, two couples have recently gone on their separate ways precisely because of this trivial issue, and I'm not talking about the toilet-seat.
Every woman must be doubly sure of her mate's ability to keep himself and his surrounding area clean, say, within a radius of 20 feet. Also, every woman must make sure that her and her mate's definition of clean is on roughly the same highway. It would also be nice if he could actually fit the toilet roll onto the toilet roll holder instead of just lobbing it on top of the water tank cover, but sometimes that's asking too much. Personally, I'd settle for not leaving shirts/shorts/pants/other articles of clothing on the floor where he took them off. (reference: bro and dad)
Some may be asking, why do all this? What is the point of talking about house-training when I can suck her face off in the backseat of my car? Because, dear readers, if he ranks lower on the Darwinian level of cleanliness, the relationship will be a chore once the romance and passion fizzles. Then, you'll start seeing the slimy fungi, the month-old beer stains, the horrifyingly humongous dust balls, and you'll want to sock him over the head with a baseball bat when he tells you that he bought the green shower curtain to match the mold on the tiles.
And the whole point of this article is to hopefully stop people from breaking up over trivial reasons like...leaving mugs by the sink for so long that strange organisms have grown in the leftover milk and sprouted something that looks disturbingly similar to legs.
October 27, 2004
Exhibitionism
I'm feeling particularly uninhibited today, so I'm going to include pics of my room. Also because I'm trying out the various functions of our digital camera, hehe. The first thing to know before you judge my camera skills is that if I manage to take a picture of someone with the entire head intact, it's a good picture. So no laughing allowed. At least don't let me know about it. *grins*
There're still a number of books that aren't in the pic, principally because I'm afraid the shelves would come crashing down and scare me awake, so I stacked them on my huge ass table, which will not be showen because it's incredibly messy and I want to maintain a good image of myself. In public anyways. My collection of National Geographic mags and Reader's Digest from way back the 70s (no, I wasn't born yet) have currently usurped the cupboard where my mother keeps her fancy crystal. You can see why tomorrow trip to Kinokuniya is something of a stealth mission. Mom is so gonna freak out when she sees me with more books.
I've also discovered that I've lost my Dune and Dune: Messiah books. Actually, discovered is not the right word to use, because I discoverd they were gone about 2-3 weeks ago. I was giving them time to resurface, but it looks like they're only going to appear once I get new copies. So I'm hitting Kinokuniya tomorrow and I bloody well expect to find the books that match all my existing Dune covers, godamnit, or I am going to bite someone.
Not one single swear word, see. Those anger management classes do work.
Finally, this is a pic of my (unmade, obviously) bed, which is a Valentine's day's nightmare. Hearts in red and gold galore!
I belong to the Calvin school of thought. If I'm gonna sleep in it tonight, why should I make the bed if no one's going to see it? Hmmm, new blog topic, yo!
Note: Sorry for the immensely huge pictures. I'm on the old computer and it doesn't run Adobe without choking up, so I thought I'd be nice to it in its old age.
There're still a number of books that aren't in the pic, principally because I'm afraid the shelves would come crashing down and scare me awake, so I stacked them on my huge ass table, which will not be showen because it's incredibly messy and I want to maintain a good image of myself. In public anyways. My collection of National Geographic mags and Reader's Digest from way back the 70s (no, I wasn't born yet) have currently usurped the cupboard where my mother keeps her fancy crystal. You can see why tomorrow trip to Kinokuniya is something of a stealth mission. Mom is so gonna freak out when she sees me with more books.
I've also discovered that I've lost my Dune and Dune: Messiah books. Actually, discovered is not the right word to use, because I discoverd they were gone about 2-3 weeks ago. I was giving them time to resurface, but it looks like they're only going to appear once I get new copies. So I'm hitting Kinokuniya tomorrow and I bloody well expect to find the books that match all my existing Dune covers, godamnit, or I am going to bite someone.
Not one single swear word, see. Those anger management classes do work.
Finally, this is a pic of my (unmade, obviously) bed, which is a Valentine's day's nightmare. Hearts in red and gold galore!
I belong to the Calvin school of thought. If I'm gonna sleep in it tonight, why should I make the bed if no one's going to see it? Hmmm, new blog topic, yo!
Note: Sorry for the immensely huge pictures. I'm on the old computer and it doesn't run Adobe without choking up, so I thought I'd be nice to it in its old age.
Online quizzes are...
October 26, 2004
The plight of pretty girls.
If I weren't the author, the first reaction I'll have is, "Plight? What plight?" and grunt dismissively. Thankfully for the people around me I AM the writer, so they're spared the decidedly unlady-like sounds emanating from my, uh, nostrils.
(Note to self, look up How Humans Grunt)
Yesterday I went out with some friends for our weekly (I wish!) dinner date, and my friend told me this rather sad story. For background info, read Wingman-ism. If you were lazy and didn't click, well, I'm accomodating, I'll type out my history again.
Ok, lame playing with HTML tags aside, I've been blessed with the opportunity to have been friends with some very pretty girls in the past. When I was in APIIT I was friends with a girl who was not only tall, fair and pretty, but nice, smart and hardworking to boot. She also happens to a very nice C cup on a 24, maybe 25 inch waist, so you can imagine what that does to male hearts (and other parts of the body). If there is a god, he can be so unfair at times. Pretty girls are supposed to be airheads, damnit!
Anyway, this friend of mine is also a pretty girl, and she turns a lot of heads. Just so happens that the head she turned this time was the one belonging to the boyfriend of one of her bestest buds (for convenience and clarity, let's just call her Tara). Now in my friend's defence, she doesn't flirt with guys. Not that she needs to, I mean, they already come flocking to her like flies to, erm, like bees to honey. So, long story short, the boyfriend, who started dating Tara about a week ago, switched targets, and Tara got mad at my friend, thus resulting in the general unhappiness of my friend.
Now the part I don't get is why Tara is mad at my pretty friend. If the guy's that fickle to begin with, and can't withstand the sight of a pretty girl, why the hell do you want to stay with a spineless little twerp like that?
Consider the possibility that pretty friend did flirt with Tara's boyfriend. Again, do you want to stick with a guy who can't even stay resolute when it comes to picking a girlfriend? It's almost as bad as people switching football teams, for crying out loud.
The general opinion during last night's dinner, apart from the whole jealousy angle, was that Tara valued her boyfriend more than my friend, which is understandable if the guy has been her boyfriend for 3 years. A week? What happened to bros before hos? Or, in this case, chicks before dicks? (Yes, I can be totally crass and uncouth)
Bleh. It boggles the mind, it does.
The reason I didn't name my pretty friend was because I didn't get her consent. Well, I could've gotten her consent, but then I won't be allowed to talk about her story, so this is by far the better choice, cos if I weren't allowed to talk about this topic then I'd be dry like a dead twig.
(Note to self, look up How Humans Grunt)
Yesterday I went out with some friends for our weekly (I wish!) dinner date, and my friend told me this rather sad story. For background info, read Wingman-ism. If you were lazy and didn't click, well, I'm accomodating, I'll type out my history again.
Ok, lame playing with HTML tags aside, I've been blessed with the opportunity to have been friends with some very pretty girls in the past. When I was in APIIT I was friends with a girl who was not only tall, fair and pretty, but nice, smart and hardworking to boot. She also happens to a very nice C cup on a 24, maybe 25 inch waist, so you can imagine what that does to male hearts (and other parts of the body). If there is a god, he can be so unfair at times. Pretty girls are supposed to be airheads, damnit!
Anyway, this friend of mine is also a pretty girl, and she turns a lot of heads. Just so happens that the head she turned this time was the one belonging to the boyfriend of one of her bestest buds (for convenience and clarity, let's just call her Tara). Now in my friend's defence, she doesn't flirt with guys. Not that she needs to, I mean, they already come flocking to her like flies to, erm, like bees to honey. So, long story short, the boyfriend, who started dating Tara about a week ago, switched targets, and Tara got mad at my friend, thus resulting in the general unhappiness of my friend.
Now the part I don't get is why Tara is mad at my pretty friend. If the guy's that fickle to begin with, and can't withstand the sight of a pretty girl, why the hell do you want to stay with a spineless little twerp like that?
Consider the possibility that pretty friend did flirt with Tara's boyfriend. Again, do you want to stick with a guy who can't even stay resolute when it comes to picking a girlfriend? It's almost as bad as people switching football teams, for crying out loud.
The general opinion during last night's dinner, apart from the whole jealousy angle, was that Tara valued her boyfriend more than my friend, which is understandable if the guy has been her boyfriend for 3 years. A week? What happened to bros before hos? Or, in this case, chicks before dicks? (Yes, I can be totally crass and uncouth)
Bleh. It boggles the mind, it does.
The reason I didn't name my pretty friend was because I didn't get her consent. Well, I could've gotten her consent, but then I won't be allowed to talk about her story, so this is by far the better choice, cos if I weren't allowed to talk about this topic then I'd be dry like a dead twig.
October 25, 2004
Desolation, Devastation and Disorder
Thanks to thesaurus for the title.
I've been beating up hookers and preppy bikini-clad blondes on rollerblades, annihilating rival gang members with my uber uzis, mowing down hapless pedestrians while driving on the wrong side of the road and generally causing much mayhem and destruction for quite some time. (woke up at 10 today)
Right now I have a crick in my neck from lying on my brother's bed too much, so in a fit to reverse the sedentariness (which is a real word) I decided to remove myself from the bed and plonk myself down on the computer chair instead and check my email. Then it occured to me that I haven't blogged in a while, so this is a pretty useless update on my life.
I hate the fact that when rival gangs shoot at me, the police like to pretend they're blind, but when I pull out my Uzi and return fire, I immediately get a wanted star. It also irks me to be shot at by 4 thugs in purple, right in front of a squad car, and the men in blue do nothing to help me, an honest and tax-paying citizen. Jackasses.
Other than that I'm generally enjoying myself. Nothing like the wreaking of a little havoc to brighten up a boring semester break. Now I have to go prepare for my dinner date. I promise a real update sometime next week or so. *grins*
I've been beating up hookers and preppy bikini-clad blondes on rollerblades, annihilating rival gang members with my uber uzis, mowing down hapless pedestrians while driving on the wrong side of the road and generally causing much mayhem and destruction for quite some time. (woke up at 10 today)
Right now I have a crick in my neck from lying on my brother's bed too much, so in a fit to reverse the sedentariness (which is a real word) I decided to remove myself from the bed and plonk myself down on the computer chair instead and check my email. Then it occured to me that I haven't blogged in a while, so this is a pretty useless update on my life.
I hate the fact that when rival gangs shoot at me, the police like to pretend they're blind, but when I pull out my Uzi and return fire, I immediately get a wanted star. It also irks me to be shot at by 4 thugs in purple, right in front of a squad car, and the men in blue do nothing to help me, an honest and tax-paying citizen. Jackasses.
Other than that I'm generally enjoying myself. Nothing like the wreaking of a little havoc to brighten up a boring semester break. Now I have to go prepare for my dinner date. I promise a real update sometime next week or so. *grins*
October 23, 2004
Stupid analogies people like to use.
This is an angry rant you may find offensive to your religion/way of life/beliefs. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Definition of analogy here.
1) Comparing homosexual behavior to bestiality.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, bestiality is wrong. Therefore, if homosexuals are allowed to have sex/get married/adopt kids/etc, I should be allowed to have sex with/get married to/etc my cat/dog/elephant/misc non-human creatures.
Homosexual activities are consensual (if they are not, then they categorised under rape), bestiality is not. Unless you can somehow converse in animal-speak and get your cat/dog/elephant's consent before you screw it, you are technically taking part in what we humans call rape.
Analogy not valid.
2) Comparing homosexual behavior to criminal acts.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, just like murder/rape/arson/robbery.
Murder involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Rape involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Arson involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Robbery involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Homosexual behavior involves two or more willing participants, which creates neither victim nor perpetrator. Just because homosexuality is currently (and IMO erroneously) categorised under criminal acts doesn't mean it is a valid comparison.
Analogy shot to hell.
Wish: If you're going to deny a sizeable population of our society the privileges we 'normal people' enjoy as rights, at least try harder to be intelligent, thanks. And just to be fair, I'm going to leave the comment section open, cos 1) it's not fair if I get to speak but you don't, and 2)where's the fun if everyone agrees with you? More 1) than 2), obviously.
If you're not able to respond in civil and non-trollish manner, then don't respond at all. If you still insist on showing everyone how stupid you are, your comments will be ruthlessly deleted and you will be told, very cordially, to slither back into the soup of primordial slime from whence you crawled out from.
Definition of analogy here.
1) Comparing homosexual behavior to bestiality.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, bestiality is wrong. Therefore, if homosexuals are allowed to have sex/get married/adopt kids/etc, I should be allowed to have sex with/get married to/etc my cat/dog/elephant/misc non-human creatures.
Homosexual activities are consensual (if they are not, then they categorised under rape), bestiality is not. Unless you can somehow converse in animal-speak and get your cat/dog/elephant's consent before you screw it, you are technically taking part in what we humans call rape.
Analogy not valid.
2) Comparing homosexual behavior to criminal acts.
As in, homosexuality is wrong, just like murder/rape/arson/robbery.
Murder involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Rape involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Arson involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Robbery involves victim(s) and perpetrator(s). Homosexual behavior involves two or more willing participants, which creates neither victim nor perpetrator. Just because homosexuality is currently (and IMO erroneously) categorised under criminal acts doesn't mean it is a valid comparison.
Analogy shot to hell.
Wish: If you're going to deny a sizeable population of our society the privileges we 'normal people' enjoy as rights, at least try harder to be intelligent, thanks. And just to be fair, I'm going to leave the comment section open, cos 1) it's not fair if I get to speak but you don't, and 2)where's the fun if everyone agrees with you? More 1) than 2), obviously.
If you're not able to respond in civil and non-trollish manner, then don't respond at all. If you still insist on showing everyone how stupid you are, your comments will be ruthlessly deleted and you will be told, very cordially, to slither back into the soup of primordial slime from whence you crawled out from.
Pointless Post #85
I was struck by a recent conversation between my parents that was quite...evocative. We were in the car driving to some restaurant for dinner with my aunts and grandparents, who were in their car at the back of us. Anyways, dad was driving well within the speed limit because, well, mom gets fidgety whenever anyone travels over 80 on a highway. (No one in the family got her genes, heheh)
That day though, mom was bitten by the speed bug, and asked my dad why he was driving so slowly. Me and my brother, we were sitting in the backseat, and we exchanged very meaningful glances. Dad said he didn't want my granpa to have to drive fast to keep up, to which Mom retorted that granpa probably drives faster than him.
Sidenote: My dad was once an obnoxious taxi-driver, and currently drives a souped-up Wira. He's not exactly a neophyte when it comes to driving.
Anyways, Dad, being male, and therefore completely under the thumb of his wife, accelerated a tad. So we were sitting in the car discussing the disparity between America's imports and exports, when it started to rain. That was when it happened.
"Why're you driving so fast? You want to kill us all?" (said by Mom)
Ok, so it was raining, and the roads are slippery. Didn't stop us from looking at each other with raised eyebrows though, heh. Dad obliged and slowed down accordingly, and mom sat back and enjoyed the scenery. After about 15 minutes of slow cruising, the weather went from heavy rain to heavy drizzle, and I was starting to get cranky cos I'm hungry. Mom then told dad to step on it cos it was 8+ and my aunts were used to eating dinner at 7.
Meaningful glances were again exchanged by the occupants of the backseat. Snickers were withheld, as my dad, long-suffering and probably resigned to the fact that [generalisation alert!] women are VERY contradictory, accelerated the car.
It was then that I realised that my dad had a heck lot of patience, cos if I was driving I would've gotten out of the car and given up the driver's seat to my mom. In a polite and mannerly fashion that would not result in her disowning me, of course. But I digress; there was just no way for my dad to win. Luckily for him he also has a wacky sense of humour, which gets us in stitches whenever my mom does things like this to him.
This post has absolutely no point. :p Hooray for dad, I suppose.
That day though, mom was bitten by the speed bug, and asked my dad why he was driving so slowly. Me and my brother, we were sitting in the backseat, and we exchanged very meaningful glances. Dad said he didn't want my granpa to have to drive fast to keep up, to which Mom retorted that granpa probably drives faster than him.
Sidenote: My dad was once an obnoxious taxi-driver, and currently drives a souped-up Wira. He's not exactly a neophyte when it comes to driving.
Anyways, Dad, being male, and therefore completely under the thumb of his wife, accelerated a tad. So we were sitting in the car discussing the disparity between America's imports and exports, when it started to rain. That was when it happened.
"Why're you driving so fast? You want to kill us all?" (said by Mom)
Ok, so it was raining, and the roads are slippery. Didn't stop us from looking at each other with raised eyebrows though, heh. Dad obliged and slowed down accordingly, and mom sat back and enjoyed the scenery. After about 15 minutes of slow cruising, the weather went from heavy rain to heavy drizzle, and I was starting to get cranky cos I'm hungry. Mom then told dad to step on it cos it was 8+ and my aunts were used to eating dinner at 7.
Meaningful glances were again exchanged by the occupants of the backseat. Snickers were withheld, as my dad, long-suffering and probably resigned to the fact that [generalisation alert!] women are VERY contradictory, accelerated the car.
It was then that I realised that my dad had a heck lot of patience, cos if I was driving I would've gotten out of the car and given up the driver's seat to my mom. In a polite and mannerly fashion that would not result in her disowning me, of course. But I digress; there was just no way for my dad to win. Luckily for him he also has a wacky sense of humour, which gets us in stitches whenever my mom does things like this to him.
This post has absolutely no point. :p Hooray for dad, I suppose.
October 22, 2004
This post is kinda full of obscure references to people you probably don't know.
I am a heartless bitch, I don't like to have anything to do with anything alive. Definition of alive: anything that has to depend on me for food/shelter/care/love. Ocassionally though, I find myself touched by the plight of animals.
About a year ago a good friend from BF, who's a guinea pig nut, tried to nurse a very sick Pig 3 back to health, but failed. Through the course of a 3-4 PMs, I started to feel bad for Pig 3, and tried to send a kiss to it in hopes that it would get better, ala Snow White. The poor thing died though, and in the end my friend composed a little something called The Pig 3 Ditty, and it was so infectious one of his beefy biker housemates was caught humming along to the tune.
Today, I am again reminded of the same feeling. The feeling of sadness because a friend tried to nurse a sick animal back to health but failed. (It's not the same friend btw)
RIP, animals. Take care of yourself, friend.
I am a heartless bitch, I don't like to have anything to do with anything alive. Definition of alive: anything that has to depend on me for food/shelter/care/love. Ocassionally though, I find myself touched by the plight of animals.
About a year ago a good friend from BF, who's a guinea pig nut, tried to nurse a very sick Pig 3 back to health, but failed. Through the course of a 3-4 PMs, I started to feel bad for Pig 3, and tried to send a kiss to it in hopes that it would get better, ala Snow White. The poor thing died though, and in the end my friend composed a little something called The Pig 3 Ditty, and it was so infectious one of his beefy biker housemates was caught humming along to the tune.
Today, I am again reminded of the same feeling. The feeling of sadness because a friend tried to nurse a sick animal back to health but failed. (It's not the same friend btw)
RIP, animals. Take care of yourself, friend.
October 21, 2004
"Just friends."
Sometimes, dating couples have no idea whether they're still 'just friends' or have graduated to become 'boyfriend-girlfriend'. When a man and a woman have been together for a while, what distinguishes friend-behavior and lover-behavior? Who decides the status of the relationship?
Ahem. How Sex-And-The-City is that? *grins*
Ok, seriously, while at the salon today, I got a phone call from my friend. Since the stylist has finished my hair and was working on my granma's perm, I decided to happily yak on the phone while my granma was chatting to another auntie there.
My friend has been dating this guy for a few months, and while they've been doing the usual couple-ly things like holding hands and trading saliva, she wasn't exactly sure of the footing of their relationship, cos, well, she overheard her guy tell his friend that they were 'just friends'.
I don't really think I'm the person to come for relationship advice, since I've been in a funk for 4 years (and counting), but this was what we yakked about for half an hour. She didn't know what to do, since to her they're officially dating (hence the kissing) but to him they're just friends, and apparently kissing is what he does with his regular girl friends.
After approximately 25 minutes of fretting, she asked me what I would do if I were in her place. Hmm, this is kinda hard.
"Maybe you could try asking him?" sez I.
Horrified, she responded, "I can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Well, because." She paused, "I'm a girl."
"So'm I, but I would ask him if he were my boyfriend."
"...I can't."
"What do you wanna do then?"
"I dunno."
"Ok. I just think it'd be easier to find out once and for all than spend about RM5 to call me from your handphone and worry about this."
"It's about 15 bucks, silly."
We then got sidetracked and said goodbye after another 3 minutes of enquiring after one another and setting a lunch date for tomorrow.
After the phone call I got to thinking about why it's not done to just ask. I mean, if there's something you don't understand, you ask. Obviously not everyone is as crazy as I am, but that doesn't mean you should just sit around and wait for some clarification that might not even come. Chiefly because I think the guy's not telepathic and wouldn't know what my friend was thinking, but still, even if he is, I'd ask. Wait, scrap that, that doesn't make any sense.
Anyway, I dunno. I'd just rather know once and for all than be flung into a state of limbo, wondering and worrying about what other people are thinking, eventually vexing myself to a point where I start gnawing the sofa armrests. Not good for my teeth, and not good for my wellbeing, on account of my mom yelling and all that.
So I have no idea how much handphone calls cost. But I'll know why my boyfriend thinks we're still 'just friends' even after he groped my ass. Ass-groping that's not followed by a knee to the groin is strictly reserved for significant others only.
Ahem. How Sex-And-The-City is that? *grins*
Ok, seriously, while at the salon today, I got a phone call from my friend. Since the stylist has finished my hair and was working on my granma's perm, I decided to happily yak on the phone while my granma was chatting to another auntie there.
My friend has been dating this guy for a few months, and while they've been doing the usual couple-ly things like holding hands and trading saliva, she wasn't exactly sure of the footing of their relationship, cos, well, she overheard her guy tell his friend that they were 'just friends'.
I don't really think I'm the person to come for relationship advice, since I've been in a funk for 4 years (and counting), but this was what we yakked about for half an hour. She didn't know what to do, since to her they're officially dating (hence the kissing) but to him they're just friends, and apparently kissing is what he does with his regular girl friends.
After approximately 25 minutes of fretting, she asked me what I would do if I were in her place. Hmm, this is kinda hard.
"Maybe you could try asking him?" sez I.
Horrified, she responded, "I can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Well, because." She paused, "I'm a girl."
"So'm I, but I would ask him if he were my boyfriend."
"...I can't."
"What do you wanna do then?"
"I dunno."
"Ok. I just think it'd be easier to find out once and for all than spend about RM5 to call me from your handphone and worry about this."
"It's about 15 bucks, silly."
We then got sidetracked and said goodbye after another 3 minutes of enquiring after one another and setting a lunch date for tomorrow.
After the phone call I got to thinking about why it's not done to just ask. I mean, if there's something you don't understand, you ask. Obviously not everyone is as crazy as I am, but that doesn't mean you should just sit around and wait for some clarification that might not even come. Chiefly because I think the guy's not telepathic and wouldn't know what my friend was thinking, but still, even if he is, I'd ask. Wait, scrap that, that doesn't make any sense.
Anyway, I dunno. I'd just rather know once and for all than be flung into a state of limbo, wondering and worrying about what other people are thinking, eventually vexing myself to a point where I start gnawing the sofa armrests. Not good for my teeth, and not good for my wellbeing, on account of my mom yelling and all that.
So I have no idea how much handphone calls cost. But I'll know why my boyfriend thinks we're still 'just friends' even after he groped my ass. Ass-groping that's not followed by a knee to the groin is strictly reserved for significant others only.
Rapunzel
No, it's not another dirty fairytale, and I'm not Rapunzel, not by a long stretch, but I went and cut my hair today. Admittedly, it doesn't look much different, but you won't believe the amount of hair the stylist lopped off. Next time I'll remember to bring a camera along.
Anyways, I was this close to coming back with curls instead of boring old straight hair. Seriously, I was almost seduced by the stylist's spiel and nearly consented to a 'spa' perm, which was supposed to infuse some concoction of essential oils into my hair, making it silky and shiny. Of course, the biggest selling point was that it's supposed to make me look pretty, and what girl could refuse that?
And then I thought, I don't even comb my hair in the mornings, would I really have the patience to deal with permed hair? For the uninitiated, if you have permed hair and you don't want to look like Diana Ross, you have to apply some sort of sculpting lotion to make the curls set after you wash your hair. You also have to wrap your head in a towel for those treatment thingies at least once a week so your hair doesn't frizz to the high heavens. I'm too lazy to even apply conditioner, would I really do that religiously?
But then again, Michelle's always telling me to gussy up to attract the males, so maybe I can handle that. I mean, if I wanna get married by 30 I'd better start looking now, ya?
I balked at the price though. RM350 for hair? OMG NOTHX. I'd rather go shopping. Low maintenance, that's the way to go.
::Left is Before, Right is After::
Anyways, I was this close to coming back with curls instead of boring old straight hair. Seriously, I was almost seduced by the stylist's spiel and nearly consented to a 'spa' perm, which was supposed to infuse some concoction of essential oils into my hair, making it silky and shiny. Of course, the biggest selling point was that it's supposed to make me look pretty, and what girl could refuse that?
And then I thought, I don't even comb my hair in the mornings, would I really have the patience to deal with permed hair? For the uninitiated, if you have permed hair and you don't want to look like Diana Ross, you have to apply some sort of sculpting lotion to make the curls set after you wash your hair. You also have to wrap your head in a towel for those treatment thingies at least once a week so your hair doesn't frizz to the high heavens. I'm too lazy to even apply conditioner, would I really do that religiously?
But then again, Michelle's always telling me to gussy up to attract the males, so maybe I can handle that. I mean, if I wanna get married by 30 I'd better start looking now, ya?
I balked at the price though. RM350 for hair? OMG NOTHX. I'd rather go shopping. Low maintenance, that's the way to go.
October 20, 2004
How I Lost My Spleen
I'm not talking about Taylor's (though they did mislead me about my exemptions prior to registration). I'm talking about APIIT, the college that's trying to get a University in front of its name. Two words: God forbid. See? I care about this so much I even capitalised God. Onwards to the main body!
How I Lost My Spleen:
From the lecturers, who read from the slides, which can be downloaded from the student web portal anyway. Why the hell am I paying you to read to me?
From the lecturers again, who don't answer the class when questioned about parts of the syllabus we don't understand. Standard answer? "Read the textbook." Why the hell am I paying you again?
From dealing with incompetent-and-sometimes-downright-stupid admin staff, who also manage to be rude at the same time. It's almost like being in secondary school again, except in secondary school I don't pay money to be patronised. They've got the fast food system down to a pat, it's all self-service there.
From the hopeless admin staff, who actually gave us the marking scheme instead of the exam questions for our semester finals, resulting in a delay of about an hour. After which we were given a set of questions, half of them about topics we weren't even taught in class.
From lecturers again, specifically Caroline, who waltzed in after the exam fiasco and demanded that we sit for the exam, which we would fail if we did. Her reasoning? "You are responsible for covering all the topics whether the lecturer taught them or not." Thank god people like her aren't running the country. Oh wait...
From supreme bad timing, which was exactly a day after the above-mentioned exam fiasco. We were sitting for another paper, and the stipulated time was 3 hours. An hour into the paper, an admin staff came in and told us it was actually a two-hour paper. Which is a fancy way of saying, "You're screwed."
From lecturers, who can't make up their minds on what they want to see in our projects. For our Business Research Methods subject, our belovedest lecturer changed her mind 3 times, resulting in mass confusion and general curses (very bad curses) towards her direction. It's not that we're excessively hard on her, it's just that the last time she changed her mind was 3 hours before the project was due, and it wasn't humanly possible to give her what she wanted in 3 hours.
Once more, from 'lecturers' who 'teach' some of the subjects. On the excessive usage of inverted commas, it's because the 'lecturers' themselves are sometimes confused with what they're saying in class, but they keep talking anyway. Mark Twain said, "It's better to close your mouth and remain a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt." Obviously, no one reads Mark Twain anymore. So what do you call a 'lecturer' who can't 'teach'?
Finally, the absolute unfairness of the rules. APIIT students in KL weren't allowed to wear jeans or capri pants, but APIIT student in the now-closed DH branch were allowed to violate those very same rules with impunity. (I had friends in DH, thank you) We were also expected to speak English all the time, even when I'm in the lift conversing with my granma on the phone. My granma who doesn't speak English. And the lecturers used words like 'jeopardisation' and 'best level'.
Sometimes, the irony writes itself.
Towards the end of my Higher Diploma, I was ill for 4 months, (not consecutively though) and that was probably a blessing in disguise, since I didn't have to go to the place and see the people there. It gave me a headache just to look at the place, and talking to the people there made me want to vomit buckets of blood. (translate to Cantonese pls)
Anyways, this is all from my personal experience. I'm sure plenty of APIIT grads have had a great time in APIIT. *snickers*
How I Lost My Spleen:
From the lecturers, who read from the slides, which can be downloaded from the student web portal anyway. Why the hell am I paying you to read to me?
From the lecturers again, who don't answer the class when questioned about parts of the syllabus we don't understand. Standard answer? "Read the textbook." Why the hell am I paying you again?
From dealing with incompetent-and-sometimes-downright-stupid admin staff, who also manage to be rude at the same time. It's almost like being in secondary school again, except in secondary school I don't pay money to be patronised. They've got the fast food system down to a pat, it's all self-service there.
From the hopeless admin staff, who actually gave us the marking scheme instead of the exam questions for our semester finals, resulting in a delay of about an hour. After which we were given a set of questions, half of them about topics we weren't even taught in class.
From lecturers again, specifically Caroline, who waltzed in after the exam fiasco and demanded that we sit for the exam, which we would fail if we did. Her reasoning? "You are responsible for covering all the topics whether the lecturer taught them or not." Thank god people like her aren't running the country. Oh wait...
From supreme bad timing, which was exactly a day after the above-mentioned exam fiasco. We were sitting for another paper, and the stipulated time was 3 hours. An hour into the paper, an admin staff came in and told us it was actually a two-hour paper. Which is a fancy way of saying, "You're screwed."
From lecturers, who can't make up their minds on what they want to see in our projects. For our Business Research Methods subject, our belovedest lecturer changed her mind 3 times, resulting in mass confusion and general curses (very bad curses) towards her direction. It's not that we're excessively hard on her, it's just that the last time she changed her mind was 3 hours before the project was due, and it wasn't humanly possible to give her what she wanted in 3 hours.
Once more, from 'lecturers' who 'teach' some of the subjects. On the excessive usage of inverted commas, it's because the 'lecturers' themselves are sometimes confused with what they're saying in class, but they keep talking anyway. Mark Twain said, "It's better to close your mouth and remain a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt." Obviously, no one reads Mark Twain anymore. So what do you call a 'lecturer' who can't 'teach'?
Finally, the absolute unfairness of the rules. APIIT students in KL weren't allowed to wear jeans or capri pants, but APIIT student in the now-closed DH branch were allowed to violate those very same rules with impunity. (I had friends in DH, thank you) We were also expected to speak English all the time, even when I'm in the lift conversing with my granma on the phone. My granma who doesn't speak English. And the lecturers used words like 'jeopardisation' and 'best level'.
Sometimes, the irony writes itself.
Towards the end of my Higher Diploma, I was ill for 4 months, (not consecutively though) and that was probably a blessing in disguise, since I didn't have to go to the place and see the people there. It gave me a headache just to look at the place, and talking to the people there made me want to vomit buckets of blood. (translate to Cantonese pls)
Anyways, this is all from my personal experience. I'm sure plenty of APIIT grads have had a great time in APIIT. *snickers*
October 18, 2004
The WCG and Jake Gyllenhaal
Sat through my Accounts exams today, and ended up being royally screwed. On the upside I'm officially on holiday and can sit at home and rot till the room stinks of my bodily odours, and no one would care.
Anyway, as promised, pics from the WCG. Hey, it's late, but better than never, yeah? Because I don't want to break your puny little 56k modem, all images open in a new window.
The Finals in LA.
The Finals in LA, Part II.
Shuttle thingy to the WCG.
Layout of the warzone. Calm and pristine before all the inevitable spillage of blood and gore. That is a heck lot of computers. :p
Ooh, mamak stall screenies! I want that banner.
Boy, these sure are more impressive when lighted up. I take back the mamak stall comment because, well, purple owns.
Flashy graphics on the giant screenies!
What's better than flashy graphics on a giant screenie? Why, more flashy graphics on a giant screenie, of course!
And fugly teal heralds the beginning of the competition. At least, I think that's what it's doing.
This should be the warm-up period.
Notice the same guy standing there. :)
StarCraft!
Darkness. Must be exciting. Here's a word of advice though, don't do it with Doom 3 unless you actually like having the bejesus scared out of you. You sicko.
More darkness.
Yet more darkness.
Again with the giant screens. Thought it was over, did ya?
Spectators. Or cheerleaders, minus some spirit and pom-poms.
More spectators. Guy in black looks official-like though. Crowd control, maybe?
Either it's really late or the WCG isn't that exciting after all. :p
Misc pics of gamers doing their thang.
I wonder if they ever get annoyed by the flashes and swat photographers away like you'd swat a fly...?
City of San Francisco.
Spot the Cloakie! :D
Ok, I have no idea what this is. Looks kinda football-ish though.
The awarding of medals. Bloody Yanks. :)
That looks like a mock check. Anyway, this pic is nicer than the one above, cos of the Roman-esque pillar thingy on top.
One of those boring sleep-through-it speech things.
The Aftermath.
The Aftermath, Part Deux. Hmm...someone must have hidden the weed. *grins*
What's a little LAN party without booze? *grins* At least you get drunk in style.
There's a reason for this truck being here. [hint]above 3 pics[/hint]
Throw a bunch of guys together and they play...strip poker? From the right, the second guy standing looks familiar, yes? A gamer who looks a bit like Jake Gyllenhaal...yummy. Btw, this pic is the reason why Jake's name is on the title. Don't you suddenly feel so cheated? :)
Now, to give credit where credit is due, all pics (blurriness and all) are property of Shaun "Redcloak" Skelton, the occasionally-caustic-but-always-funny admin of Blizzforums. He even offered me some higher quality pics to put here, but I politely declined. As you can see, he is an all-round cool guy. :) If you feel a need to demonstrate your gratefulness, RC never says no to good porn.
All commentaries are property of myself, so if there're any mistakes or inappropriate comments, it's all my brain's fault. From the pics, it looks like a pretty successful WCG.
That's it for 2004. See you all in Singapore!
Anyway, as promised, pics from the WCG. Hey, it's late, but better than never, yeah? Because I don't want to break your puny little 56k modem, all images open in a new window.
The Finals in LA.
The Finals in LA, Part II.
Shuttle thingy to the WCG.
Layout of the warzone. Calm and pristine before all the inevitable spillage of blood and gore. That is a heck lot of computers. :p
Ooh, mamak stall screenies! I want that banner.
Boy, these sure are more impressive when lighted up. I take back the mamak stall comment because, well, purple owns.
Flashy graphics on the giant screenies!
What's better than flashy graphics on a giant screenie? Why, more flashy graphics on a giant screenie, of course!
And fugly teal heralds the beginning of the competition. At least, I think that's what it's doing.
This should be the warm-up period.
Notice the same guy standing there. :)
StarCraft!
Darkness. Must be exciting. Here's a word of advice though, don't do it with Doom 3 unless you actually like having the bejesus scared out of you. You sicko.
More darkness.
Yet more darkness.
Again with the giant screens. Thought it was over, did ya?
Spectators. Or cheerleaders, minus some spirit and pom-poms.
More spectators. Guy in black looks official-like though. Crowd control, maybe?
Either it's really late or the WCG isn't that exciting after all. :p
Misc pics of gamers doing their thang.
I wonder if they ever get annoyed by the flashes and swat photographers away like you'd swat a fly...?
City of San Francisco.
Spot the Cloakie! :D
Ok, I have no idea what this is. Looks kinda football-ish though.
The awarding of medals. Bloody Yanks. :)
That looks like a mock check. Anyway, this pic is nicer than the one above, cos of the Roman-esque pillar thingy on top.
One of those boring sleep-through-it speech things.
The Aftermath.
The Aftermath, Part Deux. Hmm...someone must have hidden the weed. *grins*
What's a little LAN party without booze? *grins* At least you get drunk in style.
There's a reason for this truck being here. [hint]above 3 pics[/hint]
Throw a bunch of guys together and they play...strip poker? From the right, the second guy standing looks familiar, yes? A gamer who looks a bit like Jake Gyllenhaal...yummy. Btw, this pic is the reason why Jake's name is on the title. Don't you suddenly feel so cheated? :)
Now, to give credit where credit is due, all pics (blurriness and all) are property of Shaun "Redcloak" Skelton, the occasionally-caustic-but-always-funny admin of Blizzforums. He even offered me some higher quality pics to put here, but I politely declined. As you can see, he is an all-round cool guy. :) If you feel a need to demonstrate your gratefulness, RC never says no to good porn.
All commentaries are property of myself, so if there're any mistakes or inappropriate comments, it's all my brain's fault. From the pics, it looks like a pretty successful WCG.
That's it for 2004. See you all in Singapore!
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