25 and still counting

25
I am of the generation of the Popcorn Report.
I say to please the ‘me’ and to do it in the ‘now’
I defend my worth by spending on myself because I believe ‘I deserve IT’. This method cures my depression too.

I am at the stage in life where I admit to myself, money can’t buy me anything. Well, at least the money I have can’t. Because I don’t have the uncommon sense to splurge on a 3 grand touch screen handphone when I don’t need one, because I can’t talk myself into buying that 500 bucks woven shirt from France, because I just don’t have enough to buy that vintage Dior saddle bag. I can’t justify these spending to my guilty self. I think I earn a sensible amount, of course everyone would say they wish they’d earn more, but I guess I make do. Have never been one for materialism and the whole ‘saving for a rainy day thing also throws a damper on me’.

But the point that I am trying to drive here is the fact I can’t buy anything these days with the money I have but food. I swear. Shops just don’t sell anything that is worth buying anymore. The masses of solid coloured tank tops, the same in your face graphics and the same ‘fashionable’ stripes assaults the senses when you take a stroll down the local shopping arcade. Throw in the front runners of ‘manity’ now (man vanity) and my senses are more than ready to go nuclear. No matter how much individuality you try to put into your outfit, be it the belt-as-wide-as-your-hiney, the strings of beads-to-challenge-Mr T, the logo-ed out bag, the white plastic rimmed sunnies, the beach bum flip flops; its all enmasse.

And so, every season or two, I find myself wanting to buy something. Anything. And I walk into the shop, hack my way through the dense foliage of clothing, pick out the few articles which I think don’t make me look like Lulu from Hong Kong. I whistle for the assistant’s help, and am told half of my chosen pile is ‘No more size, miss.’ The half of the pile is then halved again as the colour that I want (which is usually black) is ‘No more stock, miss.’ I wait in line for about two weeks before getting an opening in a changing cubicle the size of a solitary confinement cell and meticulously try every fashion article (about 50 or so t-shirts and 35 pants, 0 dresses and 20 pairs of shoes), only to find the ‘S’ are too large, there is no such thing as ‘XS’ and the pants only barely cover my butt crack. The shorts on the other hand, cover my ass but starts at the butt line. The shoes pinch my toes purple, and a faux string of pearls tried to strangle me. The pained constipated look is not for me.

A friend told me I should embrace the ‘Now’ fashion as I still am yuppie enough. But how can I don on a piece of clothing that has patterns (supposedly inspired in the 60’s) that remind me of those darn colourful fuzzy pictures that you are suppose to stare really long and really hard at, and then viola, you see 3 dimensional dinosaurs within the fuzzy patterns. Last night, I spied a beautiful retro patterned cloth, but the cloth was made into a t-shirt (which I take it you have to pair with tights that cut off blood circulation and dashes your hope of ever conceiving in the future; and a belt as wide as Sungai Gombak) and the t-shirt was done in the same cut as those sleep wear baggy t-shirts that we use to wear to bed when we were kids. What a waste of cloth. I don’t have much luck when it comes to shopping, and I get dizzy shopping online. So yes, I wear the same clothes I bought 4 years ago (when the preppy militarian look was in), and to cure my depression, I eat.

Thank heavens there are smorgasbord of eating outlets, but not enough eating buddies. And so, I splurge on books (of which amounts are a thousand times more than my clothes spending) and I sit at the sushi bar, reading the latest Clarkson and eating my Ikura, comfortable in the fact that I am not accidentally mooning anybody.

26
-EDITED-

Have noticed a sudden surge of traffic on my profile, and it's either due to:

(a) everyone loves to read about bitching and cussing in a blog

(b) it's being circulted amongst my co-workers cause i never find the water taps open anymore :P (hoorah!)

(c) and so, sadly and which much regret, i have to edit the entry. However much i bitch or mean i am, i am just never nasty.


27
What’s with people thinking that they are so damn great or better than you just because they have a higher or better degree than you?

You still send faxes the wrong side up so that all that the clients receive is a black blank page. *snicker*

Your clients still rather talk to your assistant rather than deal with you. *looking towards heaven*

A paper qualification is useless because if you are an idiot in the first place, a degree or phD can’t change that.

I’d pick a hard worker, with more experience, and better attitude than someone with a better degree to work with me anytime.

And what’s with the questions about workload? Just because someone leaves at 7 everyday (our office log out time is 5:45) doesn’t mean that the person doesn’t have enough projects to work on. It just means that the person is a capable and effective worker; and oh yes, has a LIFE.