Help Save This Chic

Sliding Doors

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 16:06:00 +0000

Am sitting in my living room in Hanoi, pondering.

It feels strange, knowing that largely, a seperate 'energy' of me should be on that flight to hong kong. going to talk to HIM and taking the leap.

But instead, when this morning at 6am at the airport, they announced the flight to hk was boarding, my heart leapt. somewhere, was a ticket for me to go.

But i'd made my decision last week.

I wasnt going to go

i wasnt getting on that plane.

i wasnt going to travel that route.

And instead, at 630am, they announced my flight to hanoi was boarding, I got on the plane and met a whole totally differant future.

The one where i'd be travelling much in Vn. the one where he wouldnt be there like it used to be in Hanoi. The one where, i can never go to the same cafe's we used to go.

Sliding doors. I wanted to get on that flight, but i couldnt. the baggage would have exceeded the check in limit by many 747 folds.

It's just not my life anymore.

So i stand at the departure lounge, and waved goodbye to that one sliding door. the one i'm letting close forever.

No more what ifs. I have a different future to live.

J

Scrap Metal

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 06:27:00 +0000

I wish I was 10 today.

So I can go up to my dad and ask him how to fix things.

When I was 10, I used to take my dad's supply of scrap wood and hammer nails into them. Sometimes, I'd hammer out a pattern, and infill it will my cross stitch threads and sometimes I'd hammer aimlessly, trying to perfect the art of hammering. Soon, when I was able to hammer without bending the nails, I’d find a sense of zen, losing myself in the motions. I hammered whenever I needed to figure something out in my head. At 10, I think the biggest issue that bugged me was why I had problems reading and calculating. I didn’t understand the need to change the grades on my report card, but only understood that getting an A seemed to make my parents happy.

This need to continuously change just to make someone else happy, it still plagues me.

I wish I was 10 today.

So I can be back in my village, sewing clothes for my Teddy bear and Teddy bunny with my grandma’s scrap cloth. They were out of shape and didn’t fit them properly, but at least they were warm wearing my scrap cloth outfits.

This need to wear the warmth I find in things that do not fit me properly, it still plagues me.

I wish I was 10 today.

So I can fall asleep on my stairs or at the edge of the border of the split level in my house.

This need to always be at one open edge, instead of finding comfort in corners and sides, it still plagues me.

I wish I was 10 today. So I can still go about, believing I wasn’t broken and needed to be fixed.

Hammering
Scraps
Edges
Fixing

I have in me, a scrap metal heart
Broken and mended with many a spare part

Counter

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 09:03:00 +0000

There will be times in your life when you just can’t deal, so you decide to check out of it.

Today, I decided to check out.

Sometimes I resent these ‘melancholic’ mood swings that plague me.
So I lay my head down on my hands and wake up two hours later, still at my desk.
I hate people telling me you create your own happiness. Because it isn’t created, it’s born out of something. And when someone else comes along and takes the piss out of your happiness, well, that’s when we check out. We work so hard and fight so hard to gain and keep the happiness, and at the end, it all falls apart. So what’s the point?! It’s easier to not be happy then.

It’s so much easier being nice. But it’s easier being depressed. Have you noticed that tears flow easier than laughter? That taking sleeping pills is easier than clearing your mind to fall asleep?

It’s easier to wear facades than to be the real you.

Check out. Just check out. It’s easier this way.

Couldnt Face Him

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 04:36:00 +0000

Dreaming.........

Dreamt that i was back in Vegas, finishing up some discussion about prose. Weird as i dont know anything abt prose, so why should i be dreaming it?

then i had to move on to my next lesson, a one-on-one tutorial guitar lesson. I couldnt remember my tutor's face, it was blurred, but i remember he was gonna show me something new.

So in anticipation, i went down to my room to pick up my guitar. It's neck was broken. Then i said to myself, that's not my real guitar, it's a Yamaha, mine's a Takamine. Then i put the broken Yamaha down, and looked around the room. Each guitar i picked up was the wrong one. One didnt have strings, and even one was a Gambus! i started panicking and frantically turned my huge room upside down. I found one guitar that had eight strings on it, sitting on my swan chair.

Just as i found my normal takamine, i grabbed it, turned around, and expecting to see my tutor's face, i woke up.

Daymnn, i love remembering my dreams. :)

Note to Self

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 07:07:00 +0000

I woke up today and realized I was still alive. That is the weirdest feeling ever.

Less than the span of a day, two people have made references to The Verve’s work, ‘The Drugs don’t Work Anymore’ to me, and when such cosmic signs align, one does not ignore it. So I pulled up my reliable hard disk of my life chronicles, located Urban Hymns, track number 4 (not 6 as I said w such false confidence earlier in the day-my bad), and hit the loop button. After two consecutive loops, I had to stop the track halfway on the third.

The song just didn’t feel right to me, didn’t feel as if I should have listened to it at this point in time of my life. It rested uneasy on my shoulders, and I tried to shrug it off all Sunday as I did two G. Butler shows B2B. It feels like I’ve stumbled unto someone else life; and to put it in polite Brit terms, I should ‘just shove off’.

I woke up this morning w a story on my mind. It sounds like a bad re-mastered storyline, but I know how I wanna work the angle.

It’s abt a girl, who is somewhat clairvoyant. But she couldn’t see anything abt her life, just abt other’s in her life. Till she met this snake, who asked her the question that would soon become her poison apple. If she could, would she want to see abt her life? Would she want to know of the man she meets, of the hurt she’d have to endure, and of how and when she dies? Of course she swallows the red pill :D but if you think you wont be buying this book, think again. All she foretells during her ‘clairvoyancy’ is deck of cards, she has to interpret them.

I know it’s a theme that’s been used before, but it’s feels different this time, since I’m writing it, and not reading it, and I sadly know how it ends. And it irks me, to be clairvoyant abt a character in my plot, but it angst me as well, that my girl doesn’t realize that although she chooses to know how she dies, she doesn’t get the whole picture until it’s too late. And why a snake, and why draw alliterations to the adam eve debacle?

The things that have led me here:
1) I very badly wanted an African egg eating snake. For the past month, that’s all I was obsessed abt. Till I had a very bad dream. And the bad dream didn’t just vanished; it came again- abt being chased by anacondas, every time waking up just as they were poised to attack me. A few weeks ago, I went hiking in the jungle, and a black cobra slithered past my path. Cosmic.

2) What do snakes represent to me? To me, they are of eternal life, immortality. The Ouroboros has always captured my attention. The never ending of points in time. I like that. This fascination has led me to my obsession w dragons for it is told that the snake and the dragons are cousins. Then within the span of 2 months, I’ve met 3 people w dragon tattoos. I’ve always met people with tribal or tiger tats, but 3 people w dragons in 2 months, it’s cosmic. And when one of them w the draco tat refers to the earlier song mentioned, it’s cosmic. Which the song then leads me to writing this note so self, which I don’t know where yet it would lead. And a week ago, i met someone w a tribal Ouroboros tat on his back. Cosmic

3) Why the power of clairvoyance? Because my own prediction has been wrong. I predicted that I would die at 24. Then I tot the next 3 years were bonus years, and then I would kaput. Ok, so being wrong once in my life isn’t such a bad thing :P But then H tells me her fortune teller predicted a certain event to happen early next year to her. I suddenly sat upright and said ‘eh? Another prediction’.
Something’s not right here. Cosmic. I haven thought abt my wrong prediction for so many years, till a week ago. When I met the third man w the draco tat, and I said to him, “that’s the Guardian god of life isn’t it?” and as I looked at his grey blue eyes for confirmation, I realized I was still alive.

4) I just ordered a bible.

This is just me recording my thought process.

Second Place

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 02:01:00 +0000

Every guy should have Spiderman's Aunt as an advisor. In the struggling midst of battling evil villians, Spidey thought he didn't have the capacity to be with Mary Jane and to make her his priority.

Then Aunt Spidey told Peter Parker to always make Mary Jane his first priority.

And women are such funny creatures. Once you make them numero uno, as a guy, you will suddenly find yourself encased with trusting web swinging freedom. It's true. As soon as a woman is reassured about your commitment to her, you could be frequent flyer miles apart and yet she wouldn't doubt you for a moment.

I don't think i'll ever be good enough to be first priority, but maybe second place isn't so bad either.

It's de ja vu, it'll be career first, then me.

Could I live with that?

Wake Me Up When July Ends

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 08:41:00 +0000

Sometimes all you wanna do is sit in your Eames chair and contemplate the boundaries of design….. and then your boss asks you where are his plans, the project manager requests for the stage design dimensions, the electrician calls you up and asks who is to pay for the light bulbs that keep blowing out once ever y three weeks, (on that note, the management office that runs the establishment pays for the new bulbs cause it is under monthly maintenance and not the poor architect who has yet to collect her project payment fees, even though the architect did specify for that light fitting), the editor requests for two of your architect’s statement, your partner asks you where to get the plum colored glass mosaic tile that I specify for (plum mind you, not lavender, not magenta and certainly not purple), the RSJ calls and asks why weren’t you in contact with them and why I didn’t show up at the meeting on Wednesday, the RIPPP asks you where is your GSE program docile & have I prepared the presentation for the run through on Sunday, the client calls to confirm that you have to attend their big do on Saturday (Saturday!?!! My day of chillaxing… :-S),

And then I think…. It’s ok, I can chillax on Sunday…. Wait….. I have to go back to the office to help out with the photo shoot at 6am, then I have to go for my RIGSE training and mock presentation, then purchase large quantities of Malaysian souvenirs at the Central Market and then find some time to cry.

Cause by then I am back in the square before the Eames chair….. lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling fan and wondering when can I afford my own original Eames chair…………..

Tell Me Something.........

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 04:40:00 +0000

The one about the Non-Politically Correct Present:

Tell me something, is buying lingerie for your girlfriend really a great Yultide present? Guys argue that it's a great idea cause it's expensive and luxurious and their woman love it!

Erm.... Seriously?!

Isnt buying lingerie for her more akin to buying her a cook book so that she can whip up something delicious for you to eat?! *THIS SOUNDS SO WRONG SOMEHOW....*

Let's face it men, buying lingerie for your woman is more like buying yourself a little treat............ and who's to say you're not secretly wearing it when your woman is out of the house eh?!

So may I suggest, keep the lingerie idea but add a little Tiffany box alongside the satin, silk and lace.

And as one of my fav buddy tells me: "Ahhh, Lingerie.... the gift that keeps on giving....."

The One about the Inappropriate Gift Asking:

Tell me ladies, where do you get off asking your boyfriend to buy you that expensive phone/ Gucci Bag/ MacBook Pro, one that cost more than his one month salary?! And saying that he can afford it does'nt really justify you being a materialistic left wing cow.

Ok, maybe asking for it isnt as bad as throwing a tantrum when he buys you a phone that you think is 'too cheap'. As it's just as bad as being able to afford all these lovely goodies yourself, but unwilling to spend the greens on it.

I know everyone prefers it if you tell them what you want for your anniversary/Valentine/Birthday/Hannukah/Independance/Christmas day present, but do you really have to ask for something thats worth 3 months of his paycheque?

Bring back the Bra burning days i say.

There's A Hole in My Pocket, And It's About His Size

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 14:44:00 +0000

My mirror holds the secrets of my past
Even the ones I deny reflecting on

J

Suddenly I See IT

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 13:55:00 +0000

Somehow, I've missed the value of things unseen........ and now even more so because I'm missing what I what I want to see, but can't.

The presents and wishes, if there was an accumulative exchange counter, I'd trade it all in......... for a plane ticket and an answer.

ever thine
ever mine
ever ours

J

Why I need a new DSLR

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 06:21:00 +0000

Dear G,

I just got to see the photo on my laptop, and I must say the picture actually does not do justice. I'm much better looking than what was captured...

To M,

Obviously the lens on my camera is not technically sophisticated enough to capture your image as you see it yourself. I will need to upgrade it with the self perception mode.

Ode to My Comfort Food

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 03:55:00 +0000

Only one person in the entire neighbourhood has seen me at my worst in the mornings: deviod of coffee, lack of sleep and in hobo rumpled clothes; my favourite Nasi Lemak Lady. I call her Auntie instead of Makcik cause I am retarded that way.

And for THREE MONTHS she went away for a holdiday and didnt inform me!!! I thought she had left me forever!!! Abandonment issues arose, self-esteem plummeted and I went into withdrawal. SOB!!!!

But joy of joys, Auntie returneth today and so I rededicate MY ODE TO MY NASI LEMAK LADY previously published in a different space in 2007:

ODE TO MY NASI LEMAK LADY

SS3’s best kept secret

Is the makcik by the road side thicket

Peddling her nourishing ‘fatty rice’

And side dishes prepared with spice

Ikan bilis

Mixed in red paste chillies

Nasi with santan

Kangkung with no belacan

Crispy crunchy kacang

Goes well with the beef rendang

Sod the warning to fight heart disease

Sotong sambal- janggut only please

Limpa fried chewy and sinful

Kerang rendang also delightful

Curry chicken kuah

Make waistlines look like ‘bertuah’

Ya lar- eat already become dumpy

The Chinese sign of prosperity

Eggs boiled and cucumber slices

bungkus in banana leaf devices

All not so pedas

So I makan till I puas-puas

And i dedicate the Animaniacs BURP SONG as ending footnote :)

Epic-ness of Life

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 17:09:00 +0000

Sometime last week....
J: Eh CT, faster organize party for next friday lar!
CT: What?! You're gonna be partying for four days straight, not enuf ke? want to start on friday some more. You think you still young ah?
J: *pouts* Yea, four days NOT enuf dear!!!
CT: Eh I tot you on the wagon?!

Yes, My name is Jess and I am a mood swing alcoholic. I drink when I'm stressed and unhappy. I made a promise not to repeat last year's Xmas epic drinking binge failure.

After weeks of sadness, abandonment, good-byes and the non-good-byes I was feeling so low but still havent caved into my longing for escape

But.....
Then the rejection letter came and I retreated to my bed. Stared at the ceiling, and lo and behold, the devil himself drew outside my house, dragged me to the Beer Cafe and proceeded to stuff a Laffe down my throat. Then sneaked one of the devil's Taman Hoe. Coupled with another devil's Taman Hoe, who then urged me to scoff down lok lok steamboat at midnight.

EPIC FAIL!!!!

Now I pray for someone to stop me from accepting the invite out for magaritas tonite *EGAD* SUCH WEAK WILL I HAZZZ!!!

Must remember to diet. 4 days of booze, beach and bikinis around the corner!!!

Morbidity

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 03:50:00 +0000

I don't understand why people take photos during funerals.

I can't look at the body.

I don't know why i have to write the amount i give.

i think what everyone needs to recieve at these events is a hug, and not two tiny sweets and peanuts.

I want The Beatles songs to be played at my funeral. And U2. and LP.

My final year thesis about death, mourning and grieving has not given me closure.

Pseudo Kenji-isms

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 14:08:00 +0000

Kenji-isms 1

Frenchman : These people are so damn stubborn!
American 1 : We talk and talk but they just don’t want to get it!!
American 2 : And you try to teach them, it’s like the think they know it all!!!
Britt : Why does our team even bother with these stubborn
(*insert nationality here)!!

I looked and listened and slurped my Pho. And then I spoke with a voice not unlike my own.

Kenji : If you are to succeed, you must live by the way of the rice and not by the way of the hamburger

*SILENCE* and then...........

American 1 : What the F**K does that mean Master Shifu??!!

Kenji : It means your white foreign ways are too aggressive.
Embrace the humble gentle Asian way and all will follow.

Pho slurping joy-ness continues.

Kenji-isms 2

Kenji : I hate my job. Love the work, but hate the job and internal politics.
TB : Only one more year, then you can leave.
Don’t short change yourself for a better options in the future.

*SILENCE* and then..........

Kenji : Yes, I tell myself to that to find a horse, one must first ride the cow.
TB : Okayyyyy Master Shifu....What the H**L does that mean??!!
Kenji : It means that for now, AC is my cow.

footnote: All Kenji-isms have been adapted somehow ^^

Spaced Out

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 16:05:00 +0000

There is a hypothetical nation who didn’t have money to sponsor one of its sportsman to the Olympics because they spent it all on sending a man to space a year before.

Now some might argue that sending the man to space had more benefits because he was gonna go do some scientific research, presumably a cure for cancer (or something of that magnitude- cultural games and local food do hold the same calibre in this hypo country). That’s why that hypo nation chose to send a semi-registered doctor with a foot fetish to find the cure for cancer in 10 days. 10 days was all the budget of USD26mil would allow for and the longest duration the Doc could go without missing his mommy.

It has almost been a year, and yet no results have been published of his experiments in space, but lots have been said of the country’s most expensive government sponsored travel tour. And yet the government hops and skips along hoping that the nation will forget about the most expensive boo boo in history. Everybody in the know knows what happened to his experiment results. He lost it.

How does one do that?! Many have cried out loud in vain.

Well….. here’s my theory:

We all know the joke where the Americans spent millions to invent a pen that could function in space, but the Russians just used a pencil. So Dr. Musz… ooops I mean almost but not quite a specialized Dr Fictitious used a pencil too, cause the Russians were the ones who trained him.

And then the biggest mistake in history eva… he folded the paper and put it into the back pocket of his jeans and forgot all about it. After touching down on Earth, Momma Fictitious hugs her son and proceeds to do his laundry. MEGA FAIL.

Many a hot chicks’ phone numbers have been lost that way. And now we can add the cure for cancer to it too.

I’d have rather sponsored the sailing man to Beijing.

Volume Control

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 07:08:00 +0000

It’s a known fact that I can’t speak any form of Oriental Language. Especially Cantonese and Mandarin.

I am ashamed of it, but trust me, I have tried learning. It’s just that my brains are more wired to learning German, French and Spanish.

In the construction industry, most contractors speak only Chinese Dialects. Not even Bahasa sometimes. And when I don’t understand, they cussed me out in Chinese. Hey, I said I don’t SPEAK it, doesn’t mean I don’t UNDERSTAND it!! I used to have a grandma that spoke to me in Hakka ok??!!! But short of screaming back at them, I instigate stealth methods of making their work harder as revenge. (see- don’t ever piss me off at work)

Hell, in my office I have an Indian project manager who managed to build a 30-storey condominium, without having to speak a Chinese language. So it can be done. These contractors snub me because I walk the talk, but can’t speak the talk.

What I don’t get is that when I made it very clear that I don’t speak Chinese, they think by increasing their volume I will gradually understand them. Like it’s magic or something, that the louder they talk to me, the more I can understand.

Contractor : Ni yau kah see fong nah lee? (ok this is what I think I hear)
Jessy : Ahh? Wo pu yo jiang hua yee!!
( I don’t speak Wookie/Chewbacca Language)
Contractor : Ni yau kah see fong nah lee?
Jessy : Ahh? Wo pu yo jiang hua yee!!
Contractor : Ni yau kah see fong nah lee?
Jessy : Ahh? Wo pu yo jiang hua yee!!
Contractor : Ni yau kah see fong nah lee?
Jessy : I don’t speak Chinese you feckin piece of gobshite!

Seriously dude. Increasing your volume at me…. NOT COOL. And they get the message once everyone finds out that I know my work, I do this shite for a living, nobody walks over me and NOBODY can OUTSCREAM ME at the construction site.

I just don’t let them know they are being feck being their backs cause I don’t want to end up as part of the building foundation one day. No Jimmy Hoffa* ending for me tqvm.

And yesterday one contractor actually thanked me and said I was a nice lady. See!!?? It’s hilarious working with me. You just have to play nice.

*Jimmy Hoffa's end zone dance: The former Teamsters leader was meeting Mafia leaders Anthony "Tony Jack" Giacalone of Detroit and Anthony "Tony Pro" Provenzano of Union City, N.J., at a Bloomfield Hills restaurant, just outside Detroit, on July 30, 1975. He was never seen again. One theory was that he was buried under the end zone at Giants Stadium in New Jersey. Discovery Channel show "MythBusters" scanned the area, finding nothing.
-taken from find articles website

Jessy & her Mr BIG

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 09:44:00 +0000

Move over Carrie Bradshaw. J has met her real life Mr BIG.

Hottie Danish Architect, a total Ken doll with brains to boot. I don't know how I managed to pull off the intelligent, sophisticated am-so-not-into-jumping-you reporter Mode when I was faced with this gorgeous specimen:

Meet Bjarke Ingels of the Bjarke Ingels Group, ie BIG.

What's more, his website:

WWW.BIG.DK

Need I imply more?!

Ps: Even managed to have a debate with him about contemporary Mosque design. It's been fun Micheal Rojkind, but there's a new man in town

About A Dad

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 16:15:00 +0000

My Mom has asked me eons ago to find a man like my dad. I like to tell her that she got the last good one. As their child, I still act disgusted (completed with mock barfing sounds and eye rolling action- yes I haven’t matured much have I?!) whenever my parents:

1) Hold hands when walking (even after 30 years, they still do it!!!)
2) Dad plans vacations with mum (they stop bringing me along too! Humph!)
3) Buys my mom’s birthday, Christmas and anniversary presents (he never forgets!)
4) Dad asks to have his birthday dinner in the restaurant that they got married 30 years ago (it’s right along Jalan Pudu, still existing)
5) Built her a Tropical Garden in the back yard- complete with hand made pergolas, hand made wooden tables, improvised gutters, and self landscaping as soon as he retired (last year)
6) He calls her from work everyday just to talk (he is out of retirement)
7) Loves my mum just the way she is
8) Infidelity = nil

And so yes, for Father’s Day I shall write why my Dad is not only the best-est Husband but also the best-Dad:

He set the standard.

He will probably never read this pathetic soppy blog about him (and it shall stay that way) but I just wanted the world to know that he is my favourite Dad. I know, I am such a show off.

Long Distance…. Is That Metric or Imperial System??

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Fri, 09 May 2008 10:25:00 +0000

Recently posted question of Long Distance Relationships sparked off some pretty intense debates (I didn’t post it btw, I just forwarded the question) that led to things about relationships.

I have never given it much thought anyways, if I ever got posted overseas I would go for the sake of adventure and career, and shod whichever relationship I was in at the time, the relationship would just have to make do. Isn’t that what makes a good relationship? Surviving all situations and yada yada things like that?!

Sure it’s easy for me to say all these things cause I’m not married or have kids, jests my boss. I wouldn’t know how much more limiting it is to be legally tied to someone and have their offspring’s, but that’s the eventuality of sacrifice that you choose to take upon yourself when you tied the knot. I’ve met many people who had to go to other countries to seek better fortunes so that their families can have better lives. And most of us know them too; they are the foreign maids that populate most domestic spaces in KL.

And to go off tangent a little bit, recently I had two expats down from HK and they took a look at the Nepalese and Indonesian workers at the hawker stalls and they asked me if they were illegal immigrants. (Yes, every single Caucasian/White ass expat has a bit of obnoxiousness in them whenever they come over to Asia) I looked at them and sarcastically replied, “No, they’re expats.” This drew some laughter but I think they got the gist of me picking on their snobbery.

But given a choice, I really wouldn’t start a LDR. So says most of my friends too. And then the Yays countered by saying that any relationship takes a lot of work, hope, and trust. So why does distance matter? There is Skype, emails and instant messaging nowadays, why wouldn’t anyone consider it? And the fact that ‘now everyone can fly’ makes the world a whole lot smaller place. (this only applies to us living in Asia I guess- cause to fly to Korea would bust me by 2 grand and to LA would be about 5 grand)

I don’t honestly know. Sometimes, the way I look at it, if you only ever saw your partner on weekends, what difference does it make if you see them once every 6 months? Of course we all long for the security that if something catastrophic happens, significant partner would be there after the instant that you called. Where else in a LDR, the partner would have to consider applying for a loan to fly from Uzbekistan just to be by your side (and then factor in the 16 hour flying time).

Then there is the concept in China that RY introduced to me; and CT backs it up. The MBLA arrangement. Married But Living Apart. The difficulty for newly weds to obtain their own living units in China has presented a unique living condition where couples are married but each still lives at their respective parents homes. But that’s not really long distance someone else argued. Okokok, so long distance would be defined not by physical distance apart, but time apart right? No. How about alternating driving down to Singapore every other weekend to see one’s partner and vice versa, would that be considered long distance? Because then that couple would see each other every weekend. Which translates to about the same time most urban couples spend together. So Singapore not far to be long distance enough? I’m confused. Maybe the emphasis should be on quality time and not quantity; which is what every couple should concentrate on.

I gather LDR is when someone has to spend more than 10K every year just to sustain it- telephone calls, snail mails and airplane tickets. Which is the price of 2 Chloe bags. So some would say meeting the right mate is definitely worth more than 2 Chloe bags per year. Another Yay countered that you don’t have to be rich to sustain an LDR what with free internet calls nowadays. So how long can one couple Skype without meeting? You still need money to meet each other. So yes, I still think LDR requires a substantial amount of money, and a lot more effort to invest in. And it’ll only probably work for those who are extremely independent and not the manja manja type. (Sorry honey, he can’t come over to help you put that bookshelf together)

And to sum it all up, everyone agrees that Love, Hope and Trust make any relationship work. I’m just not that convinced about LDRs still.

I am all for the nay, but I would love to meet the one man that can make me say yay to LDR. So for now, I’ll still believe that my Chloe bags are worth it. At least they are by my side when I go to the movies instead of an empty chair where my supposedly ‘LDR’ partner should have been seating.

Back In Service

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 05:54:00 +0000

Found this on one of my fav sites. Things overheard in the office.

3PM I don't foresee a lot of sudoku success for her.

Office bimbette: So, my friend got me a Sudoku book, but I can't start doing it yet because she has to send the Sudoku pencil. It has an eraser on the end -- only Sudoku makes them that way.

Overheard in:
Auckland
New Zealand

Made me burst out laughing at my desk during lunch time (Gawd forbid i should be reading fun websites during office hour)

The One Over Dog Meat

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 05:07:00 +0000

“I couldn’t believe how much KL has changed in 10 years! When I took a drive through last year, I was wondering what happened to all the shanties!” said N, a London bloke, passing me the plate of fried spicy frog legs.

“Yea, it’s amazing isn’t it?” I said taking the ‘drumstick’ part.

“So do you think that guy who got arrested a few years ago will ever be in power again?” asked N with a mouthful of dog meat.

“You mean Anwar Ibrahim? Speaking of power, we just had our elections yesterday. It was a great upset for the ruling party, and now everyone watches in trepidation if things will get better or not. I do harbour secret hopes of seeing of seeing Anwar in action again, but who knows. His daughter kicked some big wig political ass though and that was a good laugh,” I replied spearing my crocodile meat kebab.

“Man, you think things will get better?” asked D in his Chicago twang, gulping down his shrimp spring roll.

“Do you even know what you mean by ‘better’? The things you read in Times and Newsweek can’t even begin to paint the picture for you! And some of the things my politician says! Out loud! Printed in the national newspapers no less! Aiyo, believe me, things can only get better,” I huffed.

The day after elections, I flew off to Vietnam and sitting in the restaurant and idly chatting with the two blokes at the next table just blew my mind away. I never knew that people outside my country knew of Malaysia. That they would know anything beyond the Twin Towers, F1 Sepang Circuit and Mount Kinabalu just puzzles me. Granted, our national cars have always been laughing fodder material for the lads on Top Gear, and I even applaud any foreigner with knowledge that Jimmy Choo is a Malaysian, but to even know the surface of our politics?

It baffles me because most locals I meet don’t even care about our country’s politics. I nearly blew my top off when one of the assistants told me that she wasn’t bothered to go vote cause her one vote wouldn’t make a difference- her party would just win anyways (it didn’t). I can’t believe in this day and age, there are still some people ignorant enough to treat the freedom to choose as lightly as this. My only hope before the elections was by preaching through word of mouth, and to help spread awareness. I think I nagged A into finally registering. My only hope before the results were announced that enough students had returned from overseas and learned the importance of voting. My only hope was that people woke up and cared enough to vote.

I think the one pet peeve some of my friends have with me is that in any time in the course of the years, they complained about the rising cost of living, petrol, tolls, conditions of our public buildings; I would asked them if they had voted in the last elections. If their response was a negative, I would then tell them that they forfeited their right to complain when they stop caring enough to vote. Because it’s true, if you wanted things to change, then it has to start from you. It didn’t matter who had won the elections, all it mattered to me were the percentage of people that realized if nobody bothered to vote, then our country might as well be renamed Myanmar.

Elections have always been something personal and close to my heart ever since my social studies teacher in the seventh grade (that’s Standard 6 here I think) made us do the mock elections of the then presidential candidates of US. I remember there was a Clinton, Perot and my ever favourite (then) Bush (blame it on the charisma of Reagan). We had class debates over the policies that each candidate adopted and we drew up pros and cons of the ways to reduce national debt deficit and ever problematic global warming. I remember the candidate who was chosen to represent Perot even mumbled and fumbled around just exactly the same way the real live Perot did. I then elected myself a Republican and fervently followed Bush’s campaign. 7th grade social studies brought forth my realization of politics and its workings and the Civil War (or was that history class?).

But lastly, I think the person that influenced me the most to vote was Sun-Tzu. In the Art of War, he wrote that ‘even a single grain of rice can tip the scales of favour’.

YUM YUM LIST OF 07

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 17:52:00 +0000

The list is out. Again. It has to get out every year ok??!! It’s the End of The Year and it’s time I toast to slumps, bumps and all things yummy……. All things pertaining to my life that is

Jiving It in Top Gear:
The scandalous F1 2007 is none other like before. Industry espionage, underhanded sabotaging, backstabbing remarks, off the record statements that got on the record, the engagement of our darling Datin, the breakout rookie that almost but didn’t win, the de-crowning of the strutting Spaniard, and above all…. The Iceman Reigns Champ. You gotta love this year’s finale race. And I got to watch it all from the Gold Box at this year’s Sepang. You gotta love that too.

Jiving It Big Screen:
300- For glory, for honour and for real 12-pecs MEN! RWOAR! It’s the real thang baby doll. I absolute love the feminist line thrown at the Persian’s face: “Only Spartan women give birth to real men” If I had a swhang, I’d go to war for that woman.

Transformers- Too hot too handle Fox and the new Hollywood bad boy LePoof (okay LeBouf) played in the sandbox with the imaginary friend of every kid growing up in the 80’s. I still have my Constructobots (mine was the cement mixer and crane) and can’t say I’m surprise years later, I grow up and get to play with the real things in my job. Somehow it’s not as fun tho, the foreign workers spoil it for me. Autobots, roll out!

Honorable Mention: The Shaken and Not Stirred Bond Royale, Hitman

Jiving It on the Tube: to the fans all I can say is; Yata! Whoever did the illustrations for Issac Mendez (Mister Isaak?) is pure genius. OOOOOO and lets not forget Uber sexpot Vince Chase and his Entourage. This slurpy drool worthy crew (ok, maybe just Vinny and E)captivated me from the Pilot onwards. As Britney says: Give Me, Give Me, Give Me More (without the Mandy Moore- ryhme and punn not intended)

Jiving It w Jimmy Choo
The Choo-meister did a super sexy stiletto sketch design for me. Awesome. Dood, Malaysia Representz!

Jiving It in Da Jungle
Trail running, kayaking, obstacle courses, more kayaking, more IQ puzzles, more trail running- that’s to sum up the high I’ve gotten myself addicted on. Not to mention rock climbing and hiking. The best mistake I made in my life was entering the reality ‘radio’ broadcast of the extreme challenge. Every race takes you through the side of an island/mountain that you would never normally see as a tourist. It’s simply amazing stuff, crossing the finish line.

Jiving It Facebook Style
I can’t deny this social network platform has finally taken Asia by storm. It’s brewing and it’s gonna get bigger, once people get their arses off the other platforms (WAYN, Friendster, Multipler, Hi-Five) The Yum Yum clique absolutely loves the Hatching Eggs, Growing Gift, Naughty Gifts, Scrabulous, trout slapping, sheep throwing and just plain giving a shout out. Facebook gets a definite Jive Yum Yum Props!

Jiving It Politics
The Bersih gathering and march took lots of guts and the strong belief in the Need for Change. Malaysians are getting more aware and are not afraid to voice it! On the right side of democracy, and the Freedom of free speech and Press, I pay props to CNN and Al-Jazeera. Don’t you think something is wrong when even our Bar Council has to take to the streets?!

Jiving It Horcrux:
Bidding farewell to 7 years of escapism, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is, as Ron Weasly says, “WICKED!” Plus the fact the crew got our asses out at 4AM to fight with the little puny kids over the book supply. Tesco gets the Yum Yum vote for price slashing and down with other stores for fuming. Consumer Rights Rule!

What Jives the Yum Yum Monsta: Amy Winehouse, Mika, Ruyue (at the Gardens), The Loaf (Langkawi), Absolute Pear, Supernova, SPACE Design Magazine (Must add for the Ish & Wallpaper Crowd), Graduation, NYE party (2006), Vietnamese Coffee, Neil Gaiman, Clive Owen, and of course based on my previous blog, LP. And to show you my devotion to Shinoda, here’s another uber cool utoobe to pimp up my blog: (come one admit it, having a utoobe really make my blog look snazzy rite :P besides it boosts my self esteem in the video capturing area- it’s hard for old dogs to learn new tricks)

What Yum Yum looks forward to in 2008:
Watchman (The Movie), the graphic novel was great, lets see if the director of 300 brings the same magic he did with the Spartans, Australia (still in the works), Ironman, Harry Potter 5, House Season 4,

Peeves on the Celluloid:
24 season 6. Going downhill and taking FILF Keifer with it. Grey’s season 3.

Peeved down under:
Why couldn’t LP perform in Stadium Merdeka again like they did 4 years ago? This year saw me and the Rockers faced off with SISTIC Corp. (oh, and L and M would like to add here: SISTIC SUCKS) I don’t know what Singapore has against me, but last year, the Qbar at Clarke Quay made my Peeved off list as well.

To recap:
Housed in a charming colonial structure next to the museum on Clarke Quay, the Qbar opened with me in attendance. Snobbish service, inefficient waiters and worst of all, a face-to-face pick up meeting by none other than Singapore’s very own Dr. Love. *shudder* Having him tell me that we are destined to end up together in a sober tone, definitely brought my ego down. I don’t need Singapore’s sexpert and love doctor trying to hit on me and tell me we’d make beautiful babies. This is the Love Doctor that patients go to, and actually perform sex in front of him so that he could correct their mistakes. (close your mouth JH, you’re starting to drool)

Here’s more on Dr Wei: Dr Love

Oooo and you can scroll down to my next blog posting abt Sistic.

Peeved Beyond the Stratosphere:
ANGKASAWAN my arse. ‘Nuff said. This takes first over the ‘leaking’ comment and flag burning when Condoleeza was around. (for my foreign friends, if someone said he was an angkasawan here, most likely he’d get a good fannysmackin for being a space tourist)

Peeved Off Politics:
Myanmar. Just not right.

Peeved on Prejudice:
Date a foreign guy, and they label you SPG. Date an older man and you are a gold digger. Date a younger man, and you get labelled ‘Mrs Robinson’. Date another race and they ask you if you’re desperate. Be friends with a lonely guy and they’ll say he’s into you. So forgive me if I’m perplex as to what the definition of Love really is. I once thought that it had no boundaries, terms and conditions.

Peeved at the Good Charlotte Concert
Way too many opening acts and the Deejays were too draggy.

Peeved at 50 Independence
Did you really feel the love?

Horrible Mentions: The Apartment at the Curve. Reason: claim to fame is serving food based on Jamie Oliver (which is no brainer and simple) recipes. And yet the food fell flat, and the service sucks. The most peevious thing of all: its gets the crowds as it’s the place to be seen. That’s the only thing.

A Tell Tale Heart. Staged at the KLPAC, it just didn’t do Poe any justice.

**********

31
Sistic Makes Me SIC!!

I promised myself that I wouldn’t blog about Sistic, but what happened today just blew my mind away. Sistic is the ticketing agent that we bought the LP tickets from. But because of their ineffective (I wouldn’t say inefficient, they very efficiently processed my credit card charges) the tickets never got to my hands. Spending four hours standing at their representative booth in Singapore and talking for four hours to them proved their inadequacy in after sales customer service. We were passed around to no less than 5 personnel, which after five hours, we got some sort of manager on the line who still couldn’t provide us with the solution.

Issue 1: On their online form, we had written down the Company name at which our friend worked at. However, it DID NOT state on the form that the Company name would not be printed. They didn’t print it, and the tickets never got to the person at the Company. Sistic admitted that it is their oversight. But because they have never encountered such a problem before, they cannot refund our money (all one thousand over ringgit worth of it) as there is no policy about such matters.

Issue 2: When the tickets were delivered and signed off by someone at the reception, the postman from SingPost (it was through registered post) did not bother to take down the identification number of the person who signed it off. Sistic claims that the receptionist might have taken it and blames SingPost for not carrying out their duties fully. Sistic tells me to take the matter up with SingPost. As a consumer, this matter should be taken up between Sistic and SingPost, and NOT SingPost and I, because as long as the tickets did not reach my hands, the deliverable goods are not in my possession therefore the blame is still on Sistic.

Issue 3: After tracking down the receptionist, she said she had handed the mail directly back to Sistic as there was no company name printed on it. When Sistic received the returned package, no one bothered to take down the returned package or the receptionist name or even log the returned tickets. Since this counter was a representative of Sistic (Velocity) Sistic then tells me to take the matter up with Velocity. If Velocity is representing Sistic, then Sistic should deal with the matter with Velocity as Sistic is still the merchandiser. Sistic still tries to shift the blame. They way I see it: Velocity = Sistic = blame.

Issue 4: The Sistic customer service implies that my friends and I are liars, pretending to loose the tickets just to get 3 free more tickets. My blood pressure has never been so high. At this point, M finally erupts like Mount Kawarata (for the record, I erupted 1 minute into the conversation dealing with the Sistic people; M lasted 3.5 hours). When M finally sounds like a postal woman gone lunatic, Sistic then tries to imply the receptionist stole the tickets. All 3 of us went berserk! There was a small crowd gathering by now.

Issue 5: Even after Sistic admits that YES it is their fault that the tickets are not in my hands, they tell me: It’s company policy not to refund tickets. I should take it up with the organizer, which is Lushington Entertainment. The organizer has NOTHING to do with the tickets issued, because Sistic as the ticketing agent issues ALL tickets and Lushington has nothing to do with the sales. They are the event organizers and promoters. Once this simple piece of information was relayed, we realized that we were getting nowhere with Sistic. We then requested for the person to contact at Lushington (so that we can lodge a formal complaint) Sucktic then tells me, they do NOT deal directly with Lushington and can not give me their
number. WTF?! Then why did they tell me to talk to them?!

Issue 6: We kept repeating (or more like M kept repeating) that all the answers above were not acceptable solutions to the problem. And the answer the customer service agent 1,2,3,4 & 5 tells us: Buy new ones. FUDGE! That is not an acceptable solution.

Issue 7: I immediately lodge a dispute with my credit card company. One month later (which is today, in which the following ordeal I had to endure finally broke me and made me blog) Sistic calls and says, We are glad to inform you that we will refund you the money 50%. WTF?!! WTH???!!

Does this make sense to you? Sistic will refund me 50%?! To show you how polite M is, the following excerpt from the latest correspondence between M and Sistic goes as follows:

Dear all (meaning the managers at Sistic as we have been corresponding for a while now),

We thank you for following up on this matter.

Yan has called me on Saturday to inform me on SISTIC's decision to refund
us 50% on the undelivered tickets. My friends and I have discussed this matter and we have decided to REJECT this offer. Pls do not transfer any money or write off this problem just yet until this matter is solved reasonably and agreed by all parties.

Frankly speaking, we don't understand the rationale behind SISTIC's decision.
Does this mean you are claiming 50% culpability of this problem? And what
about the remaining 50%?

Citibank is also investigating on our behalf as we've submitted a dispute
form (100% dispute).

Kindly understand the position you're putting us in. We've paid a total
RM1100 just to go to the concert (not counting the transportation and meal
costs etc) and now you're informing us we have to still pay an additional
RM550 just because of someone else's mistake? This is highly unacceptable.
We have mentioned time and again that we want a solution that is reasonable
and agreeable - unfortunately the '50%' solution did not fall into either
one of those categories.

Thank you for your kind attention.
Pls communicate our concerns to your management.

M

Kesimpulannya: Are they freaking kidding me? You admit liability, yet you do not want to step up to the plate and take full culpability? Still insisting that somehow it was my fault in all the issues stated above!? I wonder if I was face to face with these people, would they still act all bravado and tell me to take the 50% as hey, I should pat myself on the back and consider myself lucky? Do people in this day and age take advantage of the distance proximity the internet allows and empowers them to act without balls? Is the only way to get their full attention and fair results is to SUE them?! What Sistic doesn’t know is that 2 of the 3 tickets were bought by a lawyer who now I am told has all the time in the world to file a law suit against them. Is this what the world boils down to? Suing and counter claim?! I think I will definitely win on the basis of emotional distress.

28 Onwards

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Tue, 27 Nov 2007 16:30:00 +0000

28
Deciphering Cyberspace Dating

Unbeknown to my darling friends JC & ML, I strongly suspected that there were some megabytes heating up between them. They thought that they were being super sneaky and secretive with their under the radar hook up, but NOT! Sorry to bust your bubble guys, but I knew that something was going on.

How?

Well, firstly you guys hooked up through me on facebook. Then I noticed that J was answering some of M’s questions. Then there was the holiday gift giving. After the Superpoking, they both installed the fluff friends one after the other. Then petted (uh hum) each other’s fluff friends. Later came the matching movie compatibility test. Their status updates matched and complemented one another. It came to no surprise that J bugged me to check his profile one day. (truthfully I didn’t check J, cause I already knew lar- I just told you I did :P) Muaks guys, love ya! So Cute Cute. I am gonna claim my Jap buffet from you guys for my Keh Poh Chee work.

And all it builds up to this:

Out with the Chicas, we decided to come up with the Facebook Deciphering Handbook:

Poke: Hey I really dig you (although I just threw a sheep at you)
Poke: Hey I really really really dig you (that’s the using the force poke)
Poke: We are just friends (the spoon, dry humping and bitch slap)
Super Poke: Lets get it on
Wall Post: Look At ME! Notice Me (equivalent to strutting at the party)
Super fun wall post: Lets get it on
Buying a round of drinks: I want to intoxicate you to get it on
Fluff friends petting: Lets get it on
Fluff friends gift giving: Lets get it on immediately
Matching Movie Compatibility Test: Lets snog
Where I’ve Been Tripadvisor: Look at ME! I am well travelled, lets get it on in Bali

Throwing a book: Look AT me! I am well read and intelligent but I just want to snog you
Naughty Gifts Giving: Lets get it on
Giving the I Love Ice cream gift: Let me help you with that chocolate sauce
Growing Gift giving: Lets grow old together
Egg Hatching gift: I wanna have your baby!
More Eggs Hatching gift: Lets make a football team

Ok, maybe it’s more of a list than a handbook

29
When Guys are Girls are Guys

Situation 1
G1: You haven’t changed
G2: Eh no lar, I got crows feet already
G1: Eh?! *only 26 and already thinking of crows feet??!!*

Ps: G2 is the guy

Situation 2
G3: Why so lame one G5, Just because I never call on G5 birthday don’t mean G5 can’t call me still
G4: Eeer, I dunno ler, I guess G5 thinks you should call first then only G5 layan you
G3: Yeeer, where can like that?! *pouts*
G4: *rolling eyes*

Ps: G3 & G5 are guys

Situation 3
G6: Eh, I need a new pair of shoes
G7: Ok, can help you shop lor
G6: Hmm, which one you think I should get ah? The black one with snakeskin highlights or the black one with the stitching details?
G7: Eeer, don’t your have 3 black pairs already?
G6: Where got enough one? No one can have too many shoes

Ps: G6 is the guy

Situation 4
G8: Eh you got comb or not? I just come back from site, my hair so messy lar.
G9: Eeer, I have but no way am I lending you my brush. Eeeew
G8: lend me lar!! I can’t stand my hair this way. I borrow you my powder next time lar; we almost the same skin tone
G9: I don’t use powder lar!!! Eeewww, why you use powder one??!!
G8: cause my face shiny shiny, so need to use lar.
G9: Go away, don’t disturb me, I doing my work
G8: *pout*

Ps: G8 is the guy

Situation 5
G10: Eh some one help me carry this box. G11?
G11: kenot lar. Ask Jess to help
Jess: WTF??!! You are the guy. You carry it!
G11: Aiya, you sitting closer to the door wat.
Jess: *shoots the evil look, mumbles some voodoo curses and ignores both men*

Situation 6
G12: Eh, I want to buy new car.
Jess: Cool, which one?
G12: dunno ler, (starts naming a few Jap brands)…. But must be auto
Jess: Don’t tell me you can’t drive manual?
G12: Nope
Jess: *smirks*
G12: why are you smirking? You don’t know too!
Jess: yea, but I am a woman. At least I know how to change a tyre!! You know or not?!
G12: No. How come you know?
Jess: Aiya, dat day at 4am, I go back from Uni and my tayar kena puncture lor.
G12: wah!!! Then you change it arr?
Jess: Yea lor. I stop at the guard house, pretend to cry and the guard help me change the tayar. See! I told you I know how!!!
G12: *shoots the evil look, mumbles some voodoo curses and ignores Jessy for the rest of the lunch*

Ps: Jessy is not the guy

30
Poetry Reading

Imagine a sombre artistic man, saying these words out loud to you:

What do I do to ignore them behind me?
Do I follow my instincts blindly?
Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams?
And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?
Do I sit here and try to stand it?
Or do I try to catch them red-handed?
Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness,
Or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?
Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin
I make the right moves but I'm lost within
I put on my daily facade but then
I just end up getting hurt again
By myself

In a snap, I’m in love with the words, the sheer magnitude of the poetry. It’s the writer in me, and I can’t help myself.

Now add some nifty guitar works, synchronizers, heavy drums and 6 men and you’ve got multi platinum sales. People could never understand why a sweet lass like me (snort) could ever go to a ‘rock concert’. Why I would lompat-lompat with the Mat Rocker crowd? Best ke? Some would ask. ‘Yer lar, Rock Brudder!!’ I would reply in jest.

The first real rock concert I ever went to was probably The Scorpions. Unbelievably awesome. But the one performance that changed my life was probably Linkin Park’s Concert in 2003 (?? I am bad in history so not sure abt the date) People climb the Himalayas in search of enlightenment, I go to LP’s concert. That October night (again with the dates), something in me stirred and I decided to go down a path in my life that I had doubts earlier. (if you ask me privately, I will tell you the life altering road I chose)

Five years on, this is me, feeling downtrodden. And with sheer monstrous determination (ebay, flight tickets, name dropping, the whole works), I am down in Singapore for their MTM tour. I feel old, am surrounded by these youngsters. Seriously. I digress.

I absolute adore men in leather jackets (even though they are not on a Ducatti) and even more so when they are playing an instrument. And it goes without a doubt that I drooled every single second of the LP concert over Yum Yum Shinoda. There was a little drooling over Chester and Phoenix too, but just a tad.

Enough about asking me how the concert was. Check it out:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=12558&l=e0170&id=591625993

and
a littel Blair Witch Project I had going on in the mosh pit

And I leave you with the prose that you might know better:

In this farewell
There’s no blood
There’s no alibi
‘Cause I’ve drawn regret
From the truth
Of a thousand lies
So let mercy come
And wash away
What I’ve done
I'll face myself
To cross out what i’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what i’ve done

25 and still counting

noreply@blogger.com (J) — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 15:27:00 +0000

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.