And because it's Sunday in the office

and right now, only my colleague is here; editors are thankfully still

a) eating leftover rookie reporters from the Reporter Stew they made last night
b) boiling Journalist-soup with carrots, parsnipes and some additional blood, sweat and tears

Coz y'know, editors roll like that. My time will come when I too, become an editor, and shall find that the flesh of a terrified rookie journo tastes better than lamb.

I'm supposed to follow up on a story but since it's Sunday, nobody is going to answer my calls now, are they?

So thats' why I'm blogging now, as if I don't already have enough writing to do on a daily basis.

So since it's been a long while since I blogged, I guess you're going to have to put up with an extra-long bunch of nonsense.

Sun-shiney days

So yeah my old/new job has been a rollercoaster ride where I came close to being inside the Editors' stew pot on many occasions. I swear I saw my news editor look at me and think:

"Now that scared reporter... she'll be great with potatoes and a bit of basil and rosemary. Hint of pepper. Now to convince her that the pot is merely a funny-shaped chair..."

I have also gotten 'up close and personal' with some of the slimiest politicians in the world, jolok-ed Ministers, snooped around Kampar, called up people and witnessed some of the finest liars in the world in action.

Yeah, it's been awesome. I've done so many stories and written so many things I can't really remember half of them. But being in newsdesk has been surprisingly, amazing.

I have always had an aversion to newsdesk, see, because I don't do so good with giving facts as they are. I like going round the whole background story before arriving to the point because I believe in telling the entire story without gaps in them.

I'm like that in real life, and I'm like that in writing.

I've gotten some flak for that in the first few weeks, but my Lord, I think I may have finally gotten the hand of it at last. I've learnt some about giving the facts without frills, to give readers only what is necessary for them to know, and filtering what isnt:

a) new
b) important
c) or will have an impact on people.

So no; what our Health Minister had for lunch does NOT count.

(P/S: He had vegetarian food. He's vegetarian. I had lunch with him. I was pretty much invisible, he was talking to my EDITOR)

So.

On a more personal note...

I have no life except work. I think about work on my off-days, I think about work during work days, and I think about work even when I am not working.

My parents are beginning to give me hurt looks again, as if I am treating the house like a hotel, but what can I do? I need the overtime money; credit card bills a-piling, see. So if I work overtime, I can cover for any bill shortfalls.

But money is so small these days -- a hundred bucks is like ten bucks these days.

Shit, did I just type a double dash, like I do in my stories? F-it.

I'm still trying to hang out with my friends (hello!) as often as I can, and I've gone out a few times with my ex-colleagues, who've been great to me. LOADS of gossip about my ex-employer but I won't go into it here.

I'm still hopelessly in-love with my dogs, who have been crazier than ever, and continue to plague and love me.

I suspect Lucky is an alien from outer space, sent to dispense love and affection to unsuspecting owners.

And for now, that is more than enough.

Marjorie's very stale Margarine and then some.

So, many things happened.

I got my first ever front page byline in theSun. It was hidden by a half-wrap advertisement but I think I'll take whatever cookies sent my way.

I bought Danish butter cookies for the office to celebrate the fact that I don't suck. Or at least don't suck much.

It's slightly comforting. But I still make stupid mistakes and I feel totally ashamed. I seem to have most my touch, being in the previous place made me careless with my facts. That will take some time to break, but by golly. I'll do it.

So. Marjorie's Margarine is back in slippery business. Wrote another 500 words or so, very proud of myself. Here is the fourth part:

CHAPTER 3

Matthew, better known as Bloodlust Writes, woke up with a vicious headache and a very pretty, slightly pinkish girl sleeping on his shoulder. He was sitting inside a train filled with people in suits, dresses and the work-wear of those who wished they had better jobs. And definitely better pay.

The train sounded as loud as the screeches of the Leering Men Who Killed My Only Family.

He glanced around, eyes squinted, head throbbing and legs stiff from hours of sitting. He had no idea where he was headed, but he knew what he wanted to do. And what he wanted to do was retrieve the wisps of blue from within those sons of bitches who ate his father.

There was only that small problem of how, but he thought it a minor detail. If anyone can lead him to them, it’s the brown-haired girl that slept next to him. The one with a little bit of drool down the side of her mouth.

He shifted uncomfortably, and she woke up with a jerk.

“I thought you said you had a plan,” he said to her, testily. She looked abashed. “I did. The plan was to bait them with your brains, capture one of them, and force the truth out of them.” She looked downward, and rubbed a stain of blood off her pants.

“But they… were not quite what I thought they would be,” she admitted.

Writes bit back the urge to be sarcastic, mean and just a little jerk-ass. He wanted to tell her that she caused him to lose everything. But seeing something misty in her eyes softened his already soft heart.

(Of course he has a soft heart. Just because he was bloodthirsty didn’t mean he was a monster.)

He sighed. He looked around for a few short moments, taking in the other passengers, taking in the battered seats, taking in the entire situation.

He couldn’t.

But he was certain that the lady sitting three rows down to his left had a dark and mysterious past, muttering to herself and surreptitiously feeding something inside her large brown handbag a slice of bread every now and then. He knew there was a story there. Maybe she kept her children inside the bag, after she had cursed them with a spell that would keep them as children forever – except it went wrong and they ended up the size of rats.

Or maybe she had a pet mouse inside her bag and just didn’t want the station master to find out.

But that was too boring. That was not his style at all.

Marjorie was, however, looking at him strangely. Her body tense, she straightened and leaned towards him.

“You had another idea didn’t you?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “No. I had a story in my head. I can’t help it. It’s who I am.”

She nodded. “That’s it. That’s just it.” She sat back, with a satisfied air, as if she had finally proved her point.

Something clicked. Suddenly. But Marjorie didn’t notice his eyes glazing over and his extra furious biting of skin that was the trademark of his ‘ding!’ moment.

(Some people get lightbulbs going off in their heads. That was too common for him. Writes just sucked more blood and felt a visceral, innate brain orgasm.)

Marjorie picked at lint on the chair. “Whatever. You said you had an idea.”

Writes nodded. He had it. He really did. He had toyed with that idea at first but what she said just made up his mind.

“I do. I am going to follow you around. Sooner or later, they’re gonna show up. When they do, they’re going to eat my ideas. I’m going to let them. Then I am going to show them what a real horrible idea looks like.”

Marjorie’s jaw dropped. “Wha- what do you mean?”

Writes shrugged. “Well, if they can eat and regurgitate a warped version, surely that warped version is still going to be mine? My consciousness? The ideas they eat belong to me, and I figured they’re a part of who I am. Isn’t that what you said?”

Marjorie shook her head furiously. “That’s not how it works! When they consume you, you are gone. YOU cease to exist. Your ideas are all that remains of you –” she stopped. “Wait.”

Writes grinned. “Lightbulb moment?”

Marjorie grinned nastily. “No. More like an exploding margarine moment.”

But her expression softened suddenly. “This is a no-recovery kind of plan. Once you’re consumed you don’t exist anymore. I can’t get you back into your body. I don’t even know if your crazy idea will work. If it doesn’t, we’re both dead and so is the world.”

Writes shrugged. The world was of little concern to him. He was more interested in knowing what being a blue wisp of nothing would feel like. Maybe like cotton candy.

That, he figured, will be just sweet.

**** to be continued***

(links to parte one and parte two and parte three. You know. if you're interested.)

Ya that's all la. I am lazy now. Kthxbye.

*blows dust* FOOSH!

I've done it! I've finally crawled out of my prison of work! I did it! I - OH CRAP.

Looks like I still have work to do

(UTARMCAGREEDYSONSABEETCHESREJECTTHIRTYMILLIONBUCKEROOSANDGOVERN-)

*GASp*

(-MENTTRANSFORMATIONPROGRAMME)

*wheeze koff koff*

So it's been exactly 21 days since I started work at The Great Big Ball of Fire in The Sky. Aka TGBBFS. That shall be the code word for where I work now. And like all new jobs, I struggle to prove myself and prove I am not a complete idiot but I must say.

I think I failed.

Three weeks isn't really enough time to tell if I am going to get myself fired or not but if I do not prove my worth soon I shall find myself out of a job.

Perhaps I am too melodramatic but in TGBBFS, it is serious. Dead serious. People here don't laugh, they don't smile, they don't joke, and they certainly do not suffer fools. And I, my friends, can be foolish.

I think I am not doing as well as I thought I would, and I am certain I have annoyed quite a few of the editors there. I simply find it hard to get used to the high power distance (thank you, Education) that is so in contrast to the way I could call MR H anytime and discuss with him anything. I miss that, and my ex-colleagues, the most. I miss the laughter and the ease, the way I could be involved in everything down to the final layout.

But I do not miss the way the company is being mismanaged, and I do not miss having the feeling my rice bowl could be kicked over at any time. That company is on it's way down, and I heard this from the horses mouth. The concern now is how to absorb the staff back into the group, and that is the only thing that is keeping the company from closing down entirely.

I blame a certain person, whom I shall not name. Everyone who heard that I resigned and joined the TGBBFS told me that it was the right choice. Let's face it. I'd rather be small fry in a big pond than a big fry in a DRIED OUT POND. I could have made top-dog, but I'd rather be small-puppy in a big kennel than a big-dog in a cardboard box.

Over here, the smallest frying pan in the office is too big for me, thats how small-fish I am. I knew exactly what I was going into, and what I would be getting, but it's hard to get used to it. It's been three weeks and I am still struggling to catch up. I am usually quite fast, but working where I was must have given me some bad habits that I can't break yet.

I worry that I am losing my touch, and I am totally unsure of myself. Perhaps it's because I have worked here before that nobody bothered to give me a briefing or show me how things work. But they forgot, it was 3 years since I last worked there. I have forgotten many things.

And so did The F (he shall be known henceforth as The F) tell me as much: "It seems that you've forgotten a lot of things since the last time you were here. I understand and give you some time to adjust but if you still don't, I shall have to turn on the heat."

Which is Editor speak for: "Get your shit together or you're fucked."

Of the 21 days, I worked 18. I had only 3 days of break for the past 3 weeks.

I think it's not fair of him to say the heat has not been turned on yet. As far as I can see, I have turned on my own heat.

BUT I SIMPLY JUST DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO ANYMORE.

I don't know if I am allowed to work independently or at my own pace anymore. I don't know who I should speak to for this and that, I don't know if I can approach so-and-so for this or that.

Heck, I am too shy even to drink the bloody tea/coffee. -___-'

I don't know what to do anymore, and I am not sure of my place anymore, and for this, I feel helpless and stupid and angry and frustrated and depressed.

I wish I KNEW WHAT TO DO. I WISH SOMEONE WOULD TELL ME.

But looks like nobody will. I'm scared. What if at the end of six months they tell me: Hey, by the way, sorry, you're too mediocre to be here. Go back to where you were.

If they do, there is a rope that has my name on it.

It's been three weeks since I last blogged

F-it.

What the heck is wrong with me? Am I losing my need to regale my three readers with every aspect of my life? Am I dusty? Am I losing it? It being my sanity?

T-T

I think those bimbo blogs have had an effect on me. By blogging everyday about themselves, they put me off blogging about myself. Next thing you know my blog will be pink and take 40 minutes to load. *shudder*

But I digress.

So what's been up with me, you ask?

Urm. A sorta-failed outing. A new job (soon). A realisation. The discovery that will end world hunger. Cure to cancer.

(It's zombies. Zombies are dead, and hence, cannot get cancer. And so turning everyone into zombies will solve everything. Zombies don't kill other zombies, either. So that ends crime. Zombies don't need money, don't need food or water - they like eating brains but don't really NEED it to survive, I mean, they're DEAD - and they don't commit adultery, incest or other such sins. Since they also cannot talk, they cannot lie or backstab. Zombies rawk.)

A failed (?) outing

Supposed to go out and makan, but last minute V-dearest kena stomach ache. I upset. Then Bra-man kena fever again (he kena earlier but he recovered then kena again yes I know I can so be a Doctor kthxbai) and left me and Jeembie to roam the streets of KL, eating brains and popcorn.

He likes the brains of hobos, beggars and the occasional crazy Uncle. I have infinitely higher tastes and I enjoy me a Datuk. Eh wait f-it, they have NO brains so what the heck was I eating - Oh.

Right. Akhem. Moving on.

So it was fun, actually. Really fun. Jeembie was missing his Bromance with Bramance (er, Braman) so he felt a bit bummed out. I would object and say 'Am I not good enuff company?' but I realise that no man or woman can come between the power of a Gaming Bromance. Hur hur hur hur. So it's cool.

But it WAS fun - it's the most time I've spent and talked to Jeembie since, well, ever. And we watched Avatar in 3D oso, and it was beeyootiful max. Bought a few books (by a few I mean a lot, and by bought I mean I charged it to Hell's Card) and added to my tower of tumbling books in my room.

iLove Books *happy sigh*

iDon'tLove Credit Card Bills. *gnashing and wailing*

Anyhoooos.

Am the totally waiting for lunch now, so I'll continue my incredibly entertaining insight into Zombie-ism and Life soon enough. You're going to be so proud of me Zenzei!

Re: Your Brains

Heya Tom, it's Bob, from the office down the hall.

Good to see you buddy, how've you been?
Thing have been O.K. for me except that I'm a zombie now.
I really wish you'd let us in.
I think I speak for all of us when I say I understand
Why you folks might hesitate to submit to our demand.
But here's an FYI: you're all gonna die screaming.

All we wanna do is eat your brains.
We're not unreasonable, I mean, no one's gonna eat your eyes
All we wanna do is eat your brains.
We're at an impasse here, maybe we should compromise:
If you open up the doors
We'll all come inside and eat your brains.

I don't want to nitpick, Tom, but is this really your plan?
Spend your whole life locked inside a mall?
Maybe that's OK for now but someday you'll be out of food and guns,
Then you'll have to make the call.
I'm not surprised to see you haven't thought it through enough.
You never had the head for all that bigger picture stuff.
But Tom, that's what I do, and I plan on eating you slowly.

All we wanna do is eat your brains.
We're not unreasonable, I mean, no one's gonna eat your eyes.
All we wanna do is eat your brains.
We're at an impasse here, maybe we should compromise:
If you open up the doors
We'll all come inside and eat your brains.

I'd like to help you Tom, in any way I can.
I sure appreciate the way you're working with me.
I'm not a monster Tom, well, technically I am.
I guess I am...

Got another meeting Tom, maybe we could wrap it up?
I know we'll get to common ground somehow.
Meanwhile I'll report back to my colleagues who are chewing on the doors
I guess we'll table this for now
I'm glad to see you take constructive criticism well
Thank you for your time I know we're all busy as hell
And we'll put this thing to bed
When I bash your head open

All we wanna do is eat your brains
We're not unreasonable, I mean, no one's gonna eat your eyes
All we wanna do is eat your brains
We're at an impasse here, maybe we should compromise:
If you open up the doors
We'll all come inside and eat your brains

(Jonathan Coulton - Re: Your Brains)

Of Some Things Here and There

So HS, Lord of Darkness, caught my eye with his MSN status message:

"I believe that suffering in this world is a constant. The more you suffer, the less I have to."

And it makes a twisted sense, it does. It works the same with happiness as well. Case in point: Politicians - The more money they cheat us (the ordinary people) off, the more happy they are. But since it's our money they're taking, we are, hence, sad.

It makes a whole lot of sense, especially when you start applying this constant to every part of your life. Except for good friends and family, because those guys share your happiness and sadness.

So it got me to thinking.

Sometimes in life you do things that make you have the sads so you can give someone else the happies. (vice versa also) In this act, you balance out the sads and happies in the world. Of course, the balance is purely on the one to one basis la. Global sads and happies are in Chapter 10 of this lesson.

Back to the topic at hand.

So my sads are of work. I do things which make me sads, hoping to make someone happy. But that someone became angry, and I still haven't heard of HS's theories on THAT. (Maybe the Angries of the world is balanced by the Don't Care-ness?)

So I have even the more sads, but for this, I am sure someone, SOMEONE is having the happies. A lot of happies. I have my suspicions, but I have decided to sit out on this.

So I move away from my sads, and thus, I am happy. This means someone will have the sads. But at this point, I don't care anymore la.

So ya. Like that la.

And this is the last (I promise) time you will see (read) my bitch about my work, my job and such. I've decided to Be A (Wo)Man and Do The Right Thing. So I am going to do my best for the next one-and-half months and then move on to fresh beginnings and a new slate.

Here's to my Happies.

Of all things neither here nor there

So it's been not at all long since my last post and you're all probably bored of me by now. Don't worry, I'm bored of me too. It happens.

But because I am a narcissistic and self-indulgent creature of impulses and emotion, I shall regale you with tales of backbone aches, work and my impending alcoholism. Because, you know, I roll like that mah.

(Please note that there is some amount of alcohol left in my bloodstream as I am typing this, so if what I say is a bit out of character then please, do strap me in a straightjacket and lock me way from the sweet temptress called BEER)

I am also suffering from a backache la, so I am just going to be an all-round whiny bitch la.

Nights Out of Home: 3/5

I've not been back for dinner almost this entire week, so mommy and daddy are giving me funny, somewhat hurt looks. Trust me Mom & Dad, I want to be home too, but sometimes I need to see the world outside of the four walls of my home.

That being said I miss going early to bed. And eating hot dinner with my family. And eating Daddy's cooking. And being home to watch the telly with my Dad, or tease my Mom.

But I also need to get out. Sometimes I feel like my skin is too tight and I want to escape from whatever invisible binds that hold me together.

Because I am someone always needing to be in control, I want to lose control even more badly than any normal human being. Sometimes I want to push my own boundaries and see what happens. I want to throw caution to the wind and do something so stupid I will never ever do it again or failing that, die trying.

But at the same time I am the scared puppy with the tail tucked between the legs, growling and showing ineffectual teeth. It's like being on two extreme ends of things, and neither is plausible but both are very much lusted for.

I think I may lose my mind just re-reading that sentence above.

I think YOU have lost respect for me reading that sentence above. Hur hur.

But if you've ever had the urge to do something you know you shouldn't do, you'd know how it feels.

Staring out into the crowd at Beer Factory in Sunway Giza yesterday, and seeing my colleagues (they're friends too) having a great time on three towers of Carlsberg (I hung out in Hoegaarden with Stella), I had an epiphany brought on by one and a half pints of Stella Artois:

"This is what adults do eh? It's nice. It's really nice."

Not so much the drinking. It's the whole experience that comes with having a few pints with friends and colleagues. Beer is only the liquid that greases the conversation, helps loosen the tongue and frees us from our taut lives for just a short while.

Added to that good company and great people, who could ask for more? Its not about what you're doing, it's who you're with while you're doing it. This same principle applies to sex, movies, dinner and gaming. (Bad game? Bad movie? Who cares? It's with someone you like and enjoy being around!)

So yeah. I may have overshot my budget a bit, but it was worth it. I needed to laugh at anything and everything, because when you've got a few pints in you, everything anyone says is funny as hell.

The very funny people I know; all ex-MT - L to R: Ivan's arm with ciggarette, Eliza (who was in sales in MT 3 yrs ago), Terrence, former sales and marketing manager, Kiru, best person ever who was our uni-coll exec, and Michan, Kiru's BF.

Former intern Alvin, CK (who was our IT guy now in S'pore working), and LJ. Who is in a weird pose. But it was good to see him, since I missed out on his housewarming shindig.

Aaaaand the whole gang. Malas want to intro edy. Lol.

Yeah, so the whole bunch of kaki botol came out to the watering hole, and I enjoyed my time with them like madness. So what if I have to drink and be a total 'eat my words'? I think it's a small price to pay to get to know people outside of work situations.

Because Lord knows sometimes it's so hard to just get up everyday.

Nights in Pain from Backbone

I sleep in the worst position one can imagine - foetal, back curled, blankets pulled up to the neck, chin nearly touching chest. I think it's a defense mechanism in case the Boogeyman (or Kakaman) comes to get me. He will take one look at me, declare me an insecure child with low self-esteem (because 'em psychiatrists say that ppl who sleep in foetal position are insecure and unhappy people, and we ALL know those guys are always right, pfft, shyeah, right) and then leave me unharmed.

Yeah.

So I have bad posture too, I hunch over my computer like an old grandmother, so one day, upon returning home, I bent over to wash my hands on the sink and felt this stabbing, burning pain in my lower back.

I was immobilised for ten seconds. Very bad juju.

So now it still aches, even though its been over a week, and the more I go around the more it hurts. I think I need my spine-readjusting.

(insert pun joke about being spineless here)

I need to change something in my life so I may sleep with my arms at my sides, CONFIDENT and SELF-ASSURED even when I am asleep. CAN ANYONE ACTUALLY SLEEP CONFIDENTLY? YOU TELL ME. WTF.

Anyways. It is the aching now, so I'm just going to insert one long GROAN in this post.

GGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNN.

Having Dinner with Friends

Did, however, manage to have dinner with Bra Man and JE some days back. It was great, and awesome, and it was then that I watched Inception la. Bloody good movie. Made me think. I need to think or my brain may degenerate further ok.

Didn't manage to catch the couple, though, of V and K. Sigh.

Yeah anyway this drivel has gone on for too long. Bye now.

The Times, They Are A-Changing

It's like pulling a band-aid.

Rip it out quick, and rip it out fast. So what if it hurts like a bitch. What's gotta go, gotta go. And this, THIS, has got to go. It hurts like a bitch (we've established THAT) but yeah well. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

And this girl has got to go. Go where? Back to the Sun Priestess.

There and Back Again: A Writer's Tale, by Pauline Wong

Odd, isn't it. I was going through my blog archives at random and landed on the post I wrote when I was preparing to enter into my internship at theSun. I was talking about how I wanted the Stars but I ended up with The Sun instead. Sun Priestess at that time was the HR exec (who no longer works there) and she was nice.

Two years can change someone so much.

In two years I've learnt that hard work sometimes gets you nowhere. I no longer respect or want to work with The S**r. In two years, I have seen how everything goes to hell when levels of dedication don't match. I've faced people who work like yo-yos, I've dealt with nice people and bad people, I know that sometimes being honest is going to ruin you, and worse: That people are suspicious and no, they do not trust you.

Trust is dead in the working world, and for anyone reading this (here's looking at the three of you, lol) TRUST IS NOT AN OPTION in the working world. People stab you at all times, and you stab people too sometimes, whether you meant to or not.

So now I go back to where I began. Back to where I realised I loved Journalism. Back (hopefully) to where I was once looking forward to completing my studies and foraging into the big, bad, frustrating yet exciting and interesting world that is Journalism.

Somewhere in between I had lost myself, and my love for it. I am now hoping to find it back. Because I need to. Desperately. Writing is the only thing I've ever done well and loved doing and if that is taken from me I will be a hollow shell.

(well technically I can't be a hollow shell thanks to my tendency to eat too much and vegetate in front of the computer but allow me some melodrama please? yes? thanks.)

So I sit here, typing away at my blog, waiting for some information to come in from a client. It's slow, and I was just told to buck up and contribute more by someone who seems to have forgotten I practically put the paper together, albeit rather clumsily and with too much naivety.

But it's water under a bridge. I need not deal with it anymore.

Come October, I am leaving for better prospects. And as far as anyone knows, thats why I am leaving.

And On a More Personal Level...

I dreamed of something that I regretted ever waking up from. It was so simple - a hug. Just a hug, and the words: "You're going to be alright." Who the hug was from was more important than the words, but at that moment my dream-heart was relieved - maybe I AM going to be alright even though I am foraging into uncharted (sort of) waters. That I am going to be okay no matter how much I will have to give up when I leave my current job.

Then my eyes went and opened themselves and first thing I thought was DAMN, NO, COME BACK.

But it's a dream right? Whisps. Mists. Flits away when reality comes crashing over you again.

I hate reality.

And Speaking of Dreams...

INCEPTION is the best goddamn movie of the year.

It is like Christopher Nolan has this checklist of things that mindfuck with moviegoers

- Gravity defiance

- WOBBLE

- BWOOOOONNGG

- Cillian Murphy, Joseph Gordon Levitt

- MINDFUCKERY DOODLE DOO

- AWESOME COOL

- Han Zimmer

- BLINK-and-YOU'LL-MISS-IT keyplots

Well-played, Mr Nolan. Well- played. If you haven't seen it, please do. If you've seen it, please drop a comment here and we'll mull it over. Yeah. For the record also, Cillian Murphy's EYES GOOD LORD HAVE YOU SEEN HIS BLUE EYES.

It totally turns the tables on the kind of CRAP movies we seem to be getting these days. It has all the elements of a classic: Mind-boggling stuff, edge of the seat excitement, FLAWLESS execution of plot, timing, pacing and music...

It is a troper dream come true, please visit it's trope page at www.tvtropes.org.

For a serious movie lover, its ORGASMIC stuff. Go. Click. GO.

I wish I were braver.

I think now, I feel like I am on a plane headed for a skydive. It is awesome on the way up, filled with anticipation and a little bit of trepidation, but overall the feeling is one of exhilaration. I mean, WOW you’re going to skydive! Seeing the ground get smaller and smaller is so exciting! Everything is fine! And dandy!

But as the plane slowly climbs higher and higher, your excitement begins to wane. Fear sets in. Your fear of heights begins to set in. Suddenly it doesn’t seem such a good idea anymore. Oh dear, you think. I’m really about to leap out of a plane with nothing but flimsy harnesses and (what is essentially) a plastic balloon to save me from certain death.

Then you hear the voice of the pilot, saying “Okay, ready to jump?”

You look down and HOLY SHIT you cannot see the ground. All you see is SKY. LOTS AND LOTS OF SKY. NOWHERE SOFT TO LAND. HOSHIT, you think. HO-SHI-IT. I AM GOING TO GO SPLAT.

So you chicken out. You tuck your tail between your legs and say “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

The pilot gives you a pitying look, and then he lets you off, grumbling about wasting his time and money. He brings you down back to Earth and lands you on your feet.

You kiss the ground, ZOMG so glad for ground.

But that skydive didn’t end, actually. Eventually, you’ll have to get back up on that plane. The same process begins again. But this time, the pilot kicks you out of the plane.

So you scream on your way down. Scream so hard your throat is sore. Then you yank the lever, so that the parachute can save you.

BUT. IT. DOESN’T. OPEN.

Before you know it, you’re nothing but bits of flesh that the rescue team had to scrape off the pavement with a shovel. Brains, blood, bone and all.

Taking the leap scares everyone because sometimes, the parachute won’t open, and then you’ll end up splat on the ground.

The first time I got up that plane, I was excited. As I went higher and higher up, I was more excited. Then suddenly fear set in. I couldn’t jump. I was too scared. So I came back down, thankful, happy and glad.

But my plane won’t just stay on the ground. It will have to go up again, or else I’ll be landlubbed forever. So off I go. Only this time, the pilot really did kick me out.

I do not know if my parachute will open. Yet.

By now, again, you would have realised that this long and blabbering anecdote is supposed to be a metaphor for something. And it is.

The pilot that kicked me out (I mean it metaphorically, not literally like fired or nothing. I wasn’t fired) is somebody I (used to? I don’t know) respect. The plane I am on is my job here. And my parachute is the job offer that can be mine if I want it. But I don’t want it to be a sabotaged parachute, you know?

I want to be able to say goodbye to the pilot, who will wave and smile at me, then I want the plane to continue to go higher without me, and when I pull my parachute it will open with a smiley face.

Unfortunately, the ways things are now, I think my parachute will have a picture of my middle finger on it, and the pilot will probably throw a Molotov in my direction. Because like I said, I am a walking Murphy’s Law.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Mine was. I wanted to just do my job to the best of my ability, HECK, do MORE than the best of my ability, and to prove that they didn’t hire me for nothing, and to prove I can do such a good job I will be indispensable to the company. I wanted to prove how much I cared. I sound like a fuckin’ martyr but trust me, I am not. Why the heck do you think I am on the road to Hell now? It’s because my good intentions were clearly not going down well with somebody. I don’t know who, but somebody is unhappy that all I want to do is work hard for the paper.

I am thinking that my actions have overstepped boundaries, because the boundaries were blurred in the first place. Am I saying I am innocent? No. I am saying that all Demons of Hell ended up there because they just wanted to do something ‘more’. More is not better. Less is more, remember?

So I am going to have to stick it out. My mind is made up, and I cannot turn back, nor can I look back. I need to yank that lever and hope to God my parachute opens.

Here’s to hoping I don’t go Splat.

It's Broken, and No Amount of Glue Can Fix It

I used to have a Barbie Doll I liked very much.

Then she got broke, because I was too rough (yeah I was a doll-killer) and I chopped her hair off in effort to make her more interesting. Didn't work.

When she got broke, I dumped her into an old box and never looked at her again till it was time to throw her out/donate her to charity. (I think there is a Toy Story lesson here I should learn but I am too depressed. I'll deal with my guilt later.) Broken toy mah. Why keep?

I tried to keep her. I did. I re-cut her hair (made it worse), I coloured her lips and eyes with pretty colours (she looked like a clown), I bought spare shoes (then it went missing less than two days later) and I dressed her in spare clothes (also torn, caught it on her foot and was rough). So suffice to say, she got worse the more I tried to 'fix' her.

Yeah, so the conclusion here is I was a bad toy-owner. And by now you would have realised that this Barbie doll is actually a metaphor for my job. Which I love, very much, but it got broke when I tried to do more with it and fix it.

Because life is such that the more you try, the worse things get. It applies everywhere - I am a walking Murphy's Law, because if anything can go wrong for me, it will. The more I try, the worse I make it. It happened three years ago, it happened three days ago, and it will happen in right about three seconds... because THAT'S HOW MY LIFE WORKS.

Also added the fact that I am quite a stupid and clumsy person la, but I've seen stupider people get away with being stupid.

I messed up something very important to me a few years back, and now I am possibly doing it again... but this time it's through no fault of mine. Or maybe it is, I wouldn't know. I can no longer tell the difference between what I should do and what I shouldn't do.

Just a two days ago I received a 'dressing down' from a person who, in all fairness, has been negligent in the first place. Suddenly wishing to take charge and take power is not the way to work - especially since you have been shirking your duty for a long while, and I've been picking up your slack. I work harder than anyone else in this company (except the Sales team, they make the money, they work damn hard) and it isn't fair that I am accused of insubordination and of being argumentative.

The person I thought would actually listen and understand my side of things turned out to be... Not. At all. And all I've worked for suddenly is rendered useless and insignificant. And suddenly the freedom I am given is taken away. And worse of all, it is a yo-yo situation and I am suddenly very unsure of my footing.

You cannot take back what you've given, it's not fair. I don't mind a scolding, but only when it's fair. I've taken much worse scoldings before, and it's okay if it comes from fairness. But this isn't.

I am going to tender my resignation come end of the year, so as to give my HR time to find a replacement. I am going to go back to theSun's job offer and take them up on it. I cannot work in a place where someone wants power but not the responsibility.

Am I about to plan a mutiny? Just my own. Just my own. I quit. Bye bye.

A Story

Random story that emerged from the sheer boredom of an unusually slow day at work. It was around 30 minutes to 6pm so I hacked this out for the amusement of V. Thought I's post this up to placate YOU. Heh.

I first saw him with his mother, his small hand grasping tightly to her slender ones. He was scared – but of what and of whom, I didn’t know. There was a haunted look in his eyes; but that look did not and should not belong in an eight year old.

I knew he was eight because in his other hand he clutched a balloon shaped in an 8. The balloon was a cheap bright blue and yellow; the kind you get from a thrift store. The kind you get when your birthday was celebrated in a fast food chain and the only present you get is yet another colouring set.

I stopped to smile at him, and his mother, who was a young and pretty thing with the same sad look in her eyes. She smiled back, tremulous, but nonetheless pleasant. Perhaps she was pleased to have someone smile at her son. He clearly didn’t get a lot of those, being a rather skinny, fragile-looking thing with a pronounced overbite and a sallow tinge to his skin. She put her hands protectively on his mop of brown hair, and said a small ‘Hi’.

I nodded, returned her greeting and got down on one knee. I looked at the little guy and said ‘Hi’ – he was biting his nails now.

He looked at me shyly and grinned. I saw his teeth were crooked, possibly a headache in braces very soon. His eyes were blue and grey at the same time. They stayed on my face for a split second before those eyes flicked over to the large Golden Retriever next to me.

“He won’t bite, would he?”

I shook my head, all seriousness. “No way, he’s more friendly than I am.” The boy smiled again, reassured. “Can I touch him?”

I gently nudged the long-suffering mutt in the direction of those too-small hands. It gave me a look as if to say ‘No seriously, first chicks now little boys?’

I ignored its brown eyes and focused on the blue-grey ones instead. “Go on. Give him a pet. He won’t bite you.” The hands reached out, fingers hesitant until it touched warm flesh and fur. The grin that spread across his face made him all the less attractive, but the delight was undeniable. His mother looked on, a little anxious but glad that my docile canine would not be taking her sons’ hands for dinner anytime soon.

She smiled at me again. “He likes dogs.” I cocked my head to the side, my attention slight distracted by the fidgeting of my dog. I patted its head to calm it down, even as the boy fondled its’ ears – something that it hated. “Why don’t you get him one? The pound has puppies which are good for adoption.”

She scoffed. “No, I live in a one-bedroom flat, it won’t be possible. Any dog would howl in misery at the thought of being in my house.”

She looked embarrassed for a while, but hey, I wasn’t exactly wearing a Rolex.

“Yeah, I keep ol’ Maya here in the neighbourhood park because my flat is only big enough for me to stand upright and no more. I don’t sleep and I don’t need to eat either.”

She eyed me a little warily suddenly, unsure if I were joking. I was, I assured her. I lived in modest three-bedroom terrace home in the dodgier part of town. Maya was meant to keep the dodgy bits out, but so far, the recalcitrant creature only barked at lizards, which she deemed enemy numero uno.

It was then she laughed, an unusually loud sound for a woman so thin. “Yeah, Oliver has issues with lizards too. Maybe Maya would be good for him – if you can spare her?” She looked as if she overstepped her bounds.

“No that’s fine,” I shrugged. “I take Her Majesty for walks here and two streets away every Monday, Tuesday and Friday. Sometime ‘round six in the evening. If you can bring him out from time to time, he can throw her a stick. Or a dead lizard. Whatever rocks their socks, I suppose.”

She nodded, even grinned a little. For some reason, like her son, smiling made her look less pretty somehow. Perhaps the inherited overbite, I mused.

She called out to Oliver anxiously when suddenly Maya barked, once, annoyed, loudly. I quickly tightened my grip on her leash, pulling her away from the boy, who was looking intensely puzzled as to why she wouldn’t let him sit on her back.

“She’s so big!” he defended himself. The sad, scared look came back into his eyes. I tapped the mutt on the nose, whispered some admonishments and turned to Oliver. “Don’t worry, she just didn’t feel like a piggy back ride. But if you see me on Monday, I will have something for you.”

He pouted slightly. “Okay.” I looked apologetic, but his mother immediately waved my look away. “It’s alright, I suppose we’ll see you on Monday .”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I reached down to Oliver and slowly put my hand over his hair. “You take care now.” I ruffled his hair a bit, and stood up. His mother led him away, and I watched him walk with a pronounced limp to his left foot.

I looked down to my hands. In my clenched fist was a lock of the boy’s soft brown hair. I glanced at my faithful companion.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “We can do something for him.”

Long-Delayed Post

Okay since my blog allegedly went 'closed', I've not posted. Sorry about that my three (or less) readers. But here is is: A full post about what's been going on with me and my so-called life. Yeah.

ZENZEI GO BYE BYE... TWICE.

Once in Melaka, once in Solaris Mont Kiara. She is leaving us (on a jetplaaaane) to take care of three possibly adorable but also possibly terrifying children in the US of A.

We're going to miss her terribly of course, which is why some of us are going to hide inside her luggage. *smile* By some of us I mean me, because I am crazy like that and because I did the same thing with V when she left for Australia but I got found out and now I am permanently barred from entering Australia. No really. Check the Most Un-Wanted list. My face is there under 'Highly Deranged and Extremely Persistent.'

Yeah so hor. I am going to try to get into the US la hor. I hear security there is pretty lax because all the security guards have gone to line up outside the Apple Store for the next three months. *smiles*

So ya. Melaka! Pictures, etc etc. Proceedez, por favor.

Don't know who those brothers are but I am sure they were nice people. Nice building though. Just along Jonker Street area where we parked our car.

Zenzei, V, Me. V is photobomb but is the not work. She just looks cute and happy. Me not trying to photobomb but ended up photobombing by looking deranged -_-'

Sometimes I feel its pictures like these that make me luv my friends long time. They are mad cute together.

Super duper trishaw. Super duper blue shades on the uncle.

Jonker Street (or rather, some of it)

Zenzei: Look at that scenery! My Canon DSLR to the rescue!

V: Why can't I has Canon tooooooooooo?

Along the river. Not sure what river. I only know its right in front of the church of St Francis Xavier.

MILLE CREPE CAKE. THE. BEST. CAKE. EVER. EVER. IN. THE. HISTORY. OF. MAN. EVER. ZOMG. *drool*

DROOL

St. Pauls Church. I thinks. Hee.

We then bid Zenzei goodbye at Departure Lounge (geddit?) in Solaris, Mont Kiara. Pictures, enjoy:

We gathered at UTAR at 10am or so; Bryan was the main perpetrator of the surprise, having gone and told Zenzei that he needed to pick up a certificate from UTAR. Hee. When the rest of the gang arrived late, he went to the car (where she was waiting) storming and raging that 'UTAR messed up his certificate'. Hur hur hur.

Then when some of the gang arrived, he broke the surprise, but Zenzei was incredibly blur and didnt realise it was a farewell party until we told her. HAHAHAHA. She thought I was going to cover the Musical or whatever that UTAR was having when she saw my face. HAHAHAHAHA. Damn funny lor.

And here she is. Blur. PUN! GEDDIT??

Much sharper now with cupcake in hand.

The members of the gathering - old friends and familiar faces: left bottom to right bottom: Wan Qi (I think), Dr. C, Matthew, Zenzei, Seok Ping, Eileen and Jonathan Goh. Missing: Bra-man and JE, who arrived later. And me. Because I cannot astrally project myself into the picture.

Yet.

Departure Lounge. Nice place.

And a happy, grinny Zenzei who had a convoy following behind Bra-mans' car. Haha.

So at the end, that was successful. She received a magic 8 ball from JE and DAMN IT IS ACCURATE. More on THAT later.

But for now, this is my goodbye Zenzei post. I would have said this at the party but I didnt' wanna steal Bra's thunder so here it is:

"Everybahdy! I has speech. Okay. So. We are gathered here today to bid Zenzei goodbye. We know her as many things: Friend, student (insert Dr C nod here), and the leader of the Popcapian Zombie Association. For anyone who is blur about our Association we have brochures and we can talk later mmmkay? Ahem."

"We know her as a person generous to a fault, yet selfish in protecting her dreams and hopes. We know her to be sharp as a whip but equally as blur in many things. We know she writes extremely well and that her idol is Terry Pratchett, who is a good writer but he ain't got nothing on Neil Gaiman. Ah. Where was I. Ya. (clear throat for dramatic effect) We know her also as a great friend and an awesome person all-round. While she may have her moments of utter lameness, who said lame cannot be endearing?"

"Zenzei, you will be missed. Sorely. By all of us, but we know we cannot hold you back when so much more of the world has opened itself up to you. So we shall resolve to just hide inside your luggage and stow away with you. By us I mean me. Ya. Ahem again."

"So Zenzei, good luck. Go take care of those kiddies. And go chase all your dreams. We'll be waiting when you return with arms wide open. Cheers! To Zenzei!"

Goodbye!

Dear all!

I have decided to close my blog off! I know it comes as a shock: I am such a narcissist that to not have the whole world read my blog (by that, I actually mean I am such a loser that I only have three readers) that closing it off is surprising.

But I am going to. I want my blog to be my personal rant-space and as of such, I don't want anyone reading it. No, really. As it is, my Facebook and Twitter accounts are open for all to see. Sadness. I have no more privacy, so my blog is my last-minute and futile attempt to close it off to other eyes except for mine.

So. Goodbye everyone. Bye. Tata! Ciao! Sayonara! Ich von goodbye (sorry, I don't know any German) and les' farewelles (don't know any French either).

Yeap. They did.

So my updates have been terrible lately. Loads of drinking and talking about drinking. And about my iPhone. I apologise to the three (maybe less, I cannot be sure. When you have THIS many readers it's so hard to keep up with everyone. Sigh. *wipes tear*) readers of my blog.

So notwithstanding the fact that the ZOMBIES ATE MY BRAINZ, I am doing well. I have just returned from Singapore from the Singapore Arts Festival, and unfortunately that will have to wait until I can kumpul balik my grey and white matters from those damned zombies. Ya.

I have grown accustomed to my iPhone and cannot imagine how I could have lived all those years without one. I bequeathed my less-than-three-month-old Nokia to my sister, who happily took it.

And stuck pink bling all over the back... and on THE TOUCH SCREEN. -_-' I cannot. Then she complain cannot pick up phone and I say SURE LA YOU BLOCK THE SENSOR!

-_-' And she complains that I am strange. Sometimes she gives me that ARE YOU RELATED TO ME look? I can safely say I reciprocate often enough.

So anyhows. I am currently blogging from a Starbucks; waiting for the next assignment to start. It's probably going to be a long one, so I am stocking up on sugar. And strawberry and cream, all in a frappucino. Hee.

And but aha, more importantly, here are pix from Singapore! I will do my best to load them all up and do them justice.

Ahem. Ready when you are!

So I arrive, after a rather embarrassing incident at check in: The hotel wanted a S$400 incidental damages charge but obviously, I DON'T HAVE RM 1000 AT MY WANTON DISPOSAL. Ahem. And my credit card is all full up, thanks to my iPhone. So obviously, I didn't have it, and so obviously, they thought I would trash the room like some room-wrecking rockstar, and so obviously, I would have to call Maybank to increase my credit limit and so obviously, that would cost me heckuva lot of roaming call charges and obviously, I will go broke paying it.

Phew.

So rant over, the hotel is very nice. It is.

This is the Old Supreme Court building, which was just amazing in how beautiful the old colonial architecture was.

And after climbing some extremely rickety and windy metal stairs (I am talking the windy spiral types of stairs that people DIE FROM AND WILL DIE HORRIBLE DEATHS) we arrive at the top of the building to be greeted with a beautiful view of the city.

THIS aha, my friends, is one of the holding cells in the building, which makes sense because it once housed some of the whitest, most British High Court Judges you'd ever see - with names like Philip William Tracey Turntington the Third and such. I jest, but you know what I mean. That's a jamban, for the uninformed.

But scary holding cells aside, the view is magnificent. Rainbows over the Marina Sands Hotel and all.

This is the rooftop of the Marina Barrage, where the Singaporean government has given it's citizens a neat, clean place to have picnics. I tell you: those guys (the govt) will let you do anything... so long as you do it THEIR WAY. Lol. Which is fine. The place is clean, with not a SCRAP of rubbish in sight. In Malaysia it would have been filled with disgusting bits of old banana peel, plastic bags and leftover food faster than you can say DIRTY.

And the ESPLANADE! Which is a bloody marvel. And a bloody nice looking from the inside, even though it looks like a durian on the outside.

Some of the other press who were present: The pretty Chinese girl is Qi Qi, who is from Shanghai Daily. And the bespectacled Chinese guy is Xiao Qi, who is from China Daily. He is the most well-read guy I've known in some time. He knows and loves Neil Gaiman. I died a little inside. The four white people are: Jeremy, Tony, Steven and Karen. All Aussies from a variety of mags and newspapers. Nice bunch. Very strange. I learnt new words: Bogan and Dag. Bogan - trailer park trash with loads of money. Dag - just white trash. Lol.

And thus, we go to Wessex Village, where the Sing govt proves once again, that if you want to be creative, you can go crazy.... in a specific location. Wessex Village is home to some 30-odd artists, where they live and paint pictures for a living. Sigh. So nice.

Even the flowers in this place was beautiful.

Below and above are sculptures from some of the artists in the place.

(and more lush green. Heck, even the TREES are well behaved in Singapore)

And everyone with their Sing Slings. Because HOW CAN YOU GO TO SINGAPORE without having a Sing Sling? A MOST unflattering angle of me, but I don't mind. Everyone looks so happy.

I have more pictures, but this page keeps crashing so I have to stop here. More to come!