Twisted Trainsistor

MPI- IJF 2011

2011-11-09T15:53:00.004+08:00

MPI - International Journalism Fellowship

Meet Alvine

Alvine, 26, shares a little about Namibia and herself

Government hospitals have been seeing deteriorating standards among housemen in recent years due to, among other things, the proliferation of medical schools which produce sub-standard graduates.

A source told theSun that too many medical schools, too few good lecturers, and the “pampering” of housemen have contributed to the serious situation.

The source said standards have been falling as more opportunities to study medicine both locally and overseas emerged, and housemen are getting used to having it easy.

He noted that sadly, many housemen tend to “disappear” and cheat on their logbooks, are irresponsible, lazy, ignorant and unprofessional in carrying out their duties.

“There are some who are good, but some just don’t cut the grade,” he said, adding that not all the blame rests on the housemen’s attitude, but rather, it is a downward spiral brought on by the lack of proper training.

Casually striking a pose for the cameras

“The sheer number of universities offering medical courses has led to standards set by the Malaysian Medical Council (MMC) not being met, because there are not enough good lecturers and trainers.

“Its bad enough that good doctors do not necessarily make good teachers. What’s worse, in some local public universities, lecturers are sometimes only senior civil servants with some medical background,” said the source, a department head who sees hundreds of housemen in a major government hospital each year.

“And now, exacerbating the situation is the government’s decision not to make the Medical Qualifying Examination (MQE) compulsory for all medical graduates from foreign varsities,” he lamented.

Health Minister Datuk Seri Liow Tiong Lai had earlier announced that the current list of 365 recognised overseas foreign universities may be abolished in favour of making it compulsory to pass the MQE before practising medicine here.

However, the cabinet recently quashed the idea and instead directed that the list of recognised universities be shortened and reviewed more frequently.

theSun had, today, front-paged concerns that the cabinet’s decision may have negative consequences when Malaysia opens its doors to foreign medical practitioners under the World Trade Organisation (WTO) agreement.

The medical community had voiced the view that the MQE should be made compulsory for all medical graduates from foreign varsities, to act as a filter and maintain a benchmark in medical standards.

Happy to be here in Malaysia

I has an iPad2

2011-05-15T01:27:00.003+08:00

So I lined up on the day it was launched on April 29 (I was on-location, read it here) and bought me one. Black, wi-fi only, 64 GB. Two and a half hours, I waited in line. Worth every second.

Cost me RM2,099, which I am still in shock over but hell. Best. Buy. Ever.

So I've been away at it, using it for Court and Stories and Big Important Work Things as well as Small But Still Important Fun Things.

I may never recover from the shock of seeing my credit card bill hit RM2000+++ but hey, my heart can take it!

I also went to Sarawak courtesy of Sarawak Convention Bureau from May 11 to 14, but I am too tired to put pics up now. My blog is so dusty it takes some time to un-dust it. But soon, pics.

For now, all I can say about my previous post is that the situation is somewhat blown over. Between my feelings of loyalty and how much I missed two of the best friends I have, my heart is competing with my head but for now I will be discreet.

No need to hurt another person I care about, hmm?

Okay. Too tired dy. Goodnight. Promise of more pics soon.

2011-03-12T15:51:00.002+08:00

Yesterday I sat down to write on my blog.

I wanted to write about my life, about my job (which is killing me, faster than I'm sure my booze habits will), my friends, my family.

Then I got Some News.

And 24 hours later, I'm not sure if I know how to wrap my head around it. I'm not sure if I can face up to it either.

So I write it here because I am a writer (or I try my darndest to be) and words in print is the only way I know how to express myself.

And because I know the two people I love in this world, whom I treasure beyond what even they comprehend, will read this.

So here goes.

To you, mi amigo. I loved you. I might as well say it now, since it's now irrevocably, and perhaps thankfully (mostly on your part, I'm sure) over.

For the longest time I loved you because you are funny, sweet, nice, kind and you made me laugh. You also, despite your annoying procrastinating ways, are wise, and the only guy I ever knew who took the time to listen to me properly. Even though your advice may be a bit... unorthodox.

So I loved you. From the day I met you, to the very last minute of yesterday, I liked you and I was not subtle about it. Subtlety is not my strong suit, I'm afraid.

I knew you didn't feel the same. You are sadly mistaken if you thought I didn't know. I did. It was the worst feeling in the world, but I knew. So I did the only thing I could do. I settled for being your friend.

I stuck up for you when I could (even though it was interfering), I helped you out when I could, and I was okay with it. You did the same for me. Friends. That was good enough for me.

So you needn't worry that the feelings are still there.

For that part, that is over.

Now for the other part.

You are a colossal idiot. I said it to you and I meant it. You are an idiot of the first degree, whose entry into Fucked Up Big Time will forever remain engraved in stone.

You broke so many Bro Codes it is incomprehensible, and you betrayed a guy you've known for the past 4 years, the guy you studied, ate, laughed, gamed and drank with.

You knowingly broke his heart and stomped all over it. You hurt his pride, his ego, and his feelings.

For his part, I do not doubt that he will never forgive you. But that is between you and him and my rant ends here.

For my part, I told you I will always be your friend and I meant it. You have been a good friend to me, and one Fucked Up Big Time is not going to destroy what you were. I remember you as the only guy I know who listened to me moan about my problems without trying to brush me off and I appreciate it deeply.

But I won't be able to talk to you or see you or be around you for a very, very long time.

(I suppose that must be a bit of a relief, eh? Me and my incessant chatter gone for a bit.)

So yeah. I despise you (just a little) for what you did, but I hope you and her are happy together, and I really, really mean that from the bottom of my heart.

To you Zenzei, I meant everything I said on the phone.

But harsh as this may seem, what you did, and are doing to him is unforgivable, horrible, unkind, unfair and totally jerky.

I'm sure I do not need to pour more salt to a wound you already have, but I'm just a little bit angry enough to type it out and so I will.

I appreciate you calling me and telling me, and most of all, I appreciate your friendship so yes, I will always be your friend, and Trusted Aide. You and I still share many things in common, and you've been a good friend, and I don't abandon friends for fucking up because my friends did not abandon me when I fucked up too.

But I'm going to apply for a Long Leave, if you don't mind. I have appointed my replacement and the running of the Brainz Assembly will be in good hands.

To the both of you.

I love you both to bits, still do. You guys probably don't even realise how much you all mean to me, and probably don't understand why I am so upset by all this when I was not the betrayed party.

The reason is this:

I've NEVER had friends. I was a loser, nobody wanted to be friends with me, I was a fucked up and fat mess until YOU guys (you, him, Bra, K, V) came and became my friends and accepted me for what I am.

For the first time in my life I was included in something, I was part of a GANG. Not a gun-totting, drug-dealing, people-killing Gang, but a GANG of friends whom I can count on to have my back or hang out with me and keep me in check when my job gets the better of me.

A gang of friends I could trust, that I could say to people when they ask: "Oh, I'm having dinner with my friends" or "I went to Penang with my gang of friends".

So maybe you can forgive me for being angry at the both of you for messing all that up? I will never have all six of us, the Penang gang (and 5/6 Melaka gang) together again the same way, and I am angry about that.

I know I over-react but that's how it is. I am angry at the two of you for taking that away from me, and I am really, REALLY sorry for being selfish when the both of you have enough guilt to bear already.

I want to be the big person (not physically, I got that covered, but you know what I mean) and have a little perspective and reason on this matter and maybe be like my sis, who said: "Be happy for them. Get a little perspective. Bryan will get over her soon enough and life WILL move on. Jee never liked you and you'll find new friends."

I still love you both, my friends. And I hope you will understand that I need some time to sulk, to mope, to fret and sulk some more.

But most of all, I hope that you'll both still be there for me when I finish sulking.

Yeah so now anybody can read my blog again

2011-02-10T00:54:00.004+08:00

But only because I myself got lazy to enter my password to bloody read my own blog

-______________-""

So anyway it's 12.55am in the morning and I of course, have work tomorrow. I am going to be at 50% brain capacity at work (which is exactly 0.1% less than my usual brain capacity at work) but I don't know.

I felt like blowing some dust off my very dusty blog.

I guess there really isn't much to blog about. I ain't exactly living life to the fullest in the States like my Zenzei, nor do I possess the unerring sharp wit and oddly cheerful/chill disposition of Lord Jeembie.

I resemble nothing more than a mad dog, anguished and torn between chasing that damn tail or biting that damn mailman.

Because my life is, indeed, a mad decision between being a journalist and not a journalist; being a good daughter and not being a good daughter; being poor and uh, well, even poorer.

(No choice there.)

But like everyone when they run out of blog ideas, the best thing to do is paste a huge-ass pic of a cute baby and call it quits.

So here.

MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

It's a quiet night

2011-01-14T22:19:00.003+08:00

BEHOLD

Possibly the cutest creature ever born into the Earth. My niece; Ann Wong Pui Ling. As of today, she is ten days old and she has stolen my heart ten times over. I cannot believe I am saying this, but she is a miracle. A sheer miracle.

I held her for the first time today, and she seemed quite content to sleep on my (fat) arms, swaddled in a blanket and peering at me from half-open eyes. She has no clue who I am, but I'm sure over time she will come to realise the giant face with the goofy smile on it is mine.

I think my entire family is going to spoil her rotten, and I'm sure we cannot be blamed for it.

*goofy smile*

That aside, I have not much to update; save for more about work.

Work... which is not as fulfilling as I thought it would be. It is, in essence, a very lonely job, this job of mine. Much time is spent riding on trains, meeting and being surrounded by people you only perfunctorily acquaint yourself with and then chances are you'll never see them again -- or if you do, you have forgotten them and as such, it is awkward.

It is a lonely job, this job. You attend functions and write about them, you see politicians squabble among themselves and report about them too. You return to office, where everyone is too busy with work (or too busy looking as if they're busy with work) to talk to you.

Everyone IS nice, very nice, but at the end of it all you won't be meeting them out of work.

I used to have that -- hanging with colleagues after work, but it was taken away from me. Or rather, I backed out of it. I don't regret leaving, but I regret having to give up that part of my job that was fun, where my colleagues were also my friends and I could kick back and have a pint with them.

Now, the only ones who drink are the editors, and the editors are far too scary to do any kick-backing and pint-ing with.

I miss my friends -- K, V, JE, Zenzei, Braman. I want to go on a holiday but it seems we're poorer ever since we began earning money on our own.

We are all too poor to afford a vacation but Lord knows I need one so, so, SO badly it hurts.

The worst part about it all is that despite my perpetual destitution, my all-consuming job and such and such, I KNOW I should have nothing to complain about.

My job is a great job that most people would die to experience. My family is a gift of which till today, I;m not quite sure I deserve entirely. My friends are amazingly, STILL my friends even after everything bad or tumultuous. I am healthy, my niece is healthy, and poor as I may be, I am happy.

But I am, somehow, embarrassingly enough, lonely. Its a feeling I cannot describe. I don't think I can describe it without coming off as ungrateful or whiny. So I won't.

God.

I need a vacation. Please?

And because it's Sunday in the office

2010-12-05T10:32:00.003+08:00

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.

2010-11-01T23:14:00.003+08:00

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!

2010-10-22T10:16:00.002+08:00

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

2010-09-21T11:32:00.003+08:00

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

2010-08-31T22:31:00.001+08:00

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

2010-08-18T11:25:00.002+08:00

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

2010-08-13T09:49:00.006+08:00

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

2010-08-02T13:57:00.003+08:00

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.

2010-07-20T10:52:00.000+08:00

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

2010-07-15T10:05:00.003+08:00

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

2010-07-11T18:00:00.002+08:00

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

2010-06-30T12:28:00.010+08:00

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!

2010-06-16T10:00:00.003+08:00

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).

2010-06-02T17:17:00.009+08:00

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!

iPhone, baby

2010-05-19T13:33:00.003+08:00

THIS IS NOW MINE

43 applications, about 400 songs and 5GB later, I have a machine in which I can email/sms/call/play/do funny things/enjoy life/distract myself from train ride/DISAPPEAR INTO for the next two years.

(not that I have a choice in THAT matter, I'm contracted. Lol)

But thanks to Digi, I now have it. It is mine. MINE! MINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINE.

Kthxbye.

Marjorie's Margarine PART 3

2010-05-08T14:13:00.002+08:00

ZOMG. I cannot even remember the last time I wrote fiction for pleasure, but here you go. Been typing away for a while, strangely, and here is part 3. Read part 2 here and part 1 here .

The story so far is: Marjorie throws exploding margarine. There is a plot to eat people's ideas. Writes is a person with very dangerous ideas. Marjorie wants to stop evil, ugly monsters from eating ideas -especially Writes's ideas. Yeah, so you get the idea.

He felt affronted and made it clear by saying so: “I am affronted that you would find my suggestion laughable.”

Marjorie sombered quickly, the ghosts of laughter gone as fast as it came. “It isn’t about deleting everything you’ve ever written. No matter how, they will still find traces of it in your brain.” She paused, scootched closer to him, and looked seriously into his eyes.

“Ideas take the form of wisps. Wisps that wrap themselves around your grey and white matter and look like little bits of blue candy floss. They linger, they float, they mess around and about until you physically put them down onto paper, or use them to build great things. This is the essence of ideas.”

She paused, picking at imaginary lint (this time really imaginary lint, not body part) off the strange and oddly familiar blue shirt he finally tossed her way. Then she looked up again, and smiled. A smile that said: ‘Trust me, I know what I am about.’

“So yeah. Eat. Brain. Ideas. Regurgitate and WHAM! End of the world.”

Writes was not convinced, but he was worried. He made that clear by biting his fingers so hard a drop of blood swelled like a ruby bead on his lips. It fell, ominous, on his lap.

Writes had never, not even in his wildest dreams (and they were wild dreams, make no mistake) expected this. His endlessly churning brain-cogs whirled and worked and made whirlpools as he considered the options before him.

One. Throw the madwoman out and continue to create vivid blood-soaked imagery based upon this particular crazy experience.

Two. Listen to her and go in for the ride, the story, and the possibility of having his brain consumed by pre-margarined bits of evil men.

Three. Do both at the same time, because it is, after all, a very real dream.

He simply could not imagine how each choice could possibly not result in something disastrous for himself.

He peered at her, noting her now messy hair, her odd-coloured eyes, possibly the blood pulsing beneath her pale skin. “You said you needed to inform me of three things before I can come to a decision on what to do. What are the other two?”

She frowned, puzzled. “I already did. Brains. Ideas. Eat. Regurgitate, WHAM! End of the – ”

“World, yes, that’s not three things. That is… five things.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Good lord woman you unsettle me.” A few curls dropped onto his shirt, and stayed there as Writes, better known as Bloodlust, paced around in circles and sucked his own blood just a little bit more.

Marjorie blinked, slowly, carefully, perhaps just a little afraid to set him off and have him actually bleed himself to near-death, pick up a goblet, and then drink from his own crimson springs of life. She gave herself an internal shake: Why on earth are you thinking of this when you’ve got minions chasing after you?

“I unsettle you. Sheesh. If you think I ‘un’ (she said this with a roll of her eyes) settle you, then (she glanced out a window, her ears pricked like a cats’) –oh well, then. Those guys outside your lawn will perhaps kill you.”

Writes leapt to his feet, alarmed, and rushed to the window. There, crawling like so many ants, were the same ugly men he had seen her blow up the day before. Only this time, they came dressed in shiny white suits, and walked on all fours.

“Holy –“ he checked himself, and without another word, he banged his way to his father’s room.

“DAD! –“

But there was no Dad there, sitting at his desk, typing away what next great speech for whom great politician.

Just a charred body, bereft of both its’ legs, and much of its’ face. And for the very first time in his bloodthirsty life, Writes screamed.

He screamed as the body started to sizzle, smoke, and go up in blue-ish tendrils. He fell to his knees when these same tendrils floated out the door, whooshing past him - and he smelt a strong, acrid scent, like burned paper – and flying down the stairs in an oddly zigzag manner.

Almost instantly, the main double-doors to his home slammed open, and a high-pitched screech pierced through his ears, followed by a distinctly female war cry.

Choking himself off with a garbled wail, he scrambled to his feet, tears streaming down his face, and descended the stairs two at a time.

The scene that greeted him was beyond even his wild imaginings.

Marjorie was caught halfway between a headless, white-suited body that crisped brown-ly at the neck, and a fully-headed creature whose mouth was unhinged and poised to swallow her face, except that she had both her hands on those jaws, fighting for her life. Behind her leered six more of such man-like creatures (except that if they were men at all, they’d be better off working for Industrial Light and Magic as extra orcs, monsters and beasties in Hollywood movies), all whom were eagerly feasting upon the blue-ish tendrils that was all that remained of Writes’s father.

This time Writes didn’t scream. He threw his head back and howled in rage (he fancied himself a wolf, and perhaps maybe he was a little: The wild eyes, the wild hair and the sharp teeth), and without thinking (this day was full of surprises, Writes never did not think) he crashed his thin frame into the Monster that was trying to eat Marjorie.

His surprise attack dislodged the creature from her, but did little else.

But without skipping a beat, Marjorie spat, hard, onto Writes’ face, blinding him completely. Shocked, Writes stumbled backwards, clawing at his face. “What the -?”

The vocabulary was knocked right out of him as all the creatures pounced on him at one go, squealing with frenzy and pulling his hair.

Writes curled up into a ball, blinded, frightened, feeling betrayed and thoroughly in a panic as he could feel his skin and scalp tear, blood oozing down his face. He was too scared to even scream.

“WRITES! CURL UP! NOW!” he heard Marjorie’s voice.

He wasn’t about to disobey anyway. He was already very much in foetal position.

Then somewhere very, very close to his ear, something exploded (not before he actually heard one of them mutter “Bitch she tricked us –DAMN”) and he was sprayed by wet, chunky somethings.

This is turning out to be the worst day of my life, he thought, as he felt an arm lift him up, and gentle fingers wipe the gunk off his eyes. Yeah. So he could see again, and he was about to yell very loudly at Marjorie before he saw that she too, had blood down her face and she suffered a deep gash on her arms. Her pinkish skin also looked a bit pale. Like white clothes that had gone into the wash with red clothes.

He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. He surveyed the situation. Blood, bits and brains (he thinks) everywhere. Silence everywhere. Shit. Silence.

He rushed to the kitchen (getting lost around the pantry for a while) and found no one there. Nothing. No bustling maids, no eager cooks, no stiff butlers. No food either, and it was just near lunchtime. There should be tonnes of food on the table, but there was none. Only the leftovers of breakfast were scattered on the floor – a smushed banana here, a puddle of spilt milk there.

Nothing but sad little mini-wisps of faded blue, floating disconsolately in the air. No bodies. No blood.

And then, Writes, also for the first time in his young life, bawled. He bawled his eyes out. Not in the wailing, shrieking kind of way, but heartbroken sobs and gulps that he wanted to hold back but could not. He pressed his fists into his tightly shut eyes, his mouth twisted in a grimace, gasping out his tears.

Marjorie stood at the door, her eyes downcast, her brows furrowed. This is all my fau-

“ITS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Marjorie’s head jerked upwards, surprised.

Writes was on the floor, holding himself tightly, but his eyes were on her. They were hurt and angry, but also fearful.

“This is your fault!” he repeated. “You brought them to me. You brought them here. And now everyone is dead.”

And as he said the word ‘dead’, he stopped. His eyes widened, and he whispered, more to himself than anything, “Dead.”

And for once in her life too, Marjorie was out of words.

Writes spent a whole ten minutes just staring blankly into space. He did nothing. He said nothing. He didn’t move. So much so Marjorie, who was beginning to worry that the creatures may return, gently nudged him.

“Writes --”

And then he said it. The words that killed everyone he knew, destroyed his house, and shattered his life as he knew it.

“I’ve got an idea.”

And so that's it till next time folks. Haha. Like la anyone reads this crap. Hur Hur Hur.

I AM SO FUCKING SLEEPY

2010-05-07T10:44:00.002+08:00

...right nao.

Possibly the combination of several cocktails in my second official drinking session with my colleagues. Considering I've worked here among these kaki botols for a year now, it's quite impressive to only have gone out twice.

(You guys know I say this with love, right? I love you guys, drunks or not.)

So the damage (or the blessings, it really depends which way you swing) is

1 Tequila Sunrise - possibly the nicest thing I ever drunk through a straw.

1 Black Russian - my favourite drink ever.

1 Cosmopolitan - Sourish, very nice, not a huge fan but its good stuff.

1 Bailey's on ice - I love Bailey's. Love it. LOVE LOVE LOVE it. Its cream and coffee and everything I love.

1 pint Heineken - which is the beer I like best.

*also, three cherries, which I don't hate but don't like.

Yeah, so the bill yesterday night was the most expensive bill I ever laid eyes on. Seriously. I cannot believe we actually raked up a bill that high. But then again.

So yeah, I was actually tipsy after the first beer, because I downed it really fast and you know how that works. Alcohol affects you faster the faster you down it. But I kind of sobered up during the cocktails, when the effects of alcohol wore off. In essence, I actually was sober, maybe a bit tipsy, but not drunk like I was on my Bday celebration.

Which is not saying much because I was WASTED that night. Hur hur. I is can hold my drink nao.

But OKAY. So on to other matters. There is more to me than drinking you know.

Ahem.

So work is awesome. Things are going great. I love my job. Somebody might shoot me for being such a prick about how much I love my job, my colleagues, and my innate ability to drink.

But when life IS good, have a drink, watch LJ dance, sing and yes, PERFORM SOME NIPPLE ACTION, and have a good laugh about nothing and everything with colleagues.

Just don't puke ya. WAKAKAKA.

Fan Girlism

2010-04-29T16:04:00.003+08:00

'I WILL LOVE NEIL GAIMAN FROM A-FAR TILL THE DAY I DIE'

I found myself typing these words to my Sensei, who was sharing with me how her blog review of a book was commented on by the author himself. (read it here)

The reason Gaiman came up in the conversation was that I jokingly plotted to review one of Gaiman's books so he too, will comment on it.

It was at this moment I realised what a true fangirl I am: I was seriously teary-eyed at the mere THOUGHT of Neil Gaiman reading my stupid, rubbish-filled, no-readers-at-all, insignificant blog. I was TEARY-EYED. As in: ZOMG how HAPPY I will be, how FULFILLED, how I will be able to DIE HAPPY.

I am weird like that, but on hindsight (because hindsight is always 20/20) I think not.

Because there is no way anyone can read Neil Gaiman's works and not be blown away. Those who don't like his works, have yet to read his works. Neil Gaiman is the writer I want to be: Witty, clever, sincere, endlessly imaginative and at the same time, approachable.

Even in person - funny, likeable, delicious Brit accent, cool without being obnoxious, rumpled but terribly good-looking in a smart kind of way.

Remember, I want to marry his brain. Amanda Palmer may have his body, but I want his BRAINZ.

Because how can you NOT marry the brain that came up with Neverwhere? Fragile Things? SAND-FRIGGIN-MAN? American Gods? Smokes and Mirrors? Coraline? Stardust? Anansi Boys? NEVER-FRIGGIN-WHERE??? (which is my favourite book of all time, par none)

Even until the day I lie decrepit and dying on a bed, surrounded by my family, I will request for my body to be buried with his books.

Go buy your own Neil Gaiman books, grandkids. Granny's going down with literature in tow.

Because GRANNY LOVE NEIL GAIMAN LONG TIME.

*creepy music, creepy laugh, flashing lightning, flashing sound*

Okay, that bit being over and done with... and now we wait for Neil Gaiman to take a law suit against me, ordering the FIRST EVER internet restraining order, where I will be disallowed forever from typing his GLORIOUS NAME, or visiting his Journal, or reading his works, or ever even VIEW his pictures on the net.

I will still be happy. BECAUSE I LOVE NEIL GAIMAN.... REALLY. LONG. TIME. Muahahahahahahahahaha.

And On to Other Things...

So in explaining my previous emo post, I think I was having one of those pensive moments I often have.

I used to have a lot more of those pensive moments, but of late, they attack rarely, though when they do it always overwhelms me and surprises me. Kind of like Lucky, who sneaks up from behind - you think he's sleeping, because he is prostrate on the floor, legs tucked under his body, eyes closed, so you think it safe to walk past him... but it isn't. He will grab you and try to kill you with love, affection and razor-sharp claws.

Yeah. Like that la.

And these pensive moments always start with nothing more than a flitting thought - one of those random things you think of at the randomest times.

Then before you know it, your body's full of scratches (metaphorically, and literally, if your brain is still tuned to the bit about Lucky) and you're feeling thoroughly down on yourself.

The previous post, of course, is about a certain someone, as is quite obvious. About how I just want things to go back to the way they were. Because the way things were were so good, until my own stupidity went and spoiled everything. I only wish one day this person-shape hole will be filled again. Someday.

Because not having it there is almost about as painful as having it there.

Some pretteh, and then some not-so-pretteh

2010-04-24T19:03:00.002+08:00

Well, let's start with the pretteh:

Taken a long time ago; it's in my FB photo page, but not here. So thought I'd put it up. Outside Taman Jaya. Nearly got hit by a bus taking this. Heh.

And this. Same.

Yeah. That's not really pretty per se, but it'll do.

So now the not-so-pretteh:

Me. Entire bloody me.

Even if you asked me, chances are I'll deny the hell out of it. There are many things in my life I will admit to, and many that I'd go down in a blazing flame before I admit.

This one right here, stuffed at the corner of my brain, this niggling feeling, yeah, you can bet I'd rather die than admit it. Admit out in the open truth, that is.

Because there is one thing that I have lost that I miss keenly; and I now find a strange person-shaped hole in my heart. I am too proud to salvage it, too stubborn to admit it. I wish I knew what to do about it.

I've had it for so long I forgot what used to be there before. Maybe there wasn't anything there before, and this one thing filled it up for me. Now that it has gone, I want it back.

I want to ask you a question. Have you ever owned something you cannot see, or touch, or feel for years? And when this intangible thing disappears, is there a hole now where it used to be? Even though it wasn't solid, or touchable, you still were so attached to it anyway?

That's what a feeling is like.

A feeling you've had for a very long time. A feeling that sometimes woke you up in the middle of the night because it threatened to leap out of your heart - it was that intense. This was a feeling you lived with for years!

Then it's gone. And you want it back. Want it like you want an iPhone (yeah yeah I'm getting one, I AM AN ADULT! I'LL DO WHAT I WANT! HAH.).

But there is no getting it back. It's gone. You hope the feeling had a twin, but it didn't so that is that. It go bye bye.

Does it suck? Yeah. Do I wish I could tear my face off? Yeah. Do I wish I could tear the feeling's face off? Hell yeah.

But y'know. We human beings are the weirdest creatures. We spend long periods of time holding on to something, and then when it doesn't choose to hold us back, we give it up.

Perhaps its a survival thing.

Goodbye now.

TICKS! BILLIONS OF TICKS OMFG!!!!

2010-04-20T17:11:00.005+08:00

OMFG TICKS BILLIONS OF TICKS! I FRIGGIN' HATE FRIGGIN' TICKS. BLOODY HELL BLOODY HELLLLLLLLL!

pic from google images ya, if copyright n all that shit who ask u to appear in google in the first place?

SO YEAH. TODAY IS ALL CAPS DAY. I AM ABOUT TO YELL AT YOU FROM FAR AWAY. THAT'S RIGHT. YOU HEARD ME. YEAH I'M TALKING TO YOU.

Actually no la. I'm too nice to shout at anyone. *bats eyelashes* But please be grossed out by the tick picture because that is what poor Lucky and poor Maya are having on their bodies right now and OMFG I HATE TICKS. Words fail on how much I hate those stupid evil little BLOODSUCKERS.

Okay so I don't have much time for a proper update (killing ticks is hard, tiring, time consuming work) so this is a QU, and some amusement for you:

The Malaysian Today team, gathered strangely for the first time in the cafeteria, having lunch. First time in the whole year I worked there man! Maybe first time since they moved in to the building what, 3 yrs ago? Picture courtesy of LJS.

Names later la. Gtg edy. Now tumpang-ing STARBUCKS internets mah.

UPDATE!

The names, as promised, are: (going across the table like a ping pong match, centre is net, then left to right to left to right to left to right then also the picture taker la, who is out of the picture. Ok got it? good lets go)

Zharlie, Aris-u, Kogilagila (XP), KR, RTCHie, JA, CK, NN, me (laughing like moron), IVN, and new member of the crazy team, SBRNA, and JSPH. Not in pic LJS, who took like, 10 pics to get us all in together. Haha.

See ya'll.

How to Train Your Dinos

2010-04-09T10:45:00.002+08:00

It's simple, actually. You bring one of them to a movie about a boy and his dragon.

So I watched 'How to Train Your Dragon' with my mom and sis recently, and I've discovered the secret to making my mommy dearest happy and a-glow with fuzzy feelings all day.

Just take her to a movie, or should I say, animated movie. Of the six times I've brought her to the cinema, all of it (except Alice in Wonderland) was a cartoon/animated film. Lol. Can you imagine the role reversal going on here? Ol' Sigmund Freud would have a field day.

Neeways; my mom enjoys the whole movie-going experience more than the movie itself. She's so cute when she goes to the movies. Get very excited one. Hahahaha.

But, going to the MAIN point of this post - a review of How to Train Your Dragon.

To sum it up;

As I was leaving the cinema, I turned to my Mommy and said: "Mommy, I want a dragon too!" Which elicited a rare grin from her. But I'm perfectly serious.

I abso-friggin-lutely LOVED the movie. It is, without a doubt, the best animated feature film of the year, the one nobody saw coming, least of all from Dreamworks, who hadn't made a movie as good as Shrek (1, mind you) for ages.

Yes, I dare say even better than Up. And let me explain why before you shriek in protest.

First of all, Up is yet another feather to Pixar's cap. Pixar churns out these movies which tug your heartstrings, make you tear up, provide entertainment that can appeal to both the kiddies and the bigger kiddies and the old kiddies-at-heart. They do it in their sleep.

But Dreamworks? Nope. They haven't (in my humble opinion) made anything as good as Shrek since, well, Shrek 2. Which was okay, but not great, then Shrek 3 was just stupid. They have also not been too well-known for making amazing score, unlike Pixar.

But How to Train Your Dragon has, also IMHO, the best 'boy and his pet' story ever, and possibly the best, most bittersweet, touching and amazingly unhappy happy ending ever. It also has a amazing, amazing score courtesy of John Powell, who made it soaring and epic and emotional all at the same time.

It is all the elements that make Pixar work so well, with just that extra - in this case, incredible animation and action and a great deal of heart. It is incredibly charming, likeable, fun, smart and silly at the same time, and is, despite the dragons, completely believable.

It makes you wanna love your dogs more. It makes you wanna appreciate your pet more. It fills you up with fuzzy feelings and love for animals and pets. You may even wanna start talking to your fish.

Maybe get your own dragon.

It just had so much AWWWWWW in it I can't even begin to explain it here. It is possibly going to have me buying the Bluray DVD. I love it that much.

So for everyone reading, go watch it. You'll regret it if you don't. I am friggin' serious.

Whales out.

Because Imma Beautiful Disaster - Er, Blogger

2010-03-31T16:02:00.002+08:00

Thanks to Teh Ais Li Mei, I am now a winner of the Beautiful Blogger Award. I am pleased to accept, just as soon as I gather my brains from the floor. They have leaked out of my skull, you see.

*gathers brainz using BrainzScooper Pro, courtesy of Brainz Assembly*

Okay.

*pushes grey matter in*

*"You missed a spot".*

*poke poke*

*"Yeah that's okay."*

Ahem. Now that all my brainz (oops) are in one piece (ah waitahh), I shall now proceed to nominated MY own Beautiful Bloggers.

#1: Teh Ais Limei, of coz.

For some of the best writing I have ever seen, and for her truly something-in-it posts which put my dog-themed posts to shame.

#2: Hafutota no JE no Jeembie no Melancholy

For terrifically funny writing which makes absolutely no sense, but in it's non-sense, makes a strange sort of sense not often sensed by others. Which, of course, means I make no sense myself but who said sense was sensibility? Sense is over-rated.

#3: High Feet, aka Kaki Khayal

Short, sweet and with a nice concept of having two people maintain one blog. I think I will let Maya handle my blog too. Possibly she'll fill it with hate notes directed at Lucky. O_o.

#4: Mr Jam

Okay fine, so he is waaaay up there and is not going to be impressed with my Beautiful Blogger Award and he is in no way beautiful so much as he MAKES ME ROFL, so yeah. I love his ridiculous wit, his extreme hilarity and how he makes Asians look like funny people. Which we are. *poker face*

#5: Cheeserland

Not because of anything more than my daily dose of bimbo-blogism, which I enjoy in small but crucial doses.

#6: GoFugYourself

Most. Amazing. Blog. Ever. (Perhaps.) But one things for sure, you're gonna get hella laughs from this blog.

#7: Project Rungay

Fabulous, bitter kittens. Enjoy the pretty and get to work, minions.

Okay, so that's all. I pretty much only read these blogs, so I wouldn't be able to put up too many neeways. But urm, the part about leaving a comment telling them they've won the Beautiful Blogger Award urm... heh.

So i end this post here ya eh wait. got random things about myself lor.

Oh. Urm. Okay la.

#1: I have quirks

Yes, I have many quirks which are frankly, annoying and disturbing. For example: I need to cut cakes in perfect slices. I have a drain-phobia. I have a speed-phobia. I don't like the look of lotus roots but I love eating them. I cannot eat chicken or pork innards but beef innards are fine by me. I like the smell of air-conditioning in the car in the morning when it gets switched on. I hate the smell of raw chicken, but raw pork is fine.

#2: I avoid carrots on PRINCIPLE, but I don't actually hate them

This is my parents' fault. I avoid carrots, but I don't actually hate them. I refuse to eat it sometimes because I can. It's the principle. Now that I am old enough to decide what I put inside my mouth, I shall decide to NOT eat carrots. Hah!

#3: I like the smell of books; the older the better

I may die from mould between books or dust allergies someday, thanks to my habit of sniffing old books - books which have yellowed, books which are new. I smell them all. I absolutely love the musty, woody, sweet (when old) scent of books.

#4: I am a loyal follower of the Brainz Assembly, of which I am top aide to my Sensei

I am not allowed to describe the Brainz Assembly without prior permission from my Boss, sorry.

#5: I am super-animated when I talk

My hands do more talking than I do sometimes. And that is quite something, because I talk a LOT. A LOT. Like, A LOT. You know. Very the Many. Ya. Liddat. See?

#6: I have not eaten Maggi Mee for 10 years

I refuse to eat Maggi Mee. This is a fact that has puzzled everyone I know. I am utterly grossed out by Maggi Mee for this reason: (take popcorn its going to be a long story)

Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Pau-chan. Her brother ate a bowl of Maggi Mee, and had left the bowl in the sink. When she proceeded to wash the bowl for him, the leftover noodles and bits of onions from his meal clogged the kitchen sink. Soon, the sink filled up to over half with oily, greasy, horrid-smelling water that swirled and glooped.

It was par non, the most disgusting thing she'd ever seen, and she had the misfortune of delving deep into the toxic waste to declog the sink hole. She scrubbed and scrubbed with anti-grease detergent but the oiliness never left her hands, and the smell of the leftover soup + detergent made her nauseous.

As of such, she vowed never to eat/consume/sniff/taste such a disgusting concoction ever again, and has, to date, kept to the promise for the past 10 years or so. Thank you, the End. Besides, it is so chock-full of MSG nobody should eat it unless he/she are looking to pickle their organs.

#7: I love serial killer movies

Mad serial killer? Check. Cat and mouse game in which the detective races to solve the clues? Check. Violent and psychological torture? Check. That 'moment' of truth? Check. Whales and Dino in front of TV, watching avidly? CHECK.

yeah i damn tired now la kthxbye.

Approbation, Pictures, Friends

2010-03-20T14:50:00.004+08:00

And so, in a most belated update (sorry I've been busy, my brains were fried last week, didn't you hear, haha) I will now post up

THE SANDMAN: Preludes and Nocturnes

It is undeniably the most incredible birthday present ever. Err, except for my Bro's. Bro, you da bomb. Ya. Um. Anyway. I have wanted, lusted, longed and desired the Sandman graphic novels by Neil Gaiman, but have never taken that first step to actually BUY them.

That is because the RM 68.20 price tag is so cheap la, of course. But now that I own the first volume, I have an excuse to buy the other 10. Of course. It's ONLY RM 682. No biggie. AT all.

And also, the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, from Jeembie. Very nice gift, it's about time I found out how to survive the destruction of Earth. *nods* 2012, you know. Thanks Jeembie ^^,

So thank you, THANK YOU guys. You guys are fantabulous.

And speaking of FANTABULOUS....

PLACEBO! Attended their concert on Tuesday night. Was already buzzed on two pints of beer and hence, enjoyed it marvellously. But without a doubt they are serious about their music. One and a half hours of solid, acid-trippy music! I love concerts.

Other stuff I love? My dogs.

Maya is currently pouting because her position as Top Dog has been usurped by this fellow below.

Who, if I may say, is happy to do just that. Look at him. Isn't he cute? YEAH HE DID THAT ONE MONTH AGO AND NOW HE'S EATING ME BROKE.

And because no blog is complete without some pretty....

NAH. Flowers. Enjoy.

Goodbye, goodnight, and THANK YOU, MY FRIENDS.

QU

2010-03-12T16:26:00.002+08:00

A very, very brief update.

My colleagues are getting ready for their trip to JB, and I am not going. I can hear their hubbub in the background, through my enormous headphones. They sound excited.

I think something died inside me.

Anyways, this update is to just share with everyone what my WONDERFUL AMAZING FRIENDS gave me for my birthday. Pics on the way.

From the foursome of K, V, LM and Bra:

NEIL GAIMAN'S SANDMAN VOL.1.

*DIES* when I saw it I was like OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD. XD

And from Jeembie:

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which I am halfway through and I am laughing my ass off all through it as well.

Okay that's it for now. Pics, and full approbation to friends coming later.

Of Flaming Lamborghini and Black Russian

2010-03-06T10:01:00.003+08:00

And luckily I did not use plurals to describe them both. Or I would have died from an alcohol overdose. HAHAHAHA - okay, not funny actually. Ahem.

Yesterday, 5th of March, 2 days post-birthday: Colleagues JA, Ivn, Rchd, LJS and CK conspired to intoxicate me to the extent I start dancing on poles. KR was designated 'drive P-chan home once she is drunk'.

BUT ahaha. I did not dance on poles. In fact, I am frickin' good at drinking. I WAS drunk, yes, make no mistake. And I did puke, yes, make no mistake.

BUT I WAS IN CONTROL. Muahahahaha.

So now I sit before my laptop, feeling kinda heady and giddy and sleepy. As I sms-ed my colleague, I am no worse for wear - the hangover is not so much a hangover as it is a kind of loopy feeling. Which is kind of unpleasant but not unbearable.

BUT by God's good name. NEVER AGAIN. I solemnly vow to not touch beer for AT LEAST A MONTH. Serious. I've had enough alcohol to last me for at least ten years.

So here is what happened. (Pictures are terrible, but it was very dark.)

7+ in the evening:

L-R: Rchd, CK, Ivn, JA. Best colleagues ever. (out of pic is JA's BF)

Arrive at Library, Cineleisure, found a nice seat and yes, witness the beer glasses. Lol. It was bright and sunshiney and the beer was already flowing. But beer is beer right, so it's okay for me. I can handle two pints easy. So we are drinking and I am feeling all warm and fuzzy and happy right.

Then night-time came. And LJ showed up. Yeah, by then I was kinda gone so, no pics, sorry. Haha.

The scenery in Library at night. That's all I managed to capture before the Flaming Lamborghini came.

Ahhh where do I begin with the Flaming Lamborghini? How about the recipe? The ingredients are a combination of blue curacao, coffee liqueur (Bailey's and Kahlua's) and erm, yeah. It doesn't sound too bad, but drinking THAT was an adventure in itself.

What happens is the blue curacao is lighted up and goes up in flames. Then they pour the blue liquid through a chute of sorts, and into a small shot of Kahlua's and Bailey's at the end. Once the coffee liqueur has flames on it's surface, you drink it through a straw, all in one gulp.

Goddamn delicious. Hur hur hur. Really, really nice because I love Bailey's. (In other circumstances that would have sounded dirty.)

So that wasn't so bad. Have had already 5 glasses (small) of beer and feeling supremely woozy. World was all fuzzy, glasses came off (so I don't break it) and face was hot as heck. Things were suddenly really, really niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.

I was talking a fair bit of crap too. Can't remember what I said but judging from the delighted faces of my colleagues, it must have been awesome blackmail material.

And so there I was, singing off-key, swaying to the music (I was swaying anyway from the alcohol) and having shit-loads of fun.

Then the Black Russian came. He took the rest of me to the toilet. In a good way. (Yeah, that sounds dirty NOW.)

But make no mistake. It was DAMN tasty too. (At this point, JA kidnapped my phone to update my Twitter in a most drunken manner, IT WASN'T ME.)

The Black Russian was courtesy of Adrn, JA's BF, who told me that he would be deeply offended if I did not down the whole glass. So I did. Because you musn't offend people.

So I did.

In it is a mix of coffee liqueur and vodka. Yeap. VODKA. The Russian H2O. Super nice.

And it was Mr. Black Russian who had me at the loo, twice, puking my guts out. But despite all that, I was still cracking jokes. Ask KR and JA if you don't believe me. I RAWK.

Beer count by then 6 glasses. I think.

SO the equation last night was:

1 Flaming Lamborghini + 1 Black Russian + 6 beers + (4 x puking) = ONE HECKUVA AWESOME BIRTHDAY.

THANK YOU THANK YOU to all. I shall remember this birthday for the rest of my life.

AND MOST OF ALL to KR; who brought me home safe and sound.

And now I shall leave everyone who knows me with their jaws hanging at my drunken behaviour. Sorry guys. Work has devoured the goody-two-shoe Whales you know.

In her place is a not-so-good Whales who, finally, has learnt to have some adult fun.

(GEEZ that is the dirtiest, I am signing off now. BYE)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEEMBIE!

2010-03-04T10:23:00.006+08:00

And yes, it has to be all caps too. Hahaha. On the title summore. Hur hur.

Yeap, so yesterday wuz my Birthday. Today also my birthday. YES, FOLKS, I WAS BORN TWICE! SUCH IS MY AWESOME-NESS.

No la. I wasn't born twice. I just discovered Jesus.

*halo settles upon brow, angels singing choirs in background*

It's my birthday post okay so I'll blog what I want to. Take that. Muahaha.

All stupid lame jokes aside, my birthday this year was a phenomenal success which left me feeling thoroughly loved. For that, the biggest shout out has to go to the people who made it possible!

DRUMROLL! *in no particular order*

To colleague JA, she went with Mr.H to buy me a cake; Chocolate Indulgence from Secret Recipe summore. And took/posted pics of me on FB with cake covering my teeth. XD.

That's intern RD's hands, polishing off the cake. This pic is of the remnants of the cake. Hur hur.

To Mr. H; who makes my job SUPERCALLIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS. ^^,

To Dzmn; who gave me my first DESIGNER notebook, from Kenzo, it is indeed lovely.

To ALL MY FRIENDS; who posted, commented and Facebook-ed (and blog-wished) me Happy Birthday. 8am in the morning and sudah ada 7 bday wishes. A special shout out to LM, who wished me possibly the BESTest and FUNNIEST b-day wish ever!

(verbatim from her sms: Happy Birthday pauline! May God bless u wif love, laughter n health dis year. of cos, may The Way of the Zombies lead u to glory. Ahem, now go n weed d Garden of Lurching Blossoms.)

Like I said, best Bday wish ever.

To my Family: who are the people I love the most in this friggin' world.

Special shout-out to Dino, who cooked up a storm consisting of red bean soup, pasta, and stew ala Dino.

Also to sis, who bought me two lovely bracelets, and to MOMMY, who cleaned up after a massive cookout by Dino. That is a GREAT gift okay. Cleaning up after Dino is like tackling the aftermath of a stampede, except this stampede also involves eggs and milk and flour in all combinations.

And to my Big Bro; who called me at 7pm to ask: "OI. What Book You Want?" Best gift ever. I love getting books as gifts (hint hint hint).

Below is the Bday prez haul for 2010. Hur hur.

Right: Kenzo notebook from Dzmn, left: Bro's gift of Sunset.

Sis's bracelet gift. Wearing the one on the left now.

Sigh. I happy.

Alice in Friggin' Wonderland

Now, it may seem impossible that your industry be giving you Bday gifts, but my industry does. Being a Journo means GETTING TO SEE ALICE IN WONDERLAND in 3D for FREE BEFORE EVERYBODY ELSE.

And you know what's even better? I still am young and naive enough to get BLOODY excited over such things. Oh, and a TEA PARTY, of course!

Yes, it's Johnny!

The food was all AIW-themed too.

And that includes the waiter. He had an accent too!

The queen holds court.

More food

The entire pre-screening party was held at the Melium Galleria, Suria KLCC. It was nice, turnout was major BIG.

Now, we turn to the movie ITSELF.

Which, since I saw it in glorious 3D, was just plain friggin' beautiful. I shall rest my case here, I don't want to spoil it for anyone. If you're curious, go read a review on it in the No. 1 Youth Paper called Malaysian Today. Hur, hur hur hur. The review very good one. Great writing style. I know the writer personally.

Hur, hur, hur, hur.

So thanks again everyone, and I end here. Boss walking up and down and it is no longer safe to continue blogging.

Goodbye!

Bunny go Popcorn

2010-02-28T23:14:00.002+08:00

A weird bunny-shaped popcorn to start your day; me and sis at the movies for 'Percy Jackson and the Guy Who Stole Zeus' Thunder But I Don't Care Because Poseidon is Hotter'. Yeah. Sorry its so blur. My sis' hands kenot keep still one.

Anyhows, so I am not asleep, it's late. So the update gonna be brief, with some pictures for your entertainment.

More flowers, also with the handphone camera. Discovered that the camera is only very adequate. But ah well. It never boasted camera prowess so never mind.

One more Lucky picture. He is getting incredibly fat. Or, at least, much fatter than before. Maya is still, I report, not happy. And getting wounds and sores. I am terribly worried. Need to buy disinfecting cream.

So okay I am going to be very busy this next week - but friends, family, colleague, random stranger reading this and thinking WTF - I am always free for some socialising. I think I just discovered how fun it is to go out, have a drink, talk about everything and nothing with a group of friends.

I think I like being an adult.

So till next post, byeeeeee.

Being Hardworking Does Not Pay

2010-02-23T18:48:00.003+08:00

But you didn't read that.

Rain outside started at 6pm, JUST AS I WANTED TO LEAVE. The sun was fierce at 5.30pm, but lo! behold! it was a trick. The rain that now traps me inside office is fiercer, and lashes against the windows.... urm, fiercely.

(I HAVEN'T HAD DINNER SO MY VOCABULARY DIED OKAY? DON'T JUDGE ME)

I am afraid it will go on till later, much later.

But since I am here, with nothing else to do, I shall blog.

What shall I blog about?

Oh I don't know. How does a meme sound? And a few videos of some seriously funny shit? Good? Bad? You don't care because you don't read my nonsensical blog posts anyway, and just skip to cute dog pictures?

(of Lucky, especially, because he is now the friskiest, lickiest, stupidest mutt ever?)

Okay.

NAH.

OKAY so I haven't been updating so much

2010-02-20T12:53:00.002+08:00

... about anything else BUT Lucky. Can't help it. This is my first step to my Destiny.

For the uninitiated, I am destined to be an eccentric (and hopefully rich) writer with six dogs and a dusty mansion filled with rare books.

*moment of pure bliss*

I simply cannot imagine a couple of kids running around and messing with my books. Maybe if you ask me a few years down the road I may change my mind but for now I rather think I would like six dogs and a dusty mansion-full of books. And the dogs can be mongrels or not; a Jack Russell terrier may be nice but mongrels are fine.

On a side note, a conversation with new intern R and colleague KR made me notice how utterly boring I actually am. My hobbies, after all, are reading, writing, cooking, baking and (yes, sorry, I know) cross-stitching (I don't too much of that no more cuz' I ain't got time).

KR says I am going to make a man a good wife someday but I rather think men don't want wives who happen to be nearly 6 feet tall and have brains of addled old hunting dogs with generally sunny dispositions.

For Chinese boys I think they prefer the delicate Chinese rose with pale skin and long straight hair and with a gentle voice that is never raised when they get excited or happy. Don't think they like the large, tall, loud writer who talks too much and won't admit she's a bit of a romantic. (Oh bugger I just did.)

I think I will wait for my Mr. Right - who, by the way, I envision will love me, just the way I am: height, disposition, odd habits and all. He will look, quite by accident, a little bit like Johnny Depp but that's not a necessity. Hur hur.

I think I just want someone who will see me as is, and like me for it. I know a guy like that - but Fate is also best friends with Irony and so.... (never mind)

Okay so a very long side note. I am distracted easily. ANywaYYYY.

So work is hectic, fun, non-hectic, non-fun, scary, exciting, boring, incredible and amazing all at the same time. I think it can be summed to one word:

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

I think that's how it's spelt. It means exactly what it says. ^^,

Also, I am experiencing that wonderful thing called Freedom for the first time in my life. I can go where I please and do what I please now that my parents have decided I am old enough to not get into trouble but am young enough to get a BIG kick out of having clean fun with friends.

Yeah, so I am not increasing my chances with eligible, nice, single male readers of my blog if I mentioned I am a very naive and cloistered sort of person. I like to believe the best in people. An old NS friend once accused me of being 'lurus bendul' in a very exasperated sort of way.

But give me time okay! I promise I will get in trouble and be exciting and mysterious and sexy (HAHAHAHAHAHA) and all that good, guy-attracting stuff!

*writes down in notebook under How To Be Exciting*

(you're thinking: WTF she has to WRITE DOWN how to be exciting???!! Eh, I write down everything. Journalist mah.)

Okay, so now I am about to ruin my own work-rep. (You know who you are! XP) But if you can't be honest in your blog then where else?

(Oh actually..... on second thought.... HOW ABOUT OTHER PLACES BESIDES THE WWW?)

I have always secretly suspected I have issues. It's been proven.

I think I am going to shut it now.

Goodbye.

Lucky, Baking and Competent Cameras

2010-02-15T16:10:00.004+08:00

Allow me to delight you and amaze you with a picture of Lucky. He is now, I happily report, fatter than ever (haha, which is not much, seeing he was really a bag of bones before) and extremely affectionate. He does, however, have abandonment issues, as is witnessed by his over-exuberance at being petted and paid attention to. And his howling when we go out la.

He is admittedly a handful - still not getting along with Maya, who, I unhappily report, still tries to exert control over him, and ending up with a wound on her bushy tail as a result. Dumb mutt.

But in all aspects, he is a good dog. Not much noise, very disciplined (never poops in the house) and very very loving. Still trying to claw our faces off with love and affection, unfortunately, seeing that he's paw reach up to my chest. MY chest. Friggin' long legs.

(like owner, hur hur hur hur)

Ah, and here, we have a picture taken by my 3.2 mp Nokia 5530; very competent indeed. A simple flower taken outside of Grandpa's home in PJ. Yes, my hometown is PJ. I am a KL girl so CNY for me is all quiet streets. Kthxbye.

Anyhows, tis' a quick update really. Oh, and I've been baking like mad. Butter cookies, butter cake, marble cake and a semi-successful cotton cheesecake. Rawr. I'll get even soon!

Yeah ok I have to go cook/prepare/fry fattening foods now.

Bye.

Aiyo Lucky! Lucky! OI LUCKY AAAAARGH NO.

2010-02-04T15:12:00.006+08:00

Hello everyone!

My name is still Lucky, and yes, my owner is still a sucker. I've put on some weight (though my ribs are still showing) and I am friskier than ever! Two weeks now, hehe. They are too attached to me to let me go! Ah, life is good. Please. Feel free to 'awwww' at my floppy ear.

Yeah so there is Lucky, still thin, but now part of the family. He has begun to show Maya who is boss, too, and doing some very sexual non-sexual things on her.

Y'know. Like pawing her and biting her neck and jumping on her and stuff. But Maya is a bona fide diva, so she couldn't be bothered with a ragamuffin like him. But yeah. He's adjusting nicely to life with the Wongs; though the same could not be said for the Wongs, who, with the exception of one Wong, is still adjusting to having him paw on them when they leave the house.

Or taking him out so he can take the Browns to the SuperGrass or when he needs a feeding. Which he does. Several times a day.

But he is uber frisky, uber active and supremely pleased with himself. I also suspect he adores me quite a bit - so far I am the only one he will rush to when I call him. I think I am uncomfortable with such love. Maya doesn't love me half as much (she loves my sis more, because my sis feeds her and I, well, BATHE her) and if you think it's ridiculous dogs can pilih kasih then you are clearly wrong because dogs have favorites, just like human beings. So there.

Anyway so yeah. He's busy tripping me over and yanking the chain when I take him out for walks so he's a handful. Really, REALLY deep, forceful bark though. You'd expect that bark to come out of a vicious dog like Bra-man's Kane rather than on a skinny mongrel with a sissy name like Lucky.

AND! He's got this adorable floppy ear. I think I died a little over that ear. Damn cute.

Gong Xi Gong Xi: GODDAMIT ENUFF WITH THE CHINESE BEAT- BOXING ALREADY

In the words of Douglas Lim, I HATE CHINESE NEW YEAR MUSIC. No offense to those of you who DO like it.

But if you're here at my blog, then you're here because you

(a) read my blog because you have no life

(b) are a friend of mine and thus, read my blog because you have no life (or else you'd be friends with people like D.Lim and D. Iking and all the cool D.s of the world)

HATE CHINESE NEW YEAR MUSIC (too).

All that 'tong tong chang' is driving me crazy. If I never hear another 'gong xi' again it will be too soon. Slowly, but surely, I will go stark raving mad from the repetitious, annoying, ingratiating and dulcet tunes of the perpetually festive. Especially the ones they play in shopping malls.

And the worse part is, there is no appropriate pooh-pooh statement for it. Not like Xmas, when you can say Bah, Humbug. But for CNY? What are you going to say?

'Bah...ahh...Pak Choy?"

Nope. Not quite the same.

Yeah so that aside, CNY preps are coming along like a fish in water, or like Lucky on antibiotics. The ingredients for the baked goods are bought, ready to be turned into delicious (though slightly limited) varieties of cookies, cakes and erm, cookies.

So there is saving my mom some money on cookies. ^^, And with waaay better ingredients than what a factory processed bunch of cookies have. At least I use proper vanilla extract, and not vanilla FLAVOURING! (disgusting!). And butter, not, erm, fake cow's stuff. Okay so wrong I shut up now.

Anyhoos.

Here is some festive CNY cheer.

TIGER DANCE! (not the Thai kind. And certainly not the kind with FLESH exposed)

The poor guy being frightened is a member of the events management company that we share an office with.

Rawr. Er. Meow. Er. Oh f-it. Let's just be cute and be done with.

Tiger Dance in the office. Hur hur. Apparently sponsored by Tiger Beer (figures) and cans of Tiger beer was supposed to be downstairs also. But I wouldn't know anything about that, no.

*swig swig*

Ahem.

But that's all for now, folks. I AM looking forward to CNY, despite my grumpiness, and I hope this year will be a good one!

Meet Lucky.

2010-01-23T15:53:00.003+08:00

Hi. I'm Lucky. I was wandering pitifully around the neighbourhood when I smelled out the writer of this blog. I knew she'd be a sucker for me so I licked her and followed her home. Heh. Heh. Heh. Behold my floppy ears and my sad brown eyes.

And so began the story of Lucky.

Coming home one night (last Tuesday to be precise) I stumbled into an all-black, extremely skinny mongrel who was wandering lost... on the street where I live. (say that sing-song and man, isn't that fun?)

He was sort of looking pitiful and lost and was standing behind Bra-man's car (Bra generously dropped me home, thanks Bra!), so I gesticulated wildly that "BRA GOT DOG BEHIND YOUR CAR, CAREFUL"

When the dog did not budge, I beckoned it to me.

With only the splittest of seconds of hesitation, he came towards me and licked my hands. Within minutes, I was his best friend. Needless to say, when I saw how many ribs were sticking out from his skin-and-bone body, my heart broke.

I coaxed him into my house, and despite Maya's ridiculous barking, he followed. I opened a can of dog food, and lo! He fell upon it with such hunger I felt like crying.

Immediately I knew two things: He's no stray and he's been lost/abandoned for weeks, minimum.

First of all, he's extremely friendly, and despite being quite a large dog (once he puts on weight again), he's gentle. Strays run when you approach because they are suspicious of people; and so my conclusion (taking in good condition of teeth and the would-be glossy fur also) is that he is a lost/abandoned pet dog, from probably very far away.

And it's easy to see he's been wandering lost for a long, long time. No dog is that skinny. If nobody had picked him up in a week or so more, he would have died of starvation.

And I think the world would just be that much worse a place for it.

So yeah.

Maya is not taking to him all too well, but then again she's Queen of the Porch. She'll just have to accept there's a King now.

For now, he's being fed and pumped with vitamins and proteis and all that good stuffz. Hopefully, in a few weeks, I can post another pic of him looking glossy, healthy and FAT.

Day Two of Project 365 and A Very Busy Day

2010-01-05T20:07:00.002+08:00

So it's day numero dos of Project 365. I think this picture accurately describes my day:

They the glass is always half-empty, but the Starbucks cup is always 3/4 empty. Very odd.

This was taken at Starbucks in the Gardens, just after my first interview for the day. Note the pretty-much empty cup, the sweat beads.

The sweat beads are the ones that describe how I feel about the work for the day (coverfeaturenewsroundupgossipspottedcheckitoutOKAYokayIcandothis). It is a cup of Toffee Orange frapp, by the way. Too, too sweet but delicious. And the fact that it is COFFEE it quite encapsulates how my brains run. The same way cars need petrol, my BRAINs need COFFEE. It's just the way of the world.

Take away my coffee and you have absolute pandemonium. I may become a zombie and chew your arm off, then polish off your kidney for dessert. Don't say I didn't warn you.

But yeah so today was mad hectic. Had three interviews back to back and then 3 stories to write when I got into office. Also got to worry about video content now, but that is more kill-two-birds-with-one-DVDcamcorder.

I like it though. I thrive on being busy and bustling and stressed out. Makes me feel really good when it is done and I can Facebook in peace. Err you didn't read that.

Anyhoos, yeah so here is Day Two's pic. Hmm I may be jumping guns a little but I think this is one project I may actually keep.

Day 1 of Project 365

2010-01-04T21:21:00.003+08:00

Project 365

A project V intro-ed to me, which, despite all laziness and attempts to imitate a sloth, I will try so hard my nose bleeds to keep to it. So here is the picture I chose for Day 1.

"It's elementary, dear Watson. The writer staring at us is a Nutjob."

Two 'posters' which I stuck to my cubicle after I cleared my desk for the New Year of work. Not actually posters but the canibalised parts of a folder the PR people gave me. Hahaha. I cut out only the RDJr parts la of coz. The one with Rachel McAdams I buang edy sorry.

Reason I chose the photo: Just trying to psyche me up for work... it being first day at work for 2010 and all. And I am currently a member for life at the RDJr Club of Crazed Fans. One of our life-long goals is the adoration of RDJr and the chanting of spells to keep him alive forever and ever and ever and eveeeerrrr. I mean, if 2009 was the year of celebrity death, then 2010 must be the year of celebrity immortality.

Muahahahahaha. MUAHAHAHAHAHA. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

But here is another picture I took on the way to the LRT of a very pretty bird actually. But somehow when I snapped this the eyes turned out really, really weird. Kind of like a zombie bird. So since I am currently also obsessed with zombies (it will pass, I am not THAT big a fan of rotting meat walkign towards me wanting to eat my brains, but I am obsessed now because L4D2 is awesome and Zombieland is amazing and Plants VS Zombies is the best game ever created.)

Zombie bird ya'll. Flee. Run. Scarper. You know. Do all that.

Yeah so that's it for today's update. More tomorrow!

2009-12-31T12:22:00.002+08:00

The Five Most IRRITATING Types of LRT Takers,
by Pauline Wong

The Spread-Legged Citizens of Wide Open

Typical Physical Profile: Male, of varying ages, usually less than 3 feet tall and incredibly eager to overcompensate by occupying as much seat as humanly possible.

Typical Psychological Profile: Suffers from ribald jokes of being small, tiny, miniscule, microscopic or minute on a regular basis, is deeply traumatized for life and hence must take two seats with one leg, fill two spots with one body, and possibly wear two shoes for one foot (for extra height).

Standard Operating Procedure: Sits slumped on the seat, legs spread wide open enough to knock into your knees and provide enough visual feasts to unwanted and unwelcomed displays of male anatomy. Also, often digs elbows into next person, a task learnt with great aplomb from:

The Elbow Digger, Inside a Train, D-I-G-G-I-N-G

Typical Physical Profile: Male and female of a usually past-it age. Average height. SHARP, sharp elbows. Jaw thrust out, sits absolutely rigid in seat.

Typical Psychological Profile: Inconsideration is his/her middle name. Had tragic childhood experiences of never being able to fill the spaces between life and love; hence feels the need to fill space between your sides and his/her side with healing power of ELBOLOGY. Digs into your side with every action, due to a need to feel connected constantly.

Standard Operating Procedure: Taking out phone from pocket? Dig. Looking for something in bag? Poke. Sitting around daydreaming like the rest of us during a 40-minute journey? Must sit with elbows sticking out. Does not respond to repeated hisses of irritation or to annoyed shifting-in-seat.

The Motor Mouth Monster

Typical Physical Profile: Male and female of all ages. Does not have specific nor distinct physical characteristics other than a very very very very active mouth and volumes that defy sound barriers.

Typical Psychological Profile: While it is safe to say that it gets awfully dreadful sitting in the train alone, none of the drudgery of LRT can excuse the Motor Mouth. This person talks at the top of his/her voice, past even the all-out rock melodies of 30 Seconds to Mars and the screeching of the LRT. Often dulcet, definitely unctuous, this voice is the one you cannot escape, come earplugs or earphones. He/she has opinions on everything from Najib to Never-neverland and can’t. stop. talking. Possibly suffers from severe self-love, brought about by deprived childhood. Person sitting next to this Monster Mouth is the one with the glazed eyes, flushed cheeks and KILLMENOW look. Note: Nobody talks in the LRT because it is a time for contemplative reflection on the day’s work.

Standard Operating Procedure: IgottohavethisbagItellyouthisismydreambesidesopeningashopsellingshoesandbagsIalsowantedttocelebrateNewYear’sEvebutareyoudoinganythinglaterOMGIhatemybossandheissuchaprickandAvatarissuchagoodmoviebutIwishIsawitin3DDidyouhearaboutSarahyesterdayatworkshecriedbecauseherboyfrienddumpedherandshe*DEEPBREATH*couldnottakethepressureandthensheOMGdidyourealiseIhavejustbeentalkingforthelasthalfhournonstopHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

The BAG Lady

Typical Physical Profile: Have no idea. Bag’s too big to see past and identify the perpetrator’s physical profile.

Typical Psychological Profile: The female version of the Spread-Legged. Uses enormous bag to occupy more space than necessary, and does not bother to carry it in a less obtrusive way. After all, her psychologist told her the world is hers. Hers alone. There is no one behind, infront, next to or around her because she spent her life with an overbearing mother, and she is beyond that now. She also has a phobia of not having enough space to put her bowling equipment in her bag, and constantly needs to feel secure by carrying her garden tools with her at all times, just in case.

Standard Operating Procedure: GIANORMOUS bag, placed exactly where IT will poke, prod, obstruct and potentially disembowel anyone who comes in contact with IT.

Couple’s Retreat: Tale of Two Morons

Typical Physical Profile: Also have no idea. They are too glued together to be identified separately. Can be determined to be male and female but this is not a hard and fast rule. However, they can be found at entrances/exits of the train, locked in heated embrace and blocking the entrance/exit.

Typical Psychological Profile: Love is in the air. Love is in the train. Love is where the heart is. Love is also when they successfully make another’s life just that little bit harder by blocking the exits as the doors DING DONG to a close. Deprived? No. Enlightened and loving.

Standard Operating Procedure: Nearest exit? Check. Place bodies strategically to obstruct disembarking passengers, even though train is empty? Check. Gag-inducing kisses and canoodles? Check. Irate writer of a youth newspaper whose life is made harder when she is blocked from exiting and is SMASHED by train doors on her attempt to land at Wangsa Maju? Check. Oh isn’t this fun, darling?

On the first day of Christmas

2009-12-25T02:32:00.002+08:00

my true love gave to me: a pile of brown, erm, excrement.

Because that is what dogs do, and Maya is just like any other dog except that her fur is an alien extension sent to Earth to scruffy-fy me to death.

But that aside.

I found myself kneeling at the church pews

... my knees slipping on the wood because I have on a pair of trousers made of a butter-smooth material. It's a Christmas midnight mass, and you can already tell I am a prude with no life: I attend church in the middle of the night and then go home to blog about at 2.30am in the morning. No wild parties Sir, I promise. No booze for me either.

But I find myself thanking Him that I made it through the year - 2009 was a year of such new, amazing, incredible experiences for me I shall be a bit sorry it has to end. I have 5 days left on it, and I plan to waste it entirely on movies and sleep.

I also found myself praying to Him that I will fall in love with a person I have not met, and then perhaps put bygones as bygones, and move on. Pray also that my family is safe, and secure, and above all else, happy. And we are happy. Mostly poor, sometimes unwise and foolish, but happy.

(I think He listens, you know. It's just that He's got this lousy-ass secretary who gives Him his messages a few years too late. So hard to find good help these days.)

But listen to me. Getting all sentimental. I blame the silent night. Family asleep upstairs. The Internet all to myself.

2009 -

I made mistakes I regret till today.

I made choices I probably will not regret for the rest of my life. I also made choices I will regret for the rest of my life.

I suceeded in many areas, I failed in equally as many. I lived through expereinces that come once in a lifetime, I missed opportunities equally as rare.

I did so many things right and wrong this year. I grew up a little, regressed a little. Fell back on old habits and got rid of some. Said the right thing and said the wrong. Put on some weight and lost some. Ahem.

Told as much truth as I could, lied also when I had to.

Helped out a few people, stabbed some in the back too.

Took some sound beatings, relished some victories.

Learn a lot, and lost a lot.

Loved and then lost it, only to have it flare up every so often when the nights are quiet.

Some things made clear, some things made murkier.

It WAS some year.

2010-

I want to fall in love; have my hands held, my feet swept and my heart stolen. I want to move on, forget, accept and stop praying for things that can never be. I want to feel special, and I want to see me reflected in someone else's eyes exactly as I am. I want to be loved for me.

I want my Mom to be okay. I want her to be healthy, and safe, and happy. More than that, I want to be able to help her be all those things.

No matter what I want to keep the friendships I have alive, and kicking, and as mad as it is right now.

I need my job to be okay.

I want to grow up and be less stupid.

I would like to say I want to be rich, but that would be pushing it because I am already asking God for Perfection. Heh.

And the night is melting into morning.

so I have to be in bed, asleep. My eyes are closing.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

And they sent me a cap. A Red Canon Cap

2009-12-16T17:31:00.002+08:00

to of course, take the sting out of waiting a billion hours for them to come to a decision of whose picture was the best, after a catastrophic muck-up with their server systems. That was delightful. A most wonderful compensation for the hours of my life I will never ever get back. I think I will wear that RED CANON CAP everywhere from now on because I totally love it.

I thought I had lost sarcasm, but it turns out losing my precious life-minutes can have strange effects on the Sarcasmic Hormone. Increases and all that.

So okay because you guys been holding your breaths for an update (ha ha, wah, I am such an a$$) here is what's been going on:

'Change is Imminent!'

posted a colleague on Facebook. And change IS imminent. Both at work and in my personal life.

Both have to do with money problems, and both are inescapable and currently unsolvable. At least, in my position, both situations have had me helpless and floundering about awaiting orders. Both situations also involve heads that are figuratively decapitated and currently not doing what heads do - which is to LEAD, and DIRECT.

Both have also had me terribly worried and wondering: What's next?

(I noticed I just typed out the previous sentence in 'house' style of caps after a ':'. Proof that work has officially made me mad)

An odd fascination with Baked Goods

in the form of butter cookies, a fruit cake and two butter cakes. Baked over the past weekend or so and so far, devoured with gusto by non-discerning family members who clearly possess too much love for me to have much in the way of good tastebuds.

Mommy being the Number One culprit of Eating What's Not That Great Because I Love the Baker.

But my butter cake and butter cookies are good, even my own tastebuds agree. And we all know how my tastebuds have the tendency to be reliable, but slightly prone to emotional attachments. Trust me. The most horrible thing (now that I think it over) I ever ate as a child (those horrific waxy chocolates made of wax and erm, chocolate) is something I still enjoy ten years down the road.

But by Jove, those cheap chocos are god-awful beyond imagining. But I like 'em.

Back to my baking yeah so the fruit cake was a bit disastrous. Edible, but disastrous. It's kinda finishing. Mainly because Mommy eats them and says they are good.

Again, I love Mommy. It's like I painted a horrible painting of two decapitated cows (which were intended to be two cute dogs) and have my Mommy hang it on the wall proudly.

And I need to say this again, because I am endlessly lame: I love Mommy.

A Sleuth or Two

To start my Wednesday morning, with a small telling-off for going for a 'fun' assignment. I think I don't have much to say about that, but I rather feel that it's best if Editorial wasn't quite so lean. But LEAN is an understatement. EMACIATED, I think, is better.

So the sleuth, it's Robert Downey Jr. in Sherlock Holmes, and I rather think it was a fantastic effort even though director Guy Richie is dodgy at best. The actors made the movie work in such a fun way I enjoyed the movie thoroughly, even though RDJr had a strange and inconsistent British accent.

(Work on it, Rob ol' boy, and when you've got the Queen's English down to a pat, you come down here and I will 'pat' you down aights? It's a date hunny. Call me.)

It also is an incredibly entertaining movie to watch with a huge gang of friends. Good friends who don't kick your chair or talk through the movie la. Select your cinema pals carefully, folks, and you're set for life.

Anyway. Great production, classy fight scenes, all-out rolicking romp and an amazingly nifty soundtrack provided by none other than Hans Zimmer. Nice one Mr Zimmer.

Let's kidnap RDJr and make sweet music with him tied up and gagged and gorgeously helpless on the floor with NO SHIRT ON. That's crucial, you know. Let's say it again. NO SHIRT - DAMN, NO CLOTHES ON.

(sorry, but I had to just take this oppportunity to present to the world what a bleedin' lech I am inside)

So yeah. I suspect some incredibly gag-inducing gay/yaoi fanfiction will soon be written by crazy girls all over the world (and who knows, maybe a crazy BOY), because the chemistry between Jude Law's Watson and RDJr's Holmes is sizzlingly-worthy of an olden-day Hollywood bro-mance.

You know. Two straight guys who are like, 'tight' and are like, loyal to each other and like, tough but vulnerable with each other and like -

WTF Pauline you need to stop talking/writing/thinking.

Yeah, go watch it and don't let my lech ways stop you.

A beautiful gift from someone I thought no longer loves me

Materialistic sounding though it is, it takes a Swatch to make me see that maybe my brother does still love me (and my sis) very, very much after all. Not because its a Swatch (and I've wanted one forever) but because he knew I wanted one forever.

I guess I am confused. And I guess I need to learn that family really means sacrifice and not being calculative. Sacrifice I know, but calculative maybe I am still a bit in the dark. Maybe I should stop listening to people who tell me what it isn't fair or that isn't right.

Because in family, fair isn't a word that applies. It's family for gard's sake. And families eat your crappy baked goods and then say its delicious.

I need to love my family more. Because my family IS, really, ALL I have. Besides good friends la. But my friends are mad, they belong to a different category altogether.

So yeah.

I am on leave tomorrow. I am still in office, it's 6.20pm (I looked at my new Swatch to find that out) and it's getting pretty dark. It may rain, I dunno, but I am reluctant to leave because it's going to be so crowded in the train. I think I am going to wait a while la.

So I am going to load some YouTube videos, because I can and because pretty much everyone has left (and the bosses are away too) and I am going to re-watch Up or something. Then tonight, I am going to sleep like tomorrow I don't have to go to work.

Eh wait. Tomorrow I don't have to go to work.

Ooooh.

Hark the Starbucks Christmas Blend

2009-12-02T14:02:00.007+08:00

There are two things I love this time of year.

Much the same stuff, which I like all year round, I like food and new promotions. Christmas, in all it's ho-ho-ho, is awesome. I don't care much for family gatherings (except those that involve my Dino's cooking and my mom laughing) but I do love how various restaurants and shops have promotions and sales like it was going out of style - and it always seem extra cheap this time of year to get drunk, too.

And this year, my favourite restaurant promotion is Starbuck's Christmas Blend brewed coffee. It is a work of Barista art, and can only come from the bowels of the world's most resilient coffee chain - STARBUCKs.

And I get 20% off la, since I work with ______ mah. (sorry la, confidential mah)

For roughly 8 bucks a grande cup, it isn't cheap. But it IS the most awesomest cuppa coffee I ever had - stronger than an Americano, sweeter than an Expresso, richer than a Double Expresso, and ever so much tastier than the crap produced in Nescafe machines. I have no problem with Nescafe, by the way, but let's face it: it IS crap.

But you won't hear me knocking it, coz its caffeine and I LOVE CAFFEINE.

So in tribute to one of my fav celebrations and the GLORY THAT IS THE NEWLY BORN Starbucks Cup O' Christmas Blend. (you tot I would say Jesus, didn't u? didn't u?? HAH!)

Ahem.

So here goes:

Starbucks Night

Starbucks Blend,
Christmas Blend,
All is nice,
All is hot.
Round yon' Venti and Grande and Tall,
Holy Christmas, it's thirty-percent off,
Sip in heavenly peace,
Sip in heavenly peace.

Hark the Starbucks XMas Blend

Hark the Starbucks Christmas Blend,
Glory to the Venti Cup,
Piece of cake, behold it comes,
Offspring of a Baker's touch,
Strong they make the coffee taste,
Packs a punch when much in haste,
With th'angelic hosts proclaim,
Cups are born in Starbucksland,
Hark the Starbucks Christmas Blend,
Glory to the Venti Cup.

We Three Cups

We three cups of Starbucks are,
Bearing beans we traversed afar,
Steam and presses, cream and sugar,
following yonder (bari)star.

O cup of wonder, cup of life,
Shine with fragrant coffee bright,
Westward-leading still proceeding
Guide us to thy perfect light.

Rudolph the Caffeined Reindeer

Rudolph the Caffeined Reindeer,
Had some very tired eyes,
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it blows.

All of the other reindeers,
used to laugh and call him lame,
They never let poor Rudolph,
Join in any drinking games.

Then one groggy Christmas Eve,
Santa said to him,
Rudolph with your eyes so sore,
You can raid my coffee-store!

Then all of the reindeer loved him,
As they shouted out COFFEE,
Rudolph the Caffeined Reindeer,
you'll go down in history!

There are two conclusions in which you can draw.

First, I am stark raving mad.

Second, you feel the urge to call Starbucks to have them hire me.

Go fo the second. Thanks. Ciaaooo.

(UPDATE: Upon insistence by V-dearest, I TRADEMARK these songs. They belong to Pauline, also known fondly as Whales, and they were written while under the influence of a dangerous new drug called Starbucks Christmas Blend)

By the virtue of God

2009-11-14T15:41:00.005+08:00

and a very generous Singaporean PR company, I found myself in the presence of my favourite author and inside possibly one of THE best public transportation systems in the world (or at least this part of South-East Asia).

Behold!

Neil Gaiman drew me a RAT. One of THE top ten moments of my miserable, unfulfilled life. XP

He also signed off that he loved me. Possibly because I buy his books and continue to contribute to his already immense personal wealth.

And here he is with his GF, Amanda Palmer (of the Dresden Dolls). Shitty angle because I was too star-struck to ask for a picture with them.

A picture of Amanda during a VERY good one-time only private gig at the Chambers, Arts House Singapore.

And now, to the proper update: Pictures that I took during my trip; not much inside the Arts House itself, but that's because one does not take pictures like a friggin' tourist inside the building that once used to be the Parliament. The Arts House is an amazingly historical place and also very sombre, a perfectly fitting place for a Writer's Festival.

Okay, so I was put into Ibis Hotel (not Peninsula, THOSE guys overbooked themselves) which is very pleasant and perfectly nice. As you can see, I started making it a mess from the get-go.

From the table of the little cafe at the Parliament area itself where I had my first meal in Singapore.

The front of the Arts House

More Arts House. Yawn. Sorry la. Pictures not so good coz I was too busy trying not to look like a gap-mouthed tourist.

People crossing the pedestrian walkways. Very, very nice walkways indeed and cars RESPECT YOU. HEAR THAT, MALAYSIAN DRIVERS?

Apperantly, Singaporeans are very serious about 'catch cheating spouse'.

The very beautiful St. Joseph's Church; I went for Saturday evening mass and got properly caught in the rain after. Damn fun.

Orchard Street! With X Mas decor edy!

More Orchard Street!

A slightly artsy picture of what also I forgot edy. Haha.

I wish I could put up more, but it's raining now and I need to complete my chores.

Let me just leave you with this:

My trip to Singapore was amazing. I saw how the other half lives. Their MRT is beyond efficient, their buses reliable and not LATE AND POORLY MAINTAINed and their people, civilised. No random spitting on the ground. No vandalised busstops.

Sure, their food can't hold a candle to what we have in Malaysia (no country in the world can, IMHO) and their people tend to be a tad hurried. I also got the feeling the GOVERNMENT IS WATCHING ME which in a sense was disconcerting.

But we have a lot to learn, us Malaysians, or at least THE DAMN BARISAN NASIONAL have a lot to learn. How can you fuck up public transport here so badly when really, KL isn't even bigger than Singapore?

I also envy how they pay a lot of emphasis to arts, and can hold water with big names like Neil Gaiman. Don't see him coming to KL now, eh?

I love my country (but not it's government). I love the food. I love many aspects of life in Malaysia. But we can do and be so much more if THE DAMN BARISAN NASIONAL would just get their heads out from whatever dark hole they've been in and DO SOMETHING GOOD.

That would be a nice complement to the fantastic satay, nasi lemak, bak kut teh, tose, and char kuey teow.

But my fingers are too tired to type out the blow-by-blow account of Singapore Day 1,2, 3 and 4, so you'll just have to wait for Parte Two; coming soon.

Ciao ya'll.

I found myself writing a letter no one will read

2009-10-24T15:26:00.002+08:00

and after that I deleted it, because I was so ashamed I wrote it in the first place. After which I sang the entire Disney's Best Love Songs Vol. 1 in a strangely sweet, high voice. I even threw in a few trills ala songbird.

Then with a snort and a fair bit of snot (well excccuuuuse me, I've got a cold), I woke up.

I sweats-ed a bit, contemplating the world, then I went straight back to sleep. Remaining sleep rather un-eventful.

Woke up with the sun in my face, and realised:

a) The letter writing WAS real - I was melancholy that night and I wrote some things down which I feel better having regurgitated in print, but was instantly ashamed of it after.

b) I DID NOT delete the damn thing, and hence I find a Word doc on my desktop titled: To ____, in hopes you never read this.

c) I do not sing that well after all - the singing was definitely part of the dream. Shit-e.

Point being; my days and dreams have begun to meld into one.

It started with work, you know. I would have a terrifically real nightmare about how Mr H (he shall be known as that from now on) yelled at me for not writing fast enough, and how a colleague of mine who I really like and is on good terms with is secretly stabbing me in the back, and when I wake up, dazed and in my loosest, biggest pants and rotten-est T shirt, I would be completely

UNSURE

if that actually happened.

I would go to work feeling slightly apprehensive, flashes of scolding and yelling fresh in my mind, and eye Mr H with a bit of wariness. It's quite sad.

I also secretly suspect I may be having some very strange night-wanderings; my mom is grumbling I always fall asleep with my lights on, but I am

VERY SURE

I turned them off.

But alas. Until the day I install cameras in my room I will never know if I am actually

writing letters/ singing in tune/ reading books

while I am fast asleep. It's quite scary.

But then again.

MELAKA is out, guys. For my part, at least. I am most terribly sorry; Singapore will have eaten such a large chunk of my money that I will not be able to afford even maggi mee for the next month or so. It is fortunate that my mother is so supportive and has even helped me out.

I love my mom.

Replacing Melaka with L4D and makan trip hardly counts but I promise I will starve and save money to go next next month. Good for my diet also anyway.

But enough about that. Promise to bring home pictures of Singapore and hopefully some nice souvenirs - heard they are bleedin' expensive in Singapore, but I'll see what I can smuggle back.

I am going overseas alone for the first time in my life.

Wish me luck.

PHOTO Marathon - Canon's Exclusive Pissing Off Session

2009-10-11T10:15:00.006+08:00

I begin this post with saying: the folks at Canon Malaysia had better send those who waited for nothing some pretty darned nice 'tokens of appreciation'. They had also better fire whosoever that set up the server systems.

With that, I present my own little photoessay of Canon Photomarathon Malaysia 2009.

7.00am

The sun in the sky right in front of the LRT station. Feeling quite excited, actually.

8.10am

Me and LM camwhoring just a little bit - well, a lot actually. Started very late and we decided to kill time by taking pictures of ourselves. Location is Sunway Lagoon Theme Park; we were trapped there all day!

9.50am - 3.30pm

Flag off! The start to the marathon.

Themes: SPLASH!; RED and SHOOTING IN PROGRESS.

My first shot for the theme RED. Made this poor Wild Wild West mascot dude pose for me, and used the 'color accent function' for the red effect. Most obliging guy.

Folks were a-plenty at Sunway Lagoon, and kids are so the funny as subjects.

Pinwheels. In semi-colour.

A choice I had for RED but didn't use because there were so many people at the bottom panel of the picture.

A very adorable girl with a balloon. Going crazy with my 'color accent' feature here, as you can tell.

My eventual choice for theme SPLASH! Refused to take the conventional splash of water pictures so I took a picture of a boy sitting on a float tube. Splash, geddit?

My submission for RED. No explanation there, lol. I particularly like this picture, my favourite of the bunch.

My submission for Shooting in Progress. Shot this while LM and J were off to take more SPLASH! pics, he is actually the Sunway photog.

4pm - 7pm. Server Breakdown.

No pictures here, but lemme tell you that it was just frustrating. The servers got all jammed up and nobody could upload any pictures at all. Added to that, as they were fixing the servers, some SMART KIASU IDIOTIC people were STILL uploading their pictures, despite having been told that uploading the pics would be useless; as SNARFU and TARFU and FUBAR has happened.

But as Malaysians, they don't listen, and continued to make things difficult by attempting repeated log-ins nonetheless.

So what we did was go makan at Sunway Pyramid (after a 30min walk O_o) and then drove back to the starting point of the marathon. Only to discover that they were stalling for time by showing some entries and THAT THE JUDGES COULD NOT MAKE A DECISION. By now, 10.30pm and very angry. Murmurs were going throught the crowd, and when the emcee announced that the results will be released tommorrow (today, meaning 11/10) there were howls of protest.

Followed by claps when they announced a 'token of apology' will be given out. -_-

So I left, and hitched a ride back with another friend, who stayed back and was pissed too. In fact, he took this final shot at 10.50pm, just before we left the place.

A rather beautiful ending to a tiring, frustrating day - thankfully made good with friends who were fun to be around with. :)

Its been quite a while

2009-10-07T14:34:00.002+08:00

...since I updated.

This is because work has kept me busier than a hyperactive squirrel looking for winter nut stores and also because I arrive home every night just to slump into bed like a DEAD hyperactive squirrel looking for winter nut stores.

I also cannot take facing Christian because for the past five months now I've been having an illicit affair with my office laptop. It's quite sad, really.

Work, in all its glory, is all-consuming. I enjoy it, but boy oh boy - my weekends are like GOLD to me now. I feel like every weekend I spend NOT SLEEPING or LAZING is wasted, because my weekdays are a flurry of activity and I hardly get a moment to breathe.

But I am not complaining. I do genuinely enjoy what I do and I happen to fancy that I do it well enough to not get me the sack. Which is fine. Hahaha.

Right now, as I type, the activity is dying down just a little, and the pages are almost closed. Bad news is that the closing is a little delayed. O_o

Nonetheless, I am enjoying a slightly quiet moment and I intend to fill you in (to my best capacity) with what has been going on with me for the past weeks. Because you know you wanna know. :P

It's a story!

Having had quite a few dud stories for the past few weeks or so, I believe the time has come to pick my battered self off the floor and grit my teeth. I will shoulder on. I will write some good stories and give a message to the 50,000 readers.

I just wish that I could remind myself of it sometimes; it is in my BLOOD to beat myself up blue, black and green over failures and pitfalls and mistakes. I really should just smack me upside on the head and then move on - instead of bringing out the medieval torture devices I keep hidden in my room and putting myself through the most painful of said devices.

But then again.

Well, it's improving somewhat. I was thoroughly depressed a few weeks ago but I feel happier now that I've got my head screwed on right again. It's not easy churning out story after story. And like a very scary editor once said "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

So if I continue to beat myself over the smallest of things, or continue to perceive everything negatively, I will continue to get just a little bit more suicidal by the day. I ain't saying all is roses and peaches now, but I think it's not thorns and shit either.

It's the roses!

I bought roses for my mom on a whim the other day. She was incredibly pleased, and as always, demonstrated how pleased she was by saying I shouldn't waste money like that. Moms.

Thing is, I am a Daddy's girl. Always have been, always will be. I adore my alpha-Dino to distraction, and sometimes his approval (or disapproval) of me can rule my moods for weeks. Such is the level of Daddy's girl-ism I have. Which is sad. I ain't proud of it - but don't get me wrong. I don't look for Daddy replacements or whatever (that is sooooo wrong) but I do enjoy a really really close relationship with my dad.

So.

Sometimes, I forget my Mom. I forget that she's there, watching me buy persimmons and cheese cakes for my Dad. (I buy cake for her too, but she doesn't like cake much and it always goes to my Dad anyway) She completely supports me keeping my Dino pleased (his moods rule the household too) but I think I forget her a lot.

I forget that through everything, she is the only one who I can rely on to UNFAILINGLY give me accurate, excellent advise (my bro isn't really much around anymore, and my sister's information is dubious at best) and to listen to my grouses, my dreams, my whims and my fancies without complaint.

If there was an award for World's Best Listener, it would go to her.

I forget that it was her that kept the family together, and strong all through the years while my Dad was away on his job, and running his business. For those of you who know me well, you know the details that follow la.

But it was her, all the while. Managing the family, keeping us together, worrying for us. I ain't saying my Dad didnt' do that too, but.... well, he is always the alpha Man type, so he always functions as a 'Wait till your Dad comes home' threat.

(Which is enough to scare the bejeebers out of me and my siblings anyway. No need whack also. Threaten with Daddy enough edy.)

Through the difficult times and the good times, she was there. I've never met a woman quite as strong as she is, and if I grew up to be HALF as strong as her I'd be lucky.

It is as I grow older that I realise how much I truly love my Mom. The love I have for her comes from a different, deeper place. It is mingled in with respect and understanding. It is a love that I think will only grow as the years go by and I start to understand and see the sacrifices she has made.

So I bought her roses. Just cause. She looked at me all bewildered when I shoved the bouquet under her nose.

She asked: Why? What day issit? Why you buy? and I said: Nothing, just wanna buy for you la!

Followed by her saying: How much it cost you - why you waste money liddat? Must be you buy books again and don't want me to get mad at you la.

And then she goes off to put it in a vase, displaying them neatly and prominently at the cabinet. She also smiles at the roses for a bit - she thinks I didn't see, but I did. Heh.

It is moments like this that makes me love my Mom all the more. She is like a Rock; immovable, solid, reliable and predictable. She is also like a soft pillow; soft-hearted, forgiving and comforting.

For most part, I am Daddy's girl. But I think I am a lot Mommy's Girl too.

It's a Wrap!

Back to work and no more of that soppy stuff - work, I think, has taught me more in five months than in three years of school. It's cliched, but it's true. Work has a way of teaching you to be tough and strong, fast and efficient, and is both encouraging and depressing.

I think I DO like my work. I have my ups and downs, but for what it's worth, I think the experience and level of control over my work that I have here at my workplace is amazing, and very, very uplifting.

All is good. For now. =)

Of Blackberries and Despondencies

2009-09-15T16:52:00.004+08:00

I believe that soon the world will be occupied by Blackberry-wielding humanoids, unable to tear their eyes away from the screen until they walk off a cliff or into a ring of fire and perish with only these last words:

My Berrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyy!!!!

*and then 'splash' or 'foooosh', depending on method of death*

I have a feeling this is how I will meet my untimely but not unexpected demise. I will be in Broga, hiking away (I will be thin by then of course) when I will receive a new MSN message from V dearest and go:

"Oh look, J, its a message from V - WARGH!"

And my friends will be left to explain why my body was found shattered in the ravine but the Berry remained intact, wrapped protectively in my poor, broken arms.

*cue sad music*

I may be Berry mad. Nay, I AM Berry mad.

But this is not an advertorial in hopes that the Berry guys will give me the sweet, sweet Berry. No. Not at all. I didn't even link everyone I know to this post.

Yet.

But I digress.

The true reason I write this post is because I am beginning to be painfully aware that work is... different... from what I thought it would be. As my editor would say, this is my first job, and so I have a lot to learn.

I love learning. I just wish it didn't have to come with a healthy dose of 'GROUND OPEN NOW TO SWALLOW ME' moments. I've had so many of those I should be nothing more than a speck of dust by now.

And Lord forbid, is that... despondency I smell???

(Despondency: depression of spirits from loss of hope, confidence, or courage; dejection. - freedictionary.com)

Maybe its not so much the loss of hope as it is the loss of confidence. My belief in my writing is getting shaky - and I have just been presented with the perfect example of why I can NEVER be a HARD HITTING journo. Ever. Par non. Never ever.

I suck.

(To those who believe they suck: you don't suck until your editor tells you your story starts 'okay' then crumbles into nothing immediately after. My editor did.)

I write best personality pieces which allow me to say nice things, write nice things, use very little brain activity and a lot of creativity. I write best stories no one will read and then I will hide them jealously away (sorry, you guys ain't getting notebook paper scans from me) so I can continue to believe I write them best.

I gots issues okay? Issues that break my writer spirit.

But yeah, despondent would be the right word right now. I love my workplace, I think my colleagues and my bosses are great, but my writing just isn't so hot right now.

As you can probably tell by my use of 'not so hot right now'. If I were normal I'd be using words no sane human being would use in any conversation/blog/article.

I ssssuuuuucccckkkk. I could not suck more than if I actually did start sucking my tabletop and then my mouse for dessert.

Ew, that was inappropriate and disgusting. I hate myself. *hides under desk*

Even as I am whingeing away, a small spot inside my head (which looks and sounds like my Mom) that tells me to suck it up and be a man. Err. Woman.

It tells me to learn from my mistakes, dig up old stories I've written so I may see that I did improve (ohohoho, I did. Hella, I did) and tuck every little nugget of advice safely inside my brain-cupboard to be used at a later date, or to be dispensed to someone who steps into a situation like mine.

Which should be nobody, really, because the situations I get myself in because of what I say are... frankly... one of a kind. No one could possibly put their foot into their mouths that often.

It also tells me that all is solved with a cuppa' hot Milo and a good night's sleep. And with keeping my mouth shut more often. I try to do that these days, but its slow progress. I think I need to have a Blackberry in my brain, to keep tabs on what I can and cannot say.

Must keep mouth shut. Must keep mouth shut. Sometimes I wonder when one of my pals will tell me I talk too much, and could do with shutting up. They should, because then maybe I will.

I also feel slightly... restless. Not the kind of energetic restless, or the physical restlessness that spurs many people to go for a jog, play the Wii, or walk the dog.

Its a kind of mental restlessness which I can feel bubbling underneath my skull like an hideous swell. I need something that will make me excited about writing again, excited about being a journalist again, excited to be out there changing the world one word at a time again.

Okay so that last one was melodramatic, but you know what I mean. I am restless for 'that story'. The one I wrote about child sex trafficking did it for a while (not in that way, you dirty people), it got me excited about writing again, and it showed.

The one I just wrote, I hated. 'Not one of your better pieces,' said my editor. I agree. I gave it my best shot (I always do, even if I cringe after) but I just don't have my heart in it. It's quite sad really, for sometimes, my articles feel like chores. Really hard, brain-crushing, heart-smashing chores.

Right down there with washing toilet, cleaning out stove with Mr Goo, kind of chore. I need 'the story'.

The story which will see me walking enthusiastically for kilometres down the streets of Chow Kit, that will have me thinking about it even as I walk, the one that will have my heart beat everytime I see it on print, and the article I will bring home for my parents to read.

I never bring home my stories unless I am proud of them. Some I am, many I am not. And I hope that that will be forgiveable for a while. I am still learning, and with time and wisdom, I will know how to write in such a way that I will make people feel 'hey, yeah, that makes sense. this is a cool article'.

I've had a taste of that, and with every taste I appreciate. I get sms-es sometimes from old friends, people I've met, or even the interviewees themselves saying how they read my article and liked it. I live for those moments. Not because I am vainglorious (though it is, just a little) but because it validates me.

It validates me as a writer, that I can write something people read and remember. More importantly, it validates me as a journalist, that I can write something people will think about. Oh blarny to those who say its not about what others think. It is always and only about what readers think.

I think I have ranted overlong here. But it feels good, though my fingers are freezing and my tummy is aching. I feel clean. Emptied. Somewhat relieved I finally can admit my all-consuming doubts.

Maybe I will go and have that hot cuppa Milo. See if the problems don't go away all by themselves.

Goodbye, ya'll.

I Didn't Get to Say Goodbye

2009-09-01T01:00:00.002+08:00

I never saw her walking away, nor send her off with an EPIC GLOMP. I blame my job, and I blame my transport-lessness. I also blame me.

I guess, in a way, I figured if I didn't see her off then she didn't go away to another continent in the far end of the world where the deer, kangaroos and boomerangs, err, play. Or fly. Whichever.

If you don't see someone leaving, then she didn't really, and she just went on a quite long holiday, that's all. In a far off place. Like, if I didnt' see her go then she is just right around the corner, and I can retreat into my stupid little bubble world, and we can all still go Broga Hill.

(Sorry V dear. I wanted to go see you off so bad, but denial and duty destroyed me.)

Hope you can still see my blog in Aussie.

I can't get the image of Hugh Jackman half-naked on a bull out of my mind, so forever now Australia = Hugh Jackman half -naked on a bull. To me. So I can't see the place having Internet and stuff.

(I know they prolly kick our Screamyx in the nuts with their broadband over there but I AM IN DENIAL DAMMIT)

I miss you already, so this post is for YOU.

It's Midnight here, in the Garden of Google and Evil (insects). I am up to finish off some work, and my shoulders ache. I know I talk a lot of nonsense, and I know I may have not have been the most easy person to be around with, but I am good at two things: writing and erm, writing.

So I write. A poem, for you. :)

Goodbye V

Victoria, Victoria,
I think you're still in Subang.
I didn't see you go away,
And so you, erm, didn't.

You are a sweetheart,
and a really cool friend.
That Kelvin is lucky,
He is your boyfriend.

I will always remember how you burnt the chocolate
for the chocolate mousse I made.
And though it tasted pretty bad
All of it, you ate.
(you prolly threw away the rest, but that's okay. I'd throw it away too.)

You're only in Australia,
the internet is everywhere.
Who say we can't talk on webcam,
while in our underwear?

You've got a whole future
ahead of you, so go get it
Australia is no KL, but
I hear they have PORK burgers.

It's an entirely new beginning there
and I wish you all the best.
Eileen say you must come back,
and so do I
But when you do, bring along
tall, blond, and blue-eyed.

For me la, of course.

I end this non-poem now la,
its getting quite stupid.
but here's my point:
(when I finally get to it)
Your body may have left the country,
but you are always here, in our hearts, in our minds, and in our Facebooks.

And V dear, when you come back, I EPIC GLOMP you.

Cupcakes and Broga Hill

2009-08-16T22:25:00.004+08:00

Sunday 16 August 2009: Broga Hill. Mission: To get the Top preferably without:

a) Falling off the very high cliff and subsequently end up in the newspapers
b) Falling off the very high cliff and subsequently end up in the newspapers

With that goal in mind, we went onward to the most difficult hike I ever hiked, and the highest mountain I ever climbed. It was dead tiring, but SO SO AWESOME. Pictures say a thousand words so here goes:

It wasn't a sunset, actually. But I used my sunset feature to make it look dark and cloudy.

Our triumphant fists after making it up the hill: J was photog, so not in pic.

The hiiiiillls are aaaliiiveeeeee

....with the sound of muuuusicccc

Earlier that day, however, we were at a place called Wondermilk cafe, which is located somewhere in Damansara Utama, and boasts decent food, great atmosphere and seriously pretty cupcakes. Nice place, but the reason for our being there was not so nice - V's leaving. T_T

The decor in this place consists of cute teddies too.

The very pretty cupcakes we had made specially for V!

L-R: K, V, Bra and J. The poor unfortunate guy in a box is Matthew. Lol.

K being pervy with the girl of the day, V

A group pic with me smack centre, blocking poor C. L-R: K, Matthew, Ian, Jzune, J, Bra, Bear (hidden behind my head), C, LM, V and E.

So yeah, it was a day full of sugar and rolling hills - nothing out of the ordinary at all. Cupcakes in the morning, Mountainus Enormus Difficultus in the evening. Nothing to it baby.

Heh.

Sacrifice

2009-08-15T09:23:00.003+08:00

Sacrifice

There are some things far more important than the All American Rejects. Sorry Tyson. You are deprived your once-in-a-lifetime meet with one particular fat, Chinese, giggly journalist.

*We should all take a moment to pray for him. Hopefully he may meet her someday in the future*

I am supposed to be en route the MTV World Stage concert at Sunway Surf Beach; and I am supposed to be gadding with the AAR, Kasabian, and Hoobastank. I am also supposed to be gadding with Boys Like Girls. But I sit in front of my lappy, at home, because my mom is sick, and my brother is sick, and I had better be at home to keep an eye on them both.

Also because my brother, aka designated driver, is now relieved from his post as designated driver due to his fever/cough/cold. No worries boys and girls, its not the dreaded H1N1; he checked edy.

Plus my daddidums is going out on various projects today - so the idea of my sick Mommy at home alone does not please me.

Sacrifice.

That's what its called. After three whole weeks of feverish excitement at meeting Tyson Ritter (oh Tyson, so sorry. Call me!) I am at home, NOT meeting Tyson Ritter.

I can hardly believe I am actually still sane, typing and not screaming in agony. Trust me: if you think this is noble of me, it rather is, but it's not, because I too, am afraid of catching the dreaded you-know-what. Worse, with my mom being one of the high-risk groups, I'd better not bring home any funny viruses.

I also have two double-page articles to write, (one of which has now turned into 3-page) and a movie review to write, and bah. A whole load of stuff to write.

So yeah. Some things are more important than MTV World Stage. Family. Work. Responsibilities. Obligations. Duty. Besides, my newspaper is well-represented; what with two other colleagues going.

To think, I wanted their autographs so bad! T-T But like I said, some things are far more important, and consideration towards your family members is one of those things.

Job Update

Well, I love my job - don't kill me - and I love what I do. If I ever feel like I don't wanna go to work, it's only because I am damn lazy to wake up in the morning. But I wake up thinking, "whee. movie review. interesting people. i like."

I like people. Watching them, talking to them. I don't like THEM them. You know. Like, in a crowd. Or a wild party. But I like watching them do things, discovering their strange and wonderful ways. People are always, always fascinating to me; and in this line of work, people with fascinating characters are a-plenty.

I've talked to so many people and met so many interesting characters and I do believe I shall never be bored with doing that. I really do. I think I am going to stick with my job for a long time, and never ever change fields. I may leave for better, greener pastures, but I shall always be doing what I do relatively well: writing.

For truly, how can I deny my twisted pleasure when I see my byline, when I see little black type forming up to make words? Yeah, so some people get off on porn, I get off on typing articles and stories, alright? I am strange that way. Typing, and hot male underwear models, better yet if they come greased, topless and brooding.

(Quiet you. I did not ask for your opinion.)

But yeah.

I am blogging away here. And you are reading this. Both of us are not going to MTV World Stage. We do make a good pair. We have so much in common!

Call me. Let's do lunch.

My Solitary Heart

2009-08-01T11:00:00.002+08:00

Poetry, really, is never my strong point.

I detest the romanticism (meh) and although I rhyme once in a while (story-wise) I have this thing where I try to be too literary to rhyme. Heh. Macam real. But this poem (sorta) came out of a time when I was feeling particularly lonely, and had some of the saddest songs playing on my Winamp.

I was also, stupidly enough, in serious 'like' with someone I have since come to terms will never feel the same way. And thats fine. Because hor, I have my eye on someone else hor, happens to be - ahem. Never mind. *sheepish* Anyway.

So here it is, I posted it because I felt this one had such a strange melancholy to it, which is quite unusual of me. (Comments, as always, are welcome.)

Just don't ask me who the poor guy is. *ahem*

My Solitary Heart

How would it feel to love you so much it hurts?
My solitary heart, in a fragile glass case wondered:
and wondered silently I did.
How would it feel to give myself to you?
To love you so deeply it consumes every fibre of my being?
What would it be like to immerse myself inside your heart,
to be caressed by your warmth, to be enfolded in your welcoming arms?

Would you hear my beating heart,
and put your hands against it?
would you take my heart, my hands, my soul,
and see my love inside it?
My solitary heart wonders and longs for yours,
And silently I pine.

How would it feel to have your hands on mine?
How would it feel if you gently kissed my brow?
My solitary heart desires; and can stay silent no longer,
Would you accept my heart or crush it beneath your fingers?

A Streak of Colour in the Sky

2009-07-18T23:01:00.003+08:00

There Will Be Train. Its a new movie.

I took this picture as I was waiting at the Ipoh KTM station just Monday. A story to tell for another day, is Ipoh. It isn't as dark as it looks -I used my 'sunset' function to bring out the twilight look. I find it somewhat romantic.

I just took this, a few hours ago, in the car. Amazing streak of vermillion in the sky. Couldn't help but freak out my bro as I frantically whipped out my camera.

Better view of the sky. I just wish I weren't in the car! Couldn't set off my flash so the pic is not as crisp as it is supposed to be.

Dude, Where's My Food?

A funny pic of a cat. I saw it washing itself and took out my camera for fun. It gave me such weird poses! This one had such an expression to its' face I couldn't help posting it up. Its like saying: "Yeah homey. What up."

The Calm Before the Storm.. and I am Blogging

2009-07-15T15:15:00.002+08:00

I've got Catch-22 sitting rather forlornly on my desk, next to a book that gave me eyebrow cramps and another on an illicit, torrid affair. The last book being the raunchiest ever written by the author.

Considering the author is the man behind the brilliant, twisted, moving, baffling and memorable 'Sons and Lovers', Lady Chatterley's Lover has to be the most erotic, if not the best.

I ain't got the time to finish it yet, but I will. Just maybe not so conspicuously. But its literature okay?

Nonetheless.

I am a-waiting for an editorial meeting (there is a neatly printed chart of sorts beside me, my pen resting just by my left wrist) and for now, there is calm and quiet in the office.

Until, of course, the bosses descend once again upon Planet Office and we have the usual frenzy of activity.

I have traveled far to Ipoh and come back on the very same day; spending 6 hours on travelling to stay for a 2 hour interview. I feel like I have learnt something here, but I am still trying to fogure out what the main lesson is (there were a lot of lessons I learnt on Monday that I am sure, in the future, will warn me how to deal with similiar situations).

I had a stranger cry on my shoulder.

I suppose the tale is for another day (pre-karaoke perhaps?) and maybe by then i would have figured out what I've learnt.

Speaking of k-oke, we've got to brush up our vocal chords.

Or else we're gonna have Bra-man take us to a whole new level of funny. I've got my camera ready boys. Muahaha.

This is a quick update, seeing that my last update was nearly two weeks ago. More details later, I guess.

See ya guys.

Books and Other Stuff

2009-07-02T09:31:00.004+08:00

Books.

Have been doing a lot of reading lately. Its strange. I never used to have the time to do it when I was a student but now, as I join the workforce, I find, to my eternal astonishment, I have more time to do the things I love.

Reading is just one of the things I can do more of -despite the bedtimes of 10pm, and the load of work. I have finished, in 3 weeks, 6 books. Its quite an achievement.

Here are the six books I finished:

1. Dragons of Dwarven Depths and Dragons of Highlord Skies.

The Lost Chronicles of Dragonlance, featuring my favourite heroes of the Lance. Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman never disappoints, but I had a strange, eerie sense that the first 30 pages of the first book was not written by them but by some dimwit 16 year old with a musty typewriter.

But altogether an interesting read for a fan of the series, though not exactly groundbreaking.

Bought for a disgustingly cheap 15 buckeroos each.

2. The Painted Man

It is a new debut fantasy novel by a guy called Peter V. Brett. Excellent. Fast-paced, interesting, well-written and a good read for fantasy fans. Courtesy of Borders bookstores, who have graciously supplied me with a few books for my reading and reviewing pleasure.

3. Blue-Eyed Devil

A rom-chick-lit fluff book by Lisa Kleypas. Surprisingly delicious read, nicely paced and written, but pretty much standard fare. Also courtesy of Borders.

4. The entire His Dark Materials trilogy

A re-read, for I found the 3-in-1 volume going for an irrisistable RM 24. It was sinful not to buy it. Still as good as I remembered, albeit a little limp at the end and somewhere halfway through.

5. And, the piece de resistance -The Messenger, by Markus Zusak.

You may remember my praise for The Book Thief, also by Mr Zusak, and I found his other books stuck at the bottom shelf at Kinokuniya. Was delighted to see he had 3 other titles (which I have yet to find, and hopefully I will at Borders) and I bought The Messenger for a whopping RM 59.90. Broke my wallet, but worth it, because it is a story of life, love, and a loser cab driver.

Immensely likeable, and possesing a depth that, at first glance, may not seem like much, but eventually all makes sense. It was extremely well-written, you feel for the characters, and guess what? If I were to write I wanna write like a cross between Gaiman and Zusak. Zusak is the one worthy of praise given to over-rated authors like Mitch Albom. If toss up between Albom and Zusak, go for the Zusak. he is a far better writer with less pretension.

Zusak also has a book called 'When Dogs Cry' and another called 'Getting the Girl', so if any of you spot the book on shelves please give me a heads up.

Other Stuff.

Where was I? Oh, free time. Right. I have more now. I find myself going home to cold dinners and nothing on my agenda except to maybe check my mail (but I do that all day at work so its pointless) and then go to bed.

Its weird. I thought students had more free time, but they don't. Well, at least not MY studenthood days anyway. Lol.

But yeah.

I am trying to drop a couple of kilos too. Well, maybe not a couple. Like, a whole load. Like 30kg kinda load.

I am also trying to get healthy -eat more veggies, less sugar, keep my weight down and health up. And I know some of you are secretly agreeing that weight loss is a good thing for me and if anyone needs it its me. (Don't deny it. Lol. You guys are snorting and going, yeah, DUH.)

I know you guys think there is nothing wrong with me (at least you tell me that, and I heart you for that, yes) but there is. I cannot stand the sight of myself in the mirror anymore, and I have decided to take charge of my weight and what I put inside my mouth.

So if we go out and I don't eat anything but a lettuce leaf, please don't point it out or try to make me eat more. I know what I am doing, not gonna starve myself or nothing. SO don't worry, just support me by not making a big deal out of it. I am serious about dropping the weight.

And I need all the help I can get. I need you guys to support me. :)

Other stuff also in life. Still trying to manage expenses, and trying to adjust to work life. I dreamt of work a few times these past weeks, so thats kind of weird.

Woke up on a Sunday and panicked -OMG I AM LATE FOR WORK.

Before I told myself - YOU DUMBASS ITS SUNDAY.

Then I fall straight back to sleep. Its scary.

But yeah. Work goes well, and I am happy. Very happy. I think I have made that so obvious that some of you have even applied for a job here. It IS a good place to work, and I love what I do.

Its not something a lotta people can say, but I can, and for that, I am eternally grateful to the Big Man Way Up in The Sky. God, yeah, thats him. Good job, God. After years of torture and being the biggest (literally) loser in class and having people hate me for the sheer fact that I was weird, poor and fat, I think I found my happy place. For real.

Now if only I can bloody stop dreaming of work!

2009-06-29T17:24:00.004+08:00

Marjorie's Margarine: Part 2

Marjorie woke up with a vicious headache and a slab of margarine in her hands. It was not a pleasant situation to find herself in, (seeing that men whose mouths split open are chasing after her and she was accompanied by a precocious, bloodthirsty child prodigy turned Dark Lord of Macabre) and she was beginning to feel that she would very much like to go away and hide somewhere, just as long as the whole family tree of Mr. Looming were not hot on her slightly greasy tail. Tail, figuratively, of course.

She glanced at the prone figure on the floor, who, despite the 10 other available and beautifully decorated rooms, refused to sleep somewhere in one of those aforementioned designer rooms. Writes would not sleep anywhere but in his room, and she would not sleep alone for fear of the Leering Men of the World.

The prone figure stirred, and bit his fingers. Three out of five of his left hand were halfway between his lips and teeth, a most odd way of sleeping she thought, before seeing him bite them several times during the night, always lightly, never hard enough to draw blood –he never tasted during his sleep. It made him cough in the mornings, if he did.

She coughed a little, put the margarine on the bedside table and threw off the light blue bedcovers, for despite his fondness for blood, his favourite colour was, and always will be, a robin’s egg blue. Writes was not the kind to dress in black and prophesy death and destruction, though he had been sorely tempted to several times throughout his childhood, just so his father would notice more of him instead of that infernal laptop.

It was only when he had his own infernal laptop did he realize that his father wasn’t ignoring him, his father was simply a helpless victim of technology.

Marjorie walked to the floor length windows (also tinted a cool, dark blue, with heavy curtains that smelled of mothballs) and peered out. She saw nothing, but when it comes to nothing, she knew that sometimes, just sometimes, it was heck everything. Everything meaning creatures from the black depths of Creepy 101 with an extra degree in Lurking for Experts.

She considered waking Writes, and telling him the whole story of what she learnt, and worst of all, how he can help. She padded in bare feet softly over to him and caught sight of his sleeping face. He was one of those guys who, when awake, looked as if the world were on his shoulders, but when asleep, slept with the child-like peace of one who has nothing to worry about and the a nice taste in his mouth. Nice taste for him being his own flesh. And blood. But no blood. Made him cough.

She changed her mind, and let him sleep instead. She picked up her tattered clothes (he lent her some of his old stuff, he really was rather too thin for his age and macabre tastes) from the floor and puzzled over them for a while, wondering if she could possibly fix them.

She poked her fingers ruefully through the enormous holes in her shorts and decided on negative –no hope for those old 501s then. It was then that he shifted from his uncomfortable position from the floor, snorted and woke up with a “Wha-?” His hair stuck out at the sides (it was curly, long and black, and had no resemblance to anything remotely in the style of the new millennium, more like the outdated, unruly mop of a child star of the 1800s) and a few curly hairs lay across the towel, in disguise as a pillow.

She turned to him and smiled –a strange smile that one made simply because one did not know what else to do with one’s lips. He stared, blinked and lifted his eyebrows.

“If I had harboured hopes that you would be but a dream, I am sorely mistaken,” he said, in somber tones. “Perhaps once you have finished telling me whatever gruesome tale you wish to share you may take to your heels and flee.”

A wild laugh stuck at her throat at the way he spoke, like a book with a really bad writer. “Do you –pfft- always talk like that?”

He frowned. “If you mean to ask, do I converse with others as in a book, or a crime mystery, yes, I always do, and I see no wrong in that.” He spotted an ant on the floor and squashed it. He flicked it aside, and turned his eyes back onto her.

Her smile grew wide, and she said: “Alright, fine. I need to tell you three things and you will have to act upon them, or end up as brain-bait.”

He puzzled over that for the quietest of moments. “Alright.” He didn’t want to be brain bait. He was, in all circumstances, very fond of his brain. He knew quite a number of people who would not share his sentiments, but nonetheless.

She blew a lock of dirty brown hair away from her forehead and took a deep breath.

“You have a brain that these creatures want. The creatures are idea-eaters. They eat ideas.”

She said these words with the air of one who has just dropped a dungbomb.

He stared. “They eat ideas.”

“Yes, they eat ideas.”

He continued to stare. “And this is dangerous… how?” he asked, all book-talk forgotten at the
ludicrousness of the situation.

She shook her mane of mouse-brown hair. “No no, you don’t get it. They eat ideas –but not just
ideas. They eat the thoughts and musings of a person and it dissipates. Poof. Dead. Gone.” She snapped her fingers.

He frowned. Hard. “You can’t eat ideas.”

“Oh yes you can, if you were those guys. They eat brains. Brains have ideas. If they eat ideas and imagination and thought and fancy, then where will we all be? Can you imagine if they ate the ideas of the great minds of the Earth –think gates or jobs.”

“Bill and Steve?”

“Yeah that gate and that job,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “Ideas are so much more important than you think. How do you think I ended up throwing exploding margarine –“she
broke off.

He peered at her face, which suddenly had a shadow cast upon it. “You were born of an idea, weren’t you?” he asked with unerring sharpness. She looked up quickly, and her mouth hung open. She closed it quickly. “Yeah.” She savagely spat that word out. “Yeah I was. From the ideas of one twisted writer with nothing much to do, who eventually had an unfortunate encounter with one of them.”

He stood up from his cross legged position on the floor. “So why do they want my brain?” he asked, beginning to pace around the room, nibbling at his fingers as he did so, and drawing more blood than he ever did before –a sure sign of frustration.

“They want your ideas. Your more bloodthirsty ideas,” she declared. “See, sometimes they don’t swallow all of the ideas they eat. They chew it up, distort it, and save it for later. The same way you would save a gum, for example.”

“Some of the best ideas they have distorted have been the worst for everyone everywhere –but don’t go blaming them for Hitler. That one they didn’t have to distort anything,” she snorted.

“They distorted the ideas which were meant to be good –for instance, computer viruses were supposed to be little ‘bugs’ that automatically fixed the problem areas in your computer, with artificial intelligence, but they distorted it to do the exact opposite.”

It was now his turn to roll his eyes –he himself had created some of the most catastrophic viruses ever in the dead of the night and sold them to eager anti-virus companies, who would make fortunes coming up with anti-viruses. It was all a man-made scam, no need for creatures with big mouths or black teeth.

She sensed his doubt and pressed on. “It doesn’t matter now, they were always small-scale. Nothing deadly, nothing fatal. But they want a change, and your ideas can help them do just that.”

She looked downward. “They want to kill imagination. For good.” She held up her hands quickly as he opened his mouth to ask why. “Don’t ask why, if I knew, I’d be scrambling in the opposite direction as soon as I can, and never give a damn. I only fear it’s something more dastardly than just their greed for ideas. I don’t know who is involved, but I am going to find out.”

Marjorie picked up the slab of oozing margarine. “I hate my name,” she said despondently.

Surprised by her sudden shift in behavior, he stopped pacing, stared at her for a bit and went to his laptop.

“Well, then I’ll just delete everything from my computer. No more ideas,” he said, confident it will work.

She lifted her head for a second, stared at him, and burst out laughing, so hard she felt her sides cracking.

Marjories' Margarine

2009-06-26T14:27:00.001+08:00

This is a story title given to me by J about a year ago, during Industrial Training, when I hit a really bored point. Never got down to writing it, until this morning, when I could do no work and decided to write just to get the words flowing. I rather like how it turned out, though I don't think its all that original, but for now, here is Part One of Marjorie's Margarine.

Marjorie’s Margarine
A story about nothing at all, by Pauline Wong

Marjorie woke up to a vicious headache and a slab of margarine in her hands. It was not a pleasant situation to be found in, considering she had once been arrested for vandalism (she smeared expired margarine over a much prized painting by the darling of the town, Mary Han-Lee, who was twelve when she painted that picture of a dog with six tails, shortly before Mary’s body was found dumped in the sidewalk, chopped in three parts and half-rotting) and twice for possession of an illegal substance (codeine, which was banned due to its amazing effects on coughs as well as mental capabilities, she disguised it under the pretense of a carton of margarine tubs).

To be found waking up with a headache and a slab of greasy stuff in her tiny hands on a bed that was not even hers, and with a horrendously torn pair of jeans was most dodgy indeed. She hoped, and hoped, that the cops were not around. Better yet, she hoped her father wasn’t around.

She lifted herself from the bed and placed the margarine slab (incriminating stuff, that, she was beginning to think) on the table beside her. The table had only a vase with swirls of blue and a miserable rose as companions –she suspected a slab of margarine would hardly make a difference.

She went to the toilet (not hers, for sure, this is not her blue and green room at home, and her toilet was done in pink. This one was in a dull, faded grey) and searched through the cabinet with the cracked mirror for something to swat the headache away. She was sure she would not be able to figure out what to do next if she didn’t first get rid of this headache.

She was about to triumphantly extract a battered box of Panadol when a very large shadow loomed above her. Shit.

“Marjorie. Marjorie the Margarine Mayhem. What is it with you and that slimy stuff.”

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a statement, it was a proclamation of someone who said things just for the heck of saying it. She knew those kinds of people. They were the ones who looked up at the raining sky only to proclaim ‘awfully wet isn’t it.’

She had two words: Bugger it.

Marjorie turned around slowly, Panadol in clenched fist, headache now reaching epic proportions worthy of intense hospitalization. The man who stood above (quite literally; he was floating six inches off the ground, how nice for him, looming made easy for him, she was sure) her was a man she did not recognize. He had a flat, flaccid face and a most unpleasant sneer on his very chapped lips. He smelled like cigarettes and like cheap beer. She has never tasted or seen beer that was cheap, but she fancied if she did it would smell like this disgusting man.

Marjorie tightened her grip on the Panadol, and wished with all her heart she had not left the margarine slab on the table.

It would get so melt-y when and if she went back for it. Nothing is quite as bad as a melting slab of margarine when a solid slab of margarine was nasty enough. She liked margarine though, but that is a story for another day, and for a time when she wasn’t confronted by a large levitating man.

“But don’t mind me,” proclaimed this large man. “I don’t like margarine anyway. I like butter really. But you wouldn’t know. You like margarine. Did you know they have a story written about you called Marjorie’s Margarine.”

She began to wish she had a name like Ylondavasaki. Just so they can’t make a pun of her name with her weapon of choice.

“No I didn’t know that,” she said, and her voice was low, smooth and warm. In another situation it would have been a voice to melt the ears of men, but this man was not any ordinary man, and this was one of those bad situations. Voices like butter (haha) would not do a thing for times like this. Margerine, though, probably will.

“I came here to ask you to hand in what you have over there. By the corner. Black bag,” he said. Then he cocked his head one side and re-pondered his proclamation. “Not ask. Force.”
She took a sharp breath. “Black bag? What black bag? I have nothing on me. As you can see,” she gestured at her torn and ripped jeans, with bits of pinkish flesh showing through (yes, she had an odd pinkish colouring about her person, don’t go holding that against her –what did you think she would be? Yellow, like margarine? Overkill), “I have nothing on me, not even the jeans on my thighs.”

He looked at her and showed her his very black teeth. It was a stereotype, she supposed. If he was already leering and looming, it must be his teeth would be of an unnatural colour. A leery, loomy guy would not have perfect teeth.

“You don’t have it. You were robbed.”

She nodded, though that sent stars through her eyeballs. “I was robbed,” she affirmed. “I was also attacked.”

His grin, if possible, got even wider. Hmm. Too wide.

“If you won’t tell me, I will have to take it from you.”

She frowned. “Take -?”

And then his face split into two, black teeth and chapped lips and all and he lunged at her with his mouth impossibly wide open, aiming straight for her face.

Screaming, she ducked and rolled away from him, and he stumbled. Scrambling to her feet, she made her way to the bedroom, ignoring the bursts of pain behind her eyes, and made a wild grab for the bed-side table. Her hands slipped on the (DAMMIT) expectedly melted margarine slab as he grabbed her feet and began to drag her backwards.

With a grunt, she kicked out at him, and to her horror, he ate her shoe. “Damn you!” she shouted. “That’s my favourite shoe!” He went on grinning in that unnatural, horror-movie-esque way, and she saw with disgust that his tongue too, was black. Damn we’re just full of stereotypes here, she thought, as she continued to fight to escape his grip.

Her feet kept at the kicking (sans one side of her blue and white Nikes) and eventually, she felt his grip slacken, just for a split second and she slid out of his claws like (pfft) margarine. She made yet another wild dash for that (melt-y) slab of margarine, managed to grab hold on to it, and threw it with all her might straight into his mouth.

It disappeared like candy at a candy shop inside that black hole he called a face, but as soon as she pointed her middle finger at him, his face exploded, spraying her with bits of Looming Man.

“Bleargh.” She flicked a particular nasty bit away from her face, and mourned the loss of yet another perfectly good slab of margarine.

Groaning, she put her hands to her head and wished that the headache would go away. Remembering the Panadol, she made her way back to the toilet (amidst the remains of Mr. Leering) and found it, very much more battered and crushed now. She found one uncrushed pill, put it inside her mouth, and poured the remaining powdery bits into her mouth. Swallowing them dry, she thought. Ahek.

She looked around the scene of damage. Bits of nasty man? Check. Painkillers? Check. Clothes? Hmm. She looked under the bed covers, in the cupboard with the spoilt handle, under the bed itself –and spied a really ratty-looking pair of shorts.

It had stains on it. Stains that looked suspiciously like blood. Grimacing, she put them on, and with a flick of her hair, she picked up the box (containing a vial of blood and an address) she hid from sight and walked out the doors of the hotel.

****

Matthew threw his pen down and slammed his not-too-shabby fists against the flat top of his very expensive table.

Maybe slammed is too harsh a word. His table cost too much to be treated with such violence.

Let’s correct the mistake.

Matthew threw his pen down and gently tapped the flat surface of his very expensive table.

Better.

He chewed the edge of his fingers (not the nail, the finger) in a very precise, mechanical manner.
It helped him think when the words wouldn’t flow through, like it always did. That, and cussing as fluently as he can in the five languages he knew.

He proceeded to do just that and earned a yell from his father, who was in the other room, also trying to write, and also not getting any. Words, that is.

His father was a great playwright with so many awards under his belt that his son was surprised it still held up pants, and Matthew had, quite obviously, took after his fathers’ word-wizardry.

Matthew earned the nickname of Writes, pronounced ‘rights’, when he was 7, in the midst of composition class for young children. He earned it for the sole reason he dared to propose to his teacher at that time that ‘ebullient’ did not mean ‘bulbous’ and as such, cannot be used in that particular sentence; which, by the way, had three syntax errors and one grammatically dubious use of tense.

He was promptly told to leave the class and go out into the hall bearing the placard with the words: I am a Know-it-All. He went home, wrote a six-page short story, showed it to his father and equally as promptly was told he needed to take down the blood content a notch. Maybe two notches.

He also won his first short-story writing competition with that story, and forever solidified himself as Writes by winning every single writing competition he ever entered (with the help of his father, who would read and pronounce either ‘bloodthirsty’ or ‘passable for mass audiences’).

But behind his back people also called him Bloodlust Writes, thanks to his penchant for extremely vivid scenes of gore, blood and violence –brilliant, they were, but also disturbing.

This, however, did not mean he was a violent person by nature. He really was quite good-natured. Tall, and rather thin, cut with a hollow look to his cheeks and a dark, brooding gaze, he was not what one would even call handsome (nor attractive, nor charming, nor sensuous, nor any adjectives used to describe aesthetically pleasing males), he was simply what one would call ‘interesting’. He gave chills to the people who he wanted to give chills to and was good to the people who he wanted to be good to.

His father long gave up trying to get him to fill out that starved look (his father was a robust man with a hearty appetite and an extremely clever wit –his works were all acclaimed for its sharp writing and insanely intelligent wit) and chose to buy him clothes that were bright in colour and always 3 sizes too large.

But Writes (we shall know him as that) has always been a good sort of person (despite the bloodlust) and he never got into any trouble of any kind. In fact, he was all round nice, with a dry sort of humour and a great smile. He didn’t have black teeth, you will be glad to know.

He didn’t have any distinguishing talents besides writing, but that, as he often told himself in the dead of night on one of his nightly sojourns into the depths of his imagination, he never found to be worth of concern or worry. To him, all he needed were his words, his imagination and the perpetuity of the Internet and the computer.

Giving up the cussing meant going back to the fingers, and Writes did just that. When he felt a tang of metal on his tongue and a sharp pain through his fingers, he removed the injured finger from his mouth and moved on to the wounded digits’ next-door neighbor.

He rolled the taste of his own blood in his mouth –a horrifying habit his father had never been able to break him of. Writes liked the taste of his own blood, and he often bit himself just to lick away at his wounds, like a dog. He was still good natured though, albeit with a fetish for his own blood.

He even had 3 ex-girlfriends, all who left him within six months, which was just about the time they found out he liked to lick his own blood. And that he eventually wrote their deaths in effort to show them how much he liked them.

He had a lot of friends too, but they knew from the look in his eyes that when a writers’ block was on the way, the blood will soon be flowing. Then they left, but they returned when he was busy writing and was all-round good to be around.

Writes then felt a sharp buzz just inside his stomach somewhere, and frantically rushed to his laptop (a state-of-the-art machine that did everything under the sun except wash your laundry for you) and began to type away so furiously that his fingers groaned in protest. The pen lay on the table, forgotten. He never used it anyway. He only used it when he needed to think –then he would hold it in his hands and push it against his forehead until an indentation appeared and he got the words he needed.

His father, too, was silent in the other room, which meant he was asleep or writing.

Writes eventually got to the end of the story he had been working on for two months, and he was pleased with how it turned out. There was a minimal amount of blood (he was sure father would pronounce it ‘passable for mass audiences with stronger stomachs than most people’) and there was a brilliant twist to the plot he himself did not know he was going to write.

He dashed to his father and waved his manuscript under his nose and earned a playful slap on the shoulder.

“Here now m’boy. Slow down. What have you got there?” boomed his father. “Another one of your stories again? Heard you cussin’ like a sailor just now.”

Writes was 23, but his father always spoke like this –like a cheesy western advertisement for ‘family fun weekends at Tampa Bay’. Wherever Tampa Bay was. He suspects it’s in the States somewhere.

“Father. I may have stumbled upon a veritable goldmine here within these sixty six thousand words,” he said. He too, always spoke like that –like a book. “I believe that once it is published it will be the making of our fortune.”

His father laughed. “We made our fortune years ago, sonny. We have enough money to buy out a government and maybe even more!”

This was true. His father made obscene amounts of money each day writing speeches for people who needed great writers to prepare their speeches. He also made money from his plays, which were always to a full house and with the biggest names attached to it.

And Writes also brought in his fair share of the dough –he made money from writing dark, underground hit movies for those who are too rich to bother with making money, but were perfectly happy paying him to help them make beautiful, dark, disturbing and brilliant movies no one but a small handful ever saw.

“Nonetheless, have a read and see if it may be palatable for the audiences.” He left the papers in his father’s room, on his equally as expensive table. His father started humming ‘Flight of the Bumblebees’. Writes left the room.

He wandered into the kitchen (it took him a full fifteen minutes to get there, seeing his house was three and a half stories high and had 10 bedrooms) and tried to find himself something to eat. He beckoned one of the many black-clad staff bustling about, and proceeded to articulate himself (with his hands) that he wanted some food.

This he did with rubbing his stomach and pointing to his open mouth. It earned him giggles from the petite little creature that joined the staff of the household yesterday and a hunk of fresh-baked bread with hand-made strawberry jam.

He ate methodically, biting himself as he did so, just because he liked to.

His phone rang (another state of the art thing that did everything as well, except what his laptop cannot) and he answered a call with a very pleasant –

“Hello.”

“I am looking for a guy named Rights.”

“That would be me.”

“Prepare two slabs of margarine. Do it now, and don’t leave it out someplace hot. Leave it in
somewhere cool in that huge house of yours. When you hear someone at the door, open it, hand her the margarine, and find somewhere to hide.”

“I think that would make a great story plot. May I know with whom am I having the pleasure of being ordered around?”

“No. And just do it! Now!”

The phone went dead. Writes pondered his actions: as he could see, he had two options. Write a story on this phone call (he could see the starting… it would be about a girl named Marjorie, who did miraculous things with butter) or do as the harassed voice told him to.

Sighing, and licking off the last bits of blood, he proceeded to do as the voice had asked. He grabbed two slabs of margarine from the cupboard and left them by the side table (it had something that looked like Faberge eggs on it, but those he casually put aside), where it was relatively cool.

When he opened the door, he found out very quickly two things: he would like to go upstairs and taste more of his blood, write a book, and go promptly mad from the brilliance of the plot, and second, he would also like to bring along the girl standing there in front of him, and probably taste her blood too.

He reconsidered option number two when he saw her fling the margarine slabs at two men who looked like they came out of one of his own stories and they exploded.

“There. Thanks for the help, Rights.” She brushed her short shorts, sending out a small cloud of dust.

“Writes,” he corrected in a monotone, still staring at the lumps of sizzling meat.

“Yes, Writes then. Nice to meet you,” she cheerfully announced. “I am here to ask you for your
brain.”

Writes took his eyes from the remains of the creatures and frowned at her. “My brain.”

“Your brain,” she affirmed, eyes gleaming.

“May I ask why and what will you be doing with my brain?”

“Simple. I plan on using it as bait.”

“Bait?”

“Yes, bait. Why am I always affirming my statements?” she wondered out loud, and pulled at
imaginary lint (which turned out to be a body part). “Anyway. Bait for them. They want to eat
your brain so they can get information out of you. Well, maybe not eat so much as digest. Like a snake. Python. They swallow and di –“

“I know what a python does and how it eats.”

She smiled. “Great, then you would know what would happen and so it will be easier.”

He stared at her –her dirty brown hair, tangled in a bob around her face, he short shorts, her
odd pinkish skin, and her bright, gleaming eyes.

“Goodbye,” he said, and began to shut the door.

“Sure,” she said, as her face disappeared behind the ten thousand dollar mahogany door with inlaid gold. “But don’t you want to know why your brain is bait –it could be a story.”

He paused.

“I’m listening.”

She grinned, white teeth showing, eyebrows arched. “Invite me in, and oh yes. Don’t suck my
blood. You won’t like how I taste.”

He grinned back, showing white teeth, with exceptionally red gums.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

2009-06-25T10:02:00.003+08:00

There has to be something interesting I can write here -but the fact of the matter is, I've got nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip. ASTALAVISTABABY.

I have no idea how that last exclamations fits inside this blog post.

I was toying with the idea of putting up a a short story here but my ideas have run dry, much like the River of -nevermind.

Meeting up with V and K this Sunday, can't wait, because I ain't seen them in what, a month?? Sad. Very sad. Plus with the fact (I announce here first ahhh) I AM NOT GOING FOR OUR GRADUATION CEREMONY.

No one is going to stop me. Because I can list you EASILY at least five good things about NOT going for the Graduation Ceremony.

First: I won't have to sit through hours of the MOST BORING old people in the world talking about what a bright fututre we are going to have, and the impact we will make in the working world.

Because I already know I am going to have a future that is semi-luminescent (at least) and if I work hard I can make an impact anywhere. Don't need to pay some old coot to tell me that.

Second: I can put that RM300 (roughly) to good use -and the use DOES NOT involve playing dress up in a robe that will be a) dusty, b) ill-fitting, and c) smell slightly like old people and cupboards.

I can use the money to pay for my transport as I go about MY JOB. Thanks very much.

Third: I refuse to be involved in something that requires me to pose, smile and be permanently frozen on a photo. End of story. Because I hate being photographed, and I refuse to bend to ceremony.

Fourth: Its a WTF. I STILL have to pay RM198 for my certificate, so no need to add to the expense. I refuse to indulge in sentimental, traditional ceremonial mumbo jumbo.

Fifth: I do not need to go to the convocation to meet up with my friends or say goodbye! I don't even NEED to say goodbye. There is something called Facebook, you know. And MSN. And Yahoo. *rolls eyes*

I know there will be some horrified gasps. I don't bleedin' care. I dare you all to try and change my mind. HAH. J has already tried and was unsuccessful.

Ahem. Anyway.

So back to my ideas -of which I have none. I want to write a good short story someday but I reckon I would need a good story first. I have yet to have lived long enough to decipher the meaning of life -and in fact, I don't think I ever will.

But I damn well will try. ^^,

Owh.

I think I do need to post up some explanations for my silly 'How well do you know Pauline Wong' Quiz. Heh. Lotsa you scored kinda low -but wait! Its no fault of your own!

Because:

a) My favourite colour is blue, so for those who got this wrong very the sweat lor. Hahaha.

b) I listen to Coldplay obsessively, but they're not the only people I listen to: I like mostly alternative bands and any and all epic score from movies. In fact, some of you may know that my favourite piece of music ever is Vide Cor Meum from Hannibal.

c) If I were to run out of a burning house -I would never leave Christian behind! Books I can buy again, but if wallet don't bring along, how can I do that? Lol. Replacing books is easier than IC and bank cards. And my dog, well, K is right, she can run, but she isn't the smartest dog to have existed, and would probably go lick the flames instead of running away from them.

d) I absolutely adore the Bridget Jones series, and I hated Elizabethtown, which is an Orlando Bloom movie. It was boring and even his puppy dog eyes couldn't save the show. Johnny Depp I love too but I don't love eveything he was in.

e) I would NOT eat chocolate for a month non-stop! NOBODY can eat one type of food for a month NON STOP! LOL.

f) I have always secretly wanted to be a guy -though V points out I hang out with them long enough to know what THAT is like. Haha. But for a DAY, I would wanna be a guy. This is because I've always wanted to know how it would feel to be able to burp, fart and be disgusting and totally hilariously funny just for a day and get away with it. Girls can never get away with doing things like that.

Btw, I want to be a famous novelist for LIFE. Heh.

g) I am always, first and foremost, attracted to a guy by his humour and his laugh. Its sad, but there you go. Its always the funny guys that get my attention, because there is nothing so good as a guy who can make me laugh, and likes to laugh. What kind of laugh, you say? Simple: a good, hearty one that is not fake or forced.

h) I am known for nothing at all, really. If you were to ask me what I were known for I'd say nothing, though in fact, people usually associate me with two things: tall and funny. But hence the hint: think of what I would say.

i) My greatest fear is the death of someone I love. I am deathly afraid that harm would befall my family, or my friends. My angry Dino I can handle. Eventually he'll forgive me and sayang me as always. (I am his favourite, after all, hahaha.) But losing my family? Or my close friends?? Never. It scares the heck out of me just thinking of it. Snakes don't even come close.

j) Ehe, I do admit I put questions 12 and 8 just to mess with you guys. NYAHAHAHA.

So thats it la. I am glad to know that most of you weren't at all far off. I heart you guys! ^^,

Bye now.

A Chef in Black and Other Stories

2009-06-19T17:44:00.004+08:00

A Chef in Black

By Pauline Wong

He was not dressed in black, actually. It was a grey vintage-feel T-shirt purchased from the depths of a store called Ed Hardy (now in residence in our fair country at KLCC) , and a nondescript pair of pants. His name isn't 'Something -something Black' either. Its Emmanuel. Stroobant. He's Belgian.

His moniker is virtue of his black St Pierre uniform, (I think, I am just making a wild guess), which he wears on his TV show 'Chef in Black I' and 'Chef in Black II'. He's head chef there -a position he enjoys because (in his words) 'he cooks, and I do all the talking'.

'He' being his creative assistant. A rather quietly sexy French guy (ahh the French, their men can make slicing tomatoes look sexy) who I'd love have cooking in my home. Antoine, his name. He gave me better poses during the live demonstration at 7AteNine, The Ascott.

Nonetheless, he was chatty, friendly, a great sport (with multitudes of press descending upon him, it is amazing and a testament to his tolerance that he didn't throw his hands up and curse, with alacrity, the Malaysian press in very colourful Belgian), and an all round charismatic and funny guy. Short blond hair and all.

Nothing appeals to me so much as a man who cooks and makes jokes while he does so, so I had enjoyed my (very brief) interview (with 5 other journos) with him. I don't fancy much places that 'posh' -food too small and prices too big.

When the World Works, You Work

By Pauline Wong also

Work has been all consuming, she thought to herself, sitting at the corner of her bed, reaching over to pluck that pesky wire off the floor. She plugs it in viciously into her handphone, and proceeds to flop onto her bed.

She missed her friends. Still do. Misses, then. She misses her friends. She missed their infinite freedom to just 'hang' whenever they wanted to, wherever they wanted to. Most of all, she wanted her 3am bedtimes... okay. Maybe she doesn't.

When the world works, so does she. She types away at her laptop (supplied by her office): she enjoys what she does but sometimes her freezing fingers hurt.

She likes her colleagues a great deal. She likes her job. She is happy.

...but there is something to be said for being able to kick back, relax, and wear ratty T-shirts everyday and talk utter perverse nonsense with equally perverse and nonsensical friends.

Reticulating 4D Splines

2009-06-09T09:43:00.004+08:00

And so begins yet another long-term affair with The Sims: this time, they are BACK for the 3rd time.

You would think that after the mega-mad success of Sims 1 and 2, they would sit back, relax, enjoy their profits (gained from capitalising and exploiting the inner megalomaniacs of the God-Playing community) and never work a day in their lives again.

Yeah, EA guys, I am talking to ya'. You and your madly addictive games and greedy over-taking of smaller, independent game developers. You are supposed to be sitting by some nude beach somewhere (you and your whole Sims-developer team), sipping apple martinis and turning yourselves over like tempura fried chickens under the sun as you try to make up for years of getting pasty under the glare of your computers.

Ahem.

Maybe I am just jealous I didn't think of creating a game where you can play God and make your Sim drown in a swimming pool by taking away the pool ladder.

Maybe I will create a game where you can play God in a youth NEWSPAPER company and have your writer+Sims drown from drinking too much free guava/mango/orange juice. Hah!

Ahem again.

But while they should be doing aforementioned things, they are not. They are going about thinking of MORE ways one can play God, and of MORE ways they can make the God-experience even more fun.

Because with Sims 3, you can now play God ALL OVER the neighbourhood, and not just in your house.

Because controlling your Sim going toilet/eating waffles/sleeping/woo-hooing/practically every detail of his/her life inside the home YOU built just simply isn't enough.

Now, Sims 3 allows you to control what they do at work, too -whether its 'Business as Usual' or 'Work Hard' or 'Take it Easy'.

Sims 3 also allows you to go to the beach, for the first time ever, because sun tanning in your own backyard is not enough.

Sims 3 allows you to PLAY GOD to a whole new level. And guess what, there isn't even any expansion pack yet.

So yeah, EA guys. Here's to you. Lets reticulate the HECK out of those 4D splines and ascend those Maslows' hierarchies.

Because come 2015, there will be Sims 4, non? And this time, we control-freaks can play God all over THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!

WRITERS BLOCK (letters)

2009-06-04T11:11:00.003+08:00

TODAY, IS CAPS DAY.

THIS IS BECAUSE I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK AND I DO NOT WISH TO DELVE INTO THE INDIGNITIES OF PRESSING THE SHIFT KEY. I INSIST ON WRITING EVERYTHING IN CAPS, SO AS TO BURST FREE OF THE CONSTRAINING ERM CONFINES OF SMALL AND BIG LETTERS.

I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK.

I AM STARING AT MY COMPUTER SCREEN (SOMEWHERE SOMEONE IS HAVING A BLAST WRITING AWAY AND ABOUT THE MOST MUNDANE OF THINGS I AM SURE OF IT, DAMN THEM I CANT WRITE) AND I AM ACTUALLY SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING ABOUT MOVIE CARNIVAL AND ABOUT A UNIVERSITY THAT JUST OPENED AND WANT TO HAVE FREE PUBLICITY WITH US BECAUSE THEY CAN CALL THE SHOTS.

I AM ALSO SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING ABOUT KIDS WHO'VE FOLLOWED IN THEIR FATHERS' FOOTSTEPS BUT I PERSONALLY DON'T KNOW ANYONE WHOSE FATHERS ARE WRITERS OR JOURNALISTS OR ARE ANY WAY INSPIRATIONS FOR MY FRIENDS DOING ANYTHING THEY DO. EXCEPT ON EATING. BECAUSE I AM SURE (I CHECKED) THAT EATING IS NOT A PROFESSION ANYWAY. NOT YET. IT SOON WILL BE. AND IT WILL BE UNIQUE TO MALAYSIANS ONLY.

I DIGRESS.

I CANT SEEM TO WRITE ANYTHING THAT MAKES AN OUNCE OF SENSE AND YET I AM SUPPOSED TO SELL THIS UNIVERSITY WITHOUT ACTUALLY IT READING LIKE AN ADVERTISEMENT.

THIS SUCKS.

AND, TO TOP IT OFF, I AM ACTUALLY HAVING A GREAT TIME AT WORK. ITS JUST THAT I AM SO SO SO STUCK.

I THINK OL' SCROOGE HAD A POINT: BAH, HUMBUG.

Quik-ee Update

2009-06-03T09:11:00.002+08:00

I have a few cents worth in opinions to hand out. And, whether YOU like it or not, you're gonna read it. HAH!

Its a Sad, Sad day for the Insurance Business

.....when a certain lifeform of little to no intelligence is tossed (to the horror of insurance salespeople everywhere; I can hear the keening wails of agony) into the world of selling someone something that could potentially protect them from unfortunate twists of fate.

At least the world of Journalists can breathe a sigh of relief.

Its a Good, Good Day for Quiz-taking

....IF the quiz makes any sense at all, that is. While Facebook quizzes are fun, many of them have either answers too obvious

-what kind of o-holic are you: answer to questions given are DOH obvious.

...or completely stupid:

- how will you die: what is your favorite colour, it asks- to which answers are blue, green, etc etc... how the HECK is your favourite PIGMENT supposed to determine the one certain thing in life??

Its a Great, Great Day to Watch Coraline

.... fav biscuits? Check. Milo? Check. Parents fast alseep and are not about to walk in, hoping to catch me watching something I shouldn't (*koff* YAOI* koff*)? Check.

Okay, my opinions are done now. You may resume your work/play/porn (ahem)/surfing now. Hee.

I love my job

2009-05-29T22:26:00.003+08:00

It truly aint' everyday you see that phrase anywhere. Too many people are too unhappy with their jobs, and perhaps I am 'honeymooning' as my Bro puts it. But maybe, just maybe: I DO love my job.

As you all know, I have secured me a job: its a good one, one with minimum tension and a very light hearted, easy going approach. Environment is top notch -people are friendly, nice and generally fun-loving.

I have successfully survived 2 weeks, and so far, its been a blast. I write all day (and for me, there is nothing better), I disturb my colleagues, and I get to ogle some eye candy too. (Tee hee hee hee.) Work area is comfortable (though right behind editor and in front of CEO's office, gulp!) and there is abundance of free drinks. Work load gets crazy only Monday to Wednesday, and I am given a lot of free reign to do as I please, since my Editor leaves me on 'automode' (his words, not mine) most of the time anyway. So I abide by the rules, and he lets me arrange my own interviews.

Only downside? Its in the middle of nowhere, which is hard if, like me, you don't drive. Small downside. Small.

Can I gloat that I love my job? Sorry.

Anyway, took some pics while I was out this morning:

From the LRT, the sun was shining through the sky like a light from God saying HAHA YOU LRT SUCKERS; gorgeous, but I was too slow wid my camera, so the shot doesn't capture the full beauty (and glee of God of human bodies crushed inside a train).

From my house, just as the sun was rising. Gorgoeus colour.

And thats pretty much it. Expect more pics in my blog from now on -even more than when I first got my little Cybershot phone.

Now I upgrade edy. Muahahaha.

Buhbye now.

Twisted Trainsistor

MPI- IJF 2011

I has an iPad2

Yeah so now anybody can read my blog again

It's a quiet night

And because it's Sunday in the office

Marjorie's very stale Margarine and then some.

*blows dust* FOOSH!

It's been three weeks since I last blogged

Re: Your Brains

Of Some Things Here and There

Of all things neither here nor there

The Times, They Are A-Changing

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

A Story

Long-Delayed Post

Goodbye!

iPhone, baby

Marjorie's Margarine PART 3

I AM SO FUCKING SLEEPY

Fan Girlism

Some pretteh, and then some not-so-pretteh

TICKS! BILLIONS OF TICKS OMFG!!!!

How to Train Your Dinos

Because Imma Beautiful Disaster - Er, Blogger

Approbation, Pictures, Friends

QU

Of Flaming Lamborghini and Black Russian

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEEMBIE!

Bunny go Popcorn

Being Hardworking Does Not Pay

OKAY so I haven't been updating so much

Lucky, Baking and Competent Cameras

Aiyo Lucky! Lucky! OI LUCKY AAAAARGH NO.

Meet Lucky.

Day Two of Project 365 and A Very Busy Day

Day 1 of Project 365

On the first day of Christmas

And they sent me a cap. A Red Canon Cap

Hark the Starbucks Christmas Blend

By the virtue of God

I found myself writing a letter no one will read

PHOTO Marathon - Canon's Exclusive Pissing Off Session

Its been quite a while

Of Blackberries and Despondencies

I Didn't Get to Say Goodbye

Cupcakes and Broga Hill

Sacrifice

My Solitary Heart

A Streak of Colour in the Sky

The Calm Before the Storm.. and I am Blogging

Books and Other Stuff

Marjories' Margarine

A Chef in Black and Other Stories

Reticulating 4D Splines

WRITERS BLOCK (letters)

Quik-ee Update

I love my job

blows dust FOOSH!