Blast victims from the forest

Say hello,

to my grandma:


SAY IT.

Ok. Good. My family and my grandma and I went to Genting Highlands a while back to watch this Mysteria magic show. Good entertainment and everything. Anyway, we spent most of our non-Mysteria time at First World Plaza – the hotel with like a shopping mall and an indoor theme park below it. All jolly good fun.

Anyway, around the fast food area (McDs and Burger King within 50 meters of each other! Actually they were on top of one another which is even weirder) there was this little stage thing and on the stage were the creepiest figures I could ever imagine.

It wasn’t part of the Ripley’s exhibit that was set up on the north wing nor was it part of the Ponitanak horror house. It was horrifyingly and terrifyingly part of an animatronic animal band designed to “entertain” small children.

(Distorted) Animal: Bear
No. of (terrifying) members: 5
(Useless) Instruments: Vocals, guitar, bass, keyboard, drums
Genre: (Creepy) Silence

What follows is an account of my impression of these “so-called” musicians.
Not advisable for small children or the faint of heart.

Bear #1


The Girl Bear

Yeah, they followed the traditional format and went with a female lead to draw in the crowds on horny 4-year olds that make up their demographic.
Puh-lease. She looks like Courtney Love after she forgot to shave. And evolve. She’s got a nose the size of the moon and I have the feeling that anything musical coming from her would not come out of her mouth (the other end maybe, but not the mouth). When they dug the bear remains out of the pit, they really should have spent more on trying to hide the bones than dressing them up (which failed miserably too).
Plus, she’s butt-UG-LEE. If you’re going to have a band of 4 guys and a girl, at least make one of them ok-looking. Anyway, they’re bears. Ugly bears, but that’s not my problem. Someone should petition the Bear Family and Children Council to stop in-breeding. It’s destroying their reputation.

Bear #2


The Lead Bear

And by lead, I mean lead – as in: lead the way over a cliff please.

First thing, bears don’t have opposable thumbs so how can he possibly hold a guitar. No way.
And second, what the heck kind of guitar is that? Yeah I know Martha Stewart was a great inspiration but even she would go out and BUY a guitar. Get some money and purchase one, buddy. Or better yet, I’ll give u mine – anything’s better that a box with strings.
Third, remove the owl. It’s not cute. It’s not anything. However, it is annoying.
And fourth, shut your trap! You’re not even singing! What are you? Part-time venus fly-trap? No one wants to smell your stanky bear breath! Go kill brain cells else where! Yuk.
Fifth. Dude. I may not be the best dresser in the world (well I am, but modesty forbids and all that), but I say lose the PJs. Striped overalls? Honey those are so 3 years ago.
Love from: Queer Hair for the Straight Bear. Muax muax etcetera.

P.S. Do you have your own eyeballs? I’m just guessing cos it doesn’t look like you have any.

Bear #3 and #4


Bass Bear and Keyboard Bear

Ok, so is he wearing underpants? They look like underpants but I’m not sure. I don’t really want to take a closer look. Go ahead if you want.
And I think the dude on the right had a face but it melted the camera lens. Either that or he’s part gorilla. Make that ALL gorilla.

Bear #5


Drummer Dude

ARGH! There’s a cross-dressing bear! Now there’s something you don’t see every day. It’s the pigtails that confuse me. Or ears. Or whatever. I detect metallic pants. Oh good grief, have these people no shame?!

Sigh. I wanted to finish this post today because I feel ashamed for the long time I haven’t posted. Forgive me blogging overlords, for I have failed you. [impales self on literary sword]

I'm such a bad daughter

Morning again.

Yesterday I forgot to do a graph my dad asked me to do. He needed it by this morning. He got pissed. He gave me that pissed-off glare. It's the morning. I don't give a shit.

He says: "Can you take the notebook to the office and do it there?" -Glare. Glare. Glare.-
I say: "Yeah. The file is in my email." Why are you still glaring? I said I'd do it.
He walks past to the shoe cupboard.
He says: "If you only would have done it yesterday…" -He trails off sentences a lot.-
I say: "I tried to teach you how to do it so many times!" - I do have a valid point. -
He says: "Fine! Never mind! Forget it!"

OK. It's NSOMY (No Skin Off My Nose).

He stalks out the front door.

Strange. Now he'll never get it done either way. Not the brightest thing he's ever done.

I do my dad's business graphs for him ever since he discovered that excel has the function and he stubbornly doesn't want to learn claiming that it's a waste of time. I don't see the logic but that's the kind of man my father is. Never wrong, always right.

I have a personal rule when it comes to my parents. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. It's worked quite well for me so far. I'm still living there and getting fed on a daily basis. I have shelter and water to drink. I'm sort of like a pet who, in the future, will look after my masters until their demise.

I don't care if it sounds morbid because there's really no other way of looking at it. As a single and only child, I have sole responsibility for the health and safety of the two most irritating people I know. Well, you cant choose family.

I've always threatened them with the though of sending them to a nursing home. The threat is quite real. I'm working towards getting a law degree and the natural progression from that is to be a lawyer. Lawyers in general don't really have much time to dote on senile seniors. Sad to say. I'm sure they can look after themselves but as my parents are quite stubborn about not having a maid I don't see what else I can do cept let educated professionals manage them.

Wow. That sounds cold. Even to me. I'm in a rather humourless mood now. Having an argument with my dad sucks the life outta a person.

Well back to the principle of biting feeding hands.

If my dad wanted me to do the graph, he should have let me take the notebook instead of glaring and mouthing off. He knows I had a valid point because if I didn't he would have retaliated. Then again, I do have to go to college today and I think he's sending me so he might just be waiting for revenge or something. I can take a cab, no problem then.

Dad doesn't like me taking cabs. I don't know whether he thinks they're expensive or dangerous but he objects to me taking them. I have no qualms about it. They get me from point A to point B. then I'm happy.

Bite. Hand. Feed. OK.

I depend on my parents and that thought alone really turns my stomach. I don't like to be dependent but out of necessity's sake I must. I'm not quite 18 but I don't really want to go out and work yet. I'll get my law degree first - a year here (KL) then 2 in the UK - and then I can go gallivanting off independently for a few years then return to do my daughterly duties.

My dad just want grandchildren so I don't know why he's letting me go off to England. The typical Chinese dream I guess: rich, wealthy and prosperous offspring who produce many babies. That's not so hard for my friends cos they got siblings. I have to encompass it all. I have to be all-encompassing. Stress-much?

Like I said before. I don't like being an only child. If I fail, the whole family line fails. I just might fail to spite them, although my own ego won't let me. Why do I care so much?

My A-level results are out to day by the way. Could this day get any better?

I will talk and you will shut-the-hell-up

On the way to work today, mum was driving the Saab down the highway and she started talking about a new client that we (by we I mean my parent's Company) recently got. The radio was on and it was just playing music when she started talking. Now my mother dearest has this strange habit of once she starts talking, she just can't stop herself. It wouldn't be so bad if she would talk about something other than work. And she's not that great of a storyteller wither. Very technical and too much detail to make it worth listening to.
Anyway, like I mentioned, the radio was on and just as we were approaching the tollbooth the radio announcer started talking again. It was pretty interesting I guess but I can't for the life of me remember what they were going on about. My mum paused in her "story". I'm thinking that she's is finished with her story. I am listening to the radio.

We go through the tollbooth.

I notice that there's a voice that sounds familiar in the car. It's not the radio. My mum is still talking.

That's the first creepy thing - although I shouldn't be surprised.

A second later I'm sitting stock still in shock. I realise that I completely zoned out my own mother.


Not like I know what's she's saying and just am not listening. That's normal. Usually if I'm in the car and she's talking I'll try and listen to the radio but because it's your mother you kind of are programmed to hear her voice above everything else. But this time it was different. I did not hear her at all, like she wasn't even there. And the weird thing was that I wasn't trying to zone her out but I was doing the normal thing and going "uh huh" and "yeh" at intervals. I completely fazed out and her voice wasn't even registering in my head. There wasn't anything interesting on the radio or anything going on around the car. Just me and mum and something just switched off.

Pretty scary.

I do tell my mum when she gets all talkative and stuff that it's not interesting to me but I guess she just wants someone to tell. I don't mind because I can pretend to listen and just hear the music instead. This time wasn't like that. Usually I hear both and my mum's voice cuts into the music and I just end up falling asleep (I wear sunglasses cos it's bright so she doesn't know).

I hope that doesn't happen during University class cos I can't control the zoning out thing. I might actually miss a whole lecture even tho I'm in attendance. And that would suck. A new meaning for there for nothing.

Most people want a shoulder to lean / cry on or a soundboard to talk to. I've learned that the best way to be sensitive and caring is just to shut up and listen. Most people are content to talk about themselves all day and night if need be. Even if you don't say anything substantial or clever, just listening is good enough to cement your status as a caring compassionate person. I'm not saying fake it to seem like a nicer person. You really have to try and listen and understand.

And don't interrupt. Interrupting is not only rude but it disrupts the other person's flow and that usually is quite irritating. Do onto others remember.

Unless the person wants your opinion then only should you give it to them. Your opinion, that is. And generally if they want your opinion, they'll ask you.
Examples:
"What's your opinion?"
"What do you think?"

So there really isn't any excuse to butt in uninvited. It's pretty clear cut when they want your help and when they want you to shut up.

I've figured that if people talk enough, they'll probably be able to sort themselves out. The only problem is finding someone to talk to and finding someone who'll listen for hours on end. Not to mention the ludicrously outrageous phone bill.

The last few paragraphs only apply to those serious conversations that you have with gal pals and stuff. Don't do this when you're all having fun down at the pub. They'll think you've got a stick shoved up your butt.


I don't mind listening to people. I'm used to it. I live with two very noisy, talkative people. I'm chatty by nature but sometimes too much for my own good. It's easy to talk all the time. More quantity than quality and hardly anyone hears you. It's much more a challenge to be a good listener. That's why women loves guys who listen. They are a dying breed. The gentlemen of old are no more.

Sigh.

If you are one, you know where to find me!

Run around screaming. It's theraputic.

I feel like shit. And not through any fault of my own. I just got scolded / yelled at by a client of the firm next door.
It’s rather a complicated situation but the lawyer who rents the office next door hasn’t been in for about 2 months and seeing as his secretary and the usual secretary for this firm I’m working for are both on maternity leave, I have to take all the calls for both firms. That shouldn’t be too bad really. The callers to this firm are ok. A little nuts and sometimes annoying, but normally placid. The callers for the lawyer next door are a little more aggro and pissed off. But that’s generally speaking. I think it’s more to do with the compound fact that he’s never in when they come looking for him.

The torrents of rage pouring from the telephone speaker seem harmless enough but I’m not the best at fielding angry and sad. I’m severely empathetic so it hits me harder than most people.

Empathetic


Verb
Sharing someone else's feelings or experiences by imagining what it would be like to be in their situation
ORIGIN: Greek empatheia, from pathos ‘feeling’.

It’s a gift. Or a curse. It’s really both. Depends on whom I’m with. Like if I’m with a happy person, then I generally feel happy. Although that’s usually the case anyway. A better example is when I’m talking to someone on the phone and even if I don’t know him or her that well I can tell if something is wrong. It’s only usually a sense of something’s off but if they were happy I probably wouldn’t have to figure that out. It proved quite useful during those dramatic high school years. I avoided quite a few minor fights thru that. I could tell when people were going to cry and I could avoid those people who seemed a little pms-y.

People will say that everyone can sense what people are like if they know how to analyse faces and tones and body language and all that but I’ve never read any books or considered posture or things like that. I can tell even if I can’t see their face or see them. It’s a sense of darkness or light. You feel it from within and there is n o reason for you to feel that way. Of course, you have to be open and receptive to emotions. What I mean is that you can’t be overwhelmed by your own feelings in order to empathise with other people. If you are deliriously happy or depressingly sad the reception on you empathy antenna is fuzzy and you don’t feel other people as much. However, there are times when I am really sad or happy and other people pass by and I feel like a tingle inside and the feelings are mixed up. It’s quite hard to explain. It emanates from the same place where you feel love and sadness – I take that example because I assume everyone’s felt intense love or longing (not lust. That’s a whole different place!) at least once before. Whether it’s for a new puppy or a dying relative. It’s just glows or hurts from inside.

I don’t claim to have ESP or detract from true psychic powers – I sort of believe in that – but it’s just a really strange connection I have with people. The weird thing is that most people – most people I know – like people watching. You know, where you sit in a café or by a window and watch people go by. You analyse them and wonder what they are thinking and so on. I don’t particularly like people-watching. Not because of the empathy thing although that does prove miraculously cool sometimes. It’s more that I get bored of wondering what other people are thinking. I’d rather find out what I think about.

People consider others too much. I know we are a sociable species and we need other humans around to be sane and stuff. We can’t be like the lone tiger or any other animal that wanders off alone all the time. But I think the world would be a far better place if we stopped trying to figure out what other people want and are thinking and spend a bit more time on why we are the way we are. Why are we a sociable species? Why do we sit down when we go take a dump? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. What if we were the opposite reaction? What was the initial reaction? Did the Earth decide that it needed fewer trees? Strange how Gaia works.

Well enough of the mumbo jumbo. I’m honestly not feeling to pleasant since being hit by that angry woman’s phone call. There isn’t anyone in the office at the moment so left alone by myself and I don’t know if I can crawl out of this pit I’ve dug. Sigh. Such an emo post. It really makes me ill.

I don’t get emo people. Are you really sad? Why are you sad? Why don’t people understand you? Is it because there is no reason for you to be sad? Maybe you’re just sad in a different sense. Being happy is a feeling you should enjoy. At least you can control that. Maybe if you all stop wearing black and thinking that you’d rather be dead, you’d be slightly happier? Being sad isn’t cool and just because there are a lot of you out there doesn’t make being emo popular.

I think that’s what we all strive for in the end. To be popular. To be liked. That’s why people adore money. Because having money makes you popular. And being pretty too. I, not holding a degree in psychology, reckon Freud was spot on when he said that everything we do is because of sex. Or some words to that effect. Animals in the “wild” can be dormant and useless for year or decades until mating season comes along and they all horde round like the horny beasts that they are. For example, the male black widow spider dies soon after copulation. Their purpose on this planet is to reproduce and continue the species. I don’t see what makes us so special that we should be any different. The majority of humans on earth are planning and / or have reproduced. The remaining few are just sidetracked by other things, or are unable to further the species. For whatever reason. I think being ugly is nature’s way of cutting back the population boom. But you have to admit that the Homo sapiens species has been very prolific in the last several centuries. When (and we will when the sun explodes or something) we die out, aliens from other planets will examine our bones and conclude that we were a very stupid and selfish species who didn’t know when to quit. But that’s just a theory. But you heard it here first.

Anyway, the point is that if you want to be popular, fine. That’s totally natural. Being purposely sad is stupid. Humans love sex. Live to be popular, happy and horny. That’s what you are here for. Go forth and multiply!

You are now under a rest stop. Ouch.

The time is now 10.45am, Monday morning. The other 3 people who work here have yet to appear, if at all. But I'm not complaining. I don't have a tough job and the mornings here are specially designed for me to fight off the Monday morning blues. Or rather the morning rage. Really hate mornings. I know some people don't like waking up early but I take it to a totally new level. I really detest mornings. Like if something goes amiss in the morning, I can be grumpy for hours. Like if my dad asks me what I want for breakfast more than twice, I start fuming. I know he's trying to be nice but it just really gets under my skin, especially in the morning.

I guess by now you could call me a brat, but it comes with the territory of being an only child. And no, I'm not spoiled. There is actually a separation of being, rich, spoiled and a brat. Rich is rich - wealthy in a sense. Spoiled is getting what you want when you want it - i.e. not me. And brat is like young attention-seeking kid. Ok, there is some overlap I guess but I swear I'm not spoiled.

Anyway, a lot of people (especially those with bros and sistas) are like

"I wish I were an only child. You are so lucky!"

Riiight. You want to be perpetually lonely and psychologically neglected? But it's not all that bad. So in repentance for my ungrateful complaining all these years, I will proceed to list out the things I have won over the years. The two have nothing to do with one another but I needed an intro to the topic and nothing came to mind, so I went with the flow.

Note, that the following are things that I have won in contests and are not part because I worked hard for them or deserved them in anyway.

Piggy

When I was about 6 or 7 (I was in the UK then), I went with my mum to Children's World in Croydon or somewhere thereabouts and there was a booth set up by the British Rail outside the store (the store is huge by the way. The booth was in the car park bit outside).
I was quite the nerd then (by nerd I mean I liked to learn. Which makes me a nerd to this day) so the talk that the British Rail gave at my school a week before was still bouncing around in my head. I was intrigued so I went up to the stall and chatted to the guy behind the counter and I pointed out the different trains to my parents and it was all so cute. Then the guy pointed to a stack of paper on the table and said that the British Rail was having a competition or something. I filled out the form / entry thing and handed it back to the guy - if it was a contest it was really easy; all the answers were on the booth. Like pasted on the uprights and all over the place. So I figured it was just an educational thing to interest little kids and I went into the store with mum. I don't remember if dad was there but I think he was.

Fast forward to about a month or two later. By now the BR contest has faded away and archived in my brain. Friday is Assembly day for the whole school so about 220 students in the Hall (an all-girls school, one class per year. Really titchy but cosy). The usual announcements go on as usual. Then the head mistress mentions something about British Rail but I take no notice. I think I was playing with my shoelace or something. "Contest", "prize", "Sara Lim!" Say WHAT? I'm stunned and pleasantly pleased. This is so cool. There was a huge beanbag neon pink pig up on stage next to the headmistress. I was thinking that it was pretty cool when I first saw it but I didn't think I'd be able to take it home.
First thought Wow! I won! A pig! Its neon pink. Niiiice… or something to that effect.
Second thought How am I going to lug this home?

I was always a practical child.

The pig was stored in the head mistress' office till it was time to go home so that was my pig problem solved. Without saying, mum and dad were shocked and pleased and I was squished into the backseat of the car with the pink, fat pig (who I later christened Piggy). I hugged him all the way home (don't ask me how I knew it was a boy. You just know these things intuitively).

You may argue that I did "work" and "earn" Piggy but honestly it was no sweat at all. I mean the answers were right in front of you! You must be really fried in the head to not find the answers. Oh, and I also won a 10 pound voucher to ride on British Railways. And a certificate and stuff like that. I never used the voucher and it's still stored in my file at home. Its obviously expired but since Piggy has gone (in storage I think, due to his nostrils falling off), it's the only reminder I have of that day. At least I have proof to show to my kids,

"Look, Mum won a pig once!"

The Dull Ages

No more free wins for a few years till I came to Malaysia. I did win things, just not without effort - like gymnastic competitions and poetry recitals. They don't count in this list.

Mtv is good to me

I had never seen Mtv till Astro in Malaysia. In the UK I was exposed to Take That and Boyzone but I was 7 and didn't really care. Then Mtv made things interesting. Donita Rose was the hostess with the most-est; not because she was pretty but because she was good. The VJs can't hold a candle to her. Channel [V] VJs are pretty good but they're either pretty or sexy. None have a really strong personality - save Paula who can hold her own, I'll give you that.
Anyway, Mtv don't only play music videos they also give out things for free. Good for the viewers, dontcha think?

If you've been watching Mtv for the last few months, you'll know about the Mtv Whatever Things, which is like a tamer, lamer (haha!) version of Jackass. When they first introduced the show, they asked viewers to log onto the website and submit three music videos that would go with the stupid prank / stunt that was online. I did as such - I had loads of ideas. I mean just pick the music videos that parody other videos. Simple, easy and funny too. I won (yeah duh) and got the September slot (one winner a month). They ask you to send in pics and my oogly mug was on Mtv for a whole month (in sporadic spots). Prize? Whatever Things was (and still is) sponsored by Philips so you got a choice of either a camera phone or a 128MB MP3 player. I picked the MP3 player and waited gleefully for it to arrive.


5 months ticked by and still no word. I actually forgot till my dad reminded me. I emailed the guy who emailed me to tell me I had won. He said they would send it and I passed his email to my dad who I think sent some more emails - I don't know if they were friendly or not but it wasn't my fault they were 5 months late. I also emails the Philips office people / person and told them about it and they contacted what's-his-name and eventually they sent the stuff.

Whatever my dad had written in his correspondence paid off because they actually sent us both prizes! The phone and the MP3 player! Wicked! But the phone sucked and my mum said I was responsible enough for a colour-camera phone so she took it and used it. And to be honest, the phone sucked. It was one out of Philip's first line of phones so it was slow and the camera was an external attachment and the colour sucked. Mum ended up dropping it in the loo. It was clean and the phone dried out. Philips claimed that the phone (new) was worth RM600+. When we traded it in, it was worth a little over RM100. poor worthless phone. The MP3 player still works which shows that Philips should steer clear of phones and stick to their audiovisual stuff. The only bug with the MP3 player (it's almost 9 years old) is that you have to keep the external AAA battery connected or it won't run. I think the internal battery is fired but other than that it works like a charm.

I liked this prize the best of all.

More Tusic Melevision

Entered a Gorillaz competition (online. I don't bother calling in or whatnot). Caption a picture. Won a white T-shirt. Very nice "Don't Worship False Idols" on the front and composite face and hat thing on the back. Apparently it's their promo thing.

That present was fun to receive. I had no idea what it was going to be.

Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away

Fly Fm is a new radio station in KL (well KLIA, if you can still consider that KL). Nice music even if it is constantly repetitive. DJs are ok cept for Jules who has an annoying voice (sorry, I did like you in the beginning but you grated my nerves once to many times) and Shel needs to breathe more and talk less. It's not a race honey. No one's going to steal your airtime.

Anyway on their website (like I said, I don't do call ins), there is this competition called "Play It Back" where they have a (flash) audio clip and its been played backwards. It's really easy to figure out the song. I wont give away the technique but let's say it involves a microphone and the sound recorder. I don't remember if there was a slogan involved but it wasn't like a major mental strain.

Prize was worth RM800! Woohoo! What was it? Eight hundred ringgit! Woohoo! Got the dispatch service (from my parent's Company; not my personal one. Duh.) to go and get it. Mwahahah! I'd never won money before!

Oh wait. I just did.


So far that's all I've gotten FOC. I did get some free CDs and T-shirts and stuff while I was working at Xfresh but I had to work all the while so that doesn't count either.

Getting free stuff is awesome but there is a downside to it. It's addictive. Once you start you have to keep getting free stuff or you get cranky. It's life-changing experience. It takes over you. You have no control. Some advice: don't start winning stuff. Keep pure and gift free. As for me? I'm caught in the endless loop that compels me to receive free things and I don't think I'll ever escape. Save yourself!

Why? Oh, the pain! The agony! Oh, shuttup.

Apologies to those wondering why I missed yesterday’s post (not that I have to post everyday but I feel kinda bad not doing so, you know?). My grandma came over to stay a couple of nights (sat and sun) and she took over the study / guest room so the computer was off limits till she went back home. The same grandma that’s part hakka if you’re wondering about that too.

I can’t do any productive work at home – be it studying or recreational stuff like blog posts. There are just too many distractions on this computer. There is the relatively fast internet connections and RAM speed (relative to work) and all the programs that I have on it – torrent loaders and music etc. not a really condusive environment for creative thinking.

Anyway, because I couldn’t blog yesterday, I’ll fill in today’s quota with an extra special post. It’s a post about why I/people blog. Ok, so it’s not that extra special but it might turn out to be. You’ll just have to read on and find out!

Why? Reason #1

I was thinking about this the other day and I guess the main reason I blog is because I want to write a diary but I’m too lazy to actually put pen to paper. I’d rather type. Better I get sore fingertips than hard calluses on my middle finger. And I do enough writing (or I will do) at college / university. It’s not the superficial aspect of calluses that annoys me but it really hurts and it’s tender and sore; and you don’t really appreciate the use of the side of your middle finger until you can’t use it any more. Like… trying to write something important. Ok, so that wasn’t the best simile in the world but you get my drift.


Plus with pen and paper there’s the issue of storage. I did keep a diary once and I wrote all my innermost secrets and feelings etc. all the usual mumbo jumbo that you’ll find between the covers of an adolescent teenager’s diary. I was quite happy with it. But then I ran out of pages. I wanted to buy a new one. Problem: where to keep the old one? I didn’t want anyone to find it – anyone being mum and dad (no siblings. More about that later). Mostly private boy stuff and details about crushes and embarrassingly cutesy things. Anyway, I didn’t want to throw it away and I was so paranoid that I didn’t even buy a new one for fear that if they found the old diary (jinkies!), that they would also find the new one (double jinkies!)! So that was the end of the diary era.

Yes, yes. I know an online freely-accessible blog is no private hiding place but since the diary thing I just really don’t care what people think about what I think. First of all they can’t really do anything about what I write, like if it offends them.

“OMG Sara. You wrote such mean things about me! You’re gonna pay!”
“O…k. What are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna show it to…um. I’m gonna tell!”
“Ok.”

See, the threat of “telling” doesn’t work anymore. Nothing’s private nowadays with super surveillance and such. I seriously don’t bother what people are going to say about my blog because there are going to be those who like it and those who don’t. There is an example a few posts back where someone posted a comment and I got really riled up and replied and we had this comment war thing. I should had taken it as criticism in the lightest form but it touched a nerve but I guess the moral is that people have their own opinions and you can’t force your opinion on other people. I don’t write to persuade. I write to entertain and inform. There is a difference (I learned all that in English class).

Ok, I’m digressing... I must remember to cover that opinion thing at a later date, but now is neither the time nor the place for it. I’m in the middle of a post for goodness sake!

So where was I?

Why? Reason #2

I like pretty colours. In a diary you can’t really scrawl doodles all over the page because you can’t read the writing on it afterwards. I’m a fond fan of doodles and the incapacity of diaries to support ink-penned doodles annoyed me to no end. You’ll find my earlier works filled with weird doodles around the edges. Plus I’m not that great an artist (nope, not great at all) so what looks like a scribble is actually my rendering of my foot or a bird of something. So the artwork is lacking.

On the internet I can add pictures and mess with the colours and make people go “wow” with my superb html skills (I wish). It’s all quite simple and there are an infinite number of colours one can choose from. There is so much more to learn but it’s gradual and learning new stuff is always more enjoyable if you see your results first hand.

Why? Reason #3

When I was keeping my diary, I never let it see the light of day, literally. No one but me saw it and that was only at night. It was private and personal and not just because of what was in it. I was afraid of what people might say. People who knew me. People I had written about and commented / criticized / satirized. It was a personal danger that hovered over my pretty little head.

Now I have an audience of infinite proportions. And to say the least, the posts are considerably less personal but if you knew me well enough you wouldn’t need three guesses to figure out who a certain post was aimed at. I think at least 2 posts are targeted to specific people. I wasn’t mad enough to put their names down but heaven mark the day that I do. All fury will be unleashed. But that’s not today.
Today, I enjoy the pleasant anonymity of receiving comments from people half way around the world. I like an audience who have no clue who I am but still enjoy the words I write. It’s like an affirmation that I actually have a personality. Two thumbs up!

Why? Reason #4

I can write any where and anytime I want, provided I have a computer. My html formatting is not overly complex and I can write the tags easily from memory although I do get help from various html tutorials.


No more remembering topics to discuss till late at night and putting a strain on my already maxed out brain power. It’s much calmer this way.

Why? Reason #5

Ok, there is a teeny tiny bit of arrogance in writing a blog. I call it arrogance because you are writing an article, a personal article and you expect people to read it. Even though the author may say that if no one reads it, it’s ok, but then why put it up on the internet in the first place? Why not just save it as a word file and store it away on your hard drive? Because of the swelling of the ego that comes with letting the world (the world. You heard right. This is the internet for Pete’s sake. It’s huge!) know what you think. It’s like the shortcut to being heard – like Ghandi with a loudspeaker. I bet if Ghandi were around in this era he’d have a blog and a website and several online petitions as well as a few chain mails to spite the government. But that’s the point. Nowadays anyone can be heard. And you can hear them. You just need the right address to go to.

If you have your own blog, you’ll know what I’m talking about. There is only so much you can do with pen and paper and lonely so long you can hide it. You could hide a diary online too – some of my friends lock their blogs – but I think that kind of defeats the purpose.

I enjoy blogs. The freedom to express. The colours. The pictures. The html fun you can have. The global response. It’s all appreciated, thank you.

I don’t and won’t apologise for any posts by the way. I know some bloggers say that if you don’t like my posts, don’t read. This may be out of desperation for more readers of something but even if you don’t like my posts, please read. It never helps to be closed-minded and if you let me know what you think about me or my blog, in a way that helps me too. Take the good with the bad with a pinch of salt.

Can't drink cold drinks

Mum was late getting up today so instead of letting me be late (I don't mind) for work, she drove like a bat out of hell down the highway. I had to tell her a few times that it was generally ok to be a few minutes late to work seeing as I'm always the first one in and no one ever calls at 9 am in the morning. I mean, some people do. Some do but they're usually wrong numbers.


Anyway, got to work on time-ish. Breakfast as usual.

Mum's driving is actually quite horrendous. I mean, not accident-causing but sort of vomit inducing if you get motion sick a lot. A lot of jerky acceleration and kind of not looking where she's going sometimes. Like when she drove out of the parking space this morning - she has to drive out because there's a pillar right next to the passenger side door so I can't get in - she stopped the car to let me get in. Hand brake. Check. Gear. Check. Wait. Not quite. She actually put the car in reverse and the hand brake wasn't completely down so the car sort of rolled backwards. Bit scary I suppose but I'm not a morning person so it didn't register as scary, just like a Huh? in my groggy state of mind. Nonchalant but mum was acting all anxious the whole morning because she (and my whole family) hates to be late so it's like an "Oh no I can NOT be late!" panic response.

I'm generally not a panicky person. More of a laid back, if-it-happens-it-happens kind of gal. Its one of those nature-nurture things I think. Both my parents are high-strung type people who get stressed over being late and traffic jams and not being able to find parking the first time round. I'm more of the opposite. If I'm late, I'm already late so a few extra late minutes wont hurt (I hope. So far my bosses have been nice people and I'm rarely late if ever). Traffic jams are unavoidable and you're there already so enjoy it I guess. Pop some hard rock in the CD player and enjoy annoying the people around. Heh. Yeah, I'm one of those people.


One thing I guess would bug me is the parking thing. I don't drive but I know its annoying if you go round and round a parking lot for ages and the guy who just came in finds a parking space like right away. It's lucky for them. But it sucks.

Like I mentioned earlier, it's a nature-nurture thing because by right, I should be high-strung and constantly stressed. But I'm not.

How come, you ask? Because I see my parents like this almost all (well some of) the time so I just decided I don't want to be like that. When they fret, I just stare at the wall and breathe. Breathing is very important in life, if I have to remind you. Distress, y'all! Anyway, some other differences:

Roller coasters
I like 'em, Mum and Dad don't. They say I follow my grandma (dad's mum) in that way. Sort of annoying because I thought I was unique and now I'm just like my chubby grandma. Anyway, they say that because I'm brave and can take high speeds and em… I have that tough stuff. My grandma's part hakka, which according to dad, are a tough breed so that's a compliment of sorts. My grandma's pretty hardy so it isn't all bad. I like extreme things like I want to go skydiving and bungee jumping and go rock climbing (which you can't in KL because we don't have decent rocks). I could go to Batu Caves and climb there but I have no one to go with. I should ask Shaun about that…

Food
My dad likes a lot. My mum doesn't eat much. I'm sort of in the middle. It's not opposite but sort a combo of both. I enjoy my food (like dad) but I don't eat that much (like mum). But it really depends on what the food is. But the reason I'm a combo of both is because I don't want to end up looking like either (though I must admit, my mum has nice legs. Not in that pervy way, but they're slim and longer than mine). Dad is fat so I don't eat as much as him cos duh I don't want to be fat. And mum sort of looks miserable at dinner because it's never nice eating your own food and even eating out she doesn't eat a lot because she has a small stomach. And no she doesn't have an eating disorder, just a distaste for gluttony. So I eat just enough to enjoy my food but not to end up looking like a hippo with jaundice.

There are surely a few others but I can't remember them at the moment. Maybe I'll mention them at the end of the post if/when I remember them.

Anyway the point of this post to show that if you are exposed to a certain influence, environmental or otherwise (what is the otherwise?), you either choose to follow the example set or go the totally opposite way and do your own thing.
Example: Vegetarian family. Two kids. One kid is a vegetarian. One kid eats like normal food. Meat and veggies and etc. Doesn't seem different but the kid who eats meat will probably enjoy and therefore eat more meat than your average omnivorous family kid. Opposites repel, you see?

But if there are no environmental factors, then nature takes over and suddenly you find yourself eating raw meat wearing a loin skin. So save the environment! Or you'll turn into Fred Flintstone!

Good Ideas with Bad Timing

Why do all the really good ideas come at the most inconvenient times? Like when I'm on the loo or having a shower. I suppose it's because there's nothing to distract me from thinking up really good ideas - like blog posts and world-changing inventions.


Its so infuriating, especially when I'm washing my hair because I know from experience that even if I remember my idea after I've finished my shower, I still have to dry off and get dressed and put that hair stuff my mum bought. And usually by that time I can't be bothered to do anything about the idea (I'm really good at procrastinating) or I just forget what the wonderful thought was - and there goes my chance to shine.


There are a lot of topics I have thought about covering in this blog, like period pains and how condusive pain is to creative writing. And this is real pain I'm talking about, not that wimpy emo crap. Anyway, that's a story for another time.

Another thing, why do the ideas come at night, JUST after I get to bed and try to fall asleep? Its so infuriating, it's like my own brain is trying to keep me awake and not sleep even though I'm dead tired. Sometimes I get up to write it down thinking that once I get it out of my head I can finally rest, but no. Then I start dissecting the topic and thinking of the different sections I can split it up to etc. and then the next day, I'll look at the piece of paper and be too lazy to put anything solid on paper or type it out. Sigh. That's me for you.


Maybe one day I'll actually have the incentive and motivation to move my ass and share with the world my great ideas. Maybe I'll become a famous writer or journalist? If I can overcome my procrastination and laziness and stuff. Yeah. IF. I don't know. My ideas don't have a real structure to them anyway. I guess I could be bothered to format it if anyone apart from me actually read the damn posts. So far all I've got a bloody spammers. Goddamn them! Hmm.. an idea for another post…

By the way, if anyone does actually want to know what this blog gets updated - it could be tomorrow, it could be a few months - then… email me I guess. I recommend not putting your email in the comments section or the tagboard coz unscrupulous spammers may steal them and spam you to death. I generally don't mind spammers as long as they don't get personal and don't chase away any of my loyal (but small) legion of fans.

Annoying Song of the Day - Nick Latchkey

Ok, I'll give him the benefit of having a decent voice and being in a marginally and now defunct boy band, but goddamn it man! Can't the aliens in Hollywood do anything without making money? I mean, you're supposed to be getting divorced! It's supposed to be sad. You're not supposed to sing about it. But that's not my main grievance. The thing that rubbing me the wrong way is the song.

Nick Lachey:

"What's Left of Me"
is nothing but an empty shell. Jessica. Loved you. You were wrong. I am successful! I can make money! But out of misery and pity from sappy consumers! Help me denizens of love-ballad-land! Buy my album my pretties! Yess! Mwahahah! They're falling for it! Mwahahaha! And yet another evil laugh: mwahahahah!

It has no meaning. And even if the song did have a meaning, it sort of means what it doesn't mean. If you know what I mean.


Explanation
"You can have what's left of me" blah blah. I forget the lyrics already (and I was just on the radio). From what I can make out, the song is a call to Jessica (his ex-wifey-poochie-kin-pie) to take what she left him with because he's nothing without her. Hmmmm. Lets see. You divorced her (or visa-versa. Whatever) and now you want her to take the other half of your heart and soul seeing as she took the other half which you gave to her. Do you love her or not, man?! Make up your mind!

Anyway, it's a ballad and as far as ballads go, this is one hurts. Like how it hurts when you bang your head against a table every time you hear it. It makes no sense. Its sole purpose is to make you cry for a rich biatch and his Mtv girlfriend so he can go and drink more Crystal paid for by the money you shell out to buy his weepy album. Take my advice, you want pain and sorrow, go watch adults try to be cool. It's a lot cheaper and it'll make you shake your head and weep tears of frustration as you watch their fruitless failed attempts to worm their way into cool crowd. Sorry to tell you this guys, that boat has sailed.

***

Genre: Wimpy Ballad

SSR (Sara's Song Rating):

We are The World

But more notably, we are stupid. As a nation. Everyone knows that the education system in Malaysia is sub-par. But I think the main thing is that we lack common sense. However I don’t think we’re any more stupid than any other country. We’re just more transparent about it. Take for example this Darwin Award: Rocketing to Glory. It’s not that we deliberately do stupid things, but we let stupid things happen. Yeah, that justifies it. And yet on the same site:

Short & Sweet
2000 Darwin Award Nominee

"Something strange is happening to Malaysia executioners manning the gallows. Three people in the last two years have accidentally hanged themselves while clowning around. The most recent mishap occurred when the executioner prepared for an upcoming sentence and slipped the noose around his neck. Apparently he wanted pictures taken of himself standing on the gallows when the trap door gave way, breaking his neck instantly. "
29 November 2000 Bizarre News, Kuala Lumpur Malaysia

We love to laugh at stupid people. It makes us (well, me specifically) seem less stupid. But there is some merit to that old adage of ignorance is bliss.

Ignorance is not the equilivalnt of being stupid because being stupid is a… natural thing. Whereas being ignorant is a choice. One could say that its sort of similar to being gay or being bi. Being gay is a life-thing. Whereas being bi is a choice and only irritating sluts are bi. So there. I’ve said it.

Anyway, being ignorant. It’s less stressful. It’s less weight on your shoulders. I’ve tried it. It’s actually quite refreshing. Like being an airhead if you don’t mind that kind of thing. It’s only stressful to the knowledgeable people who get frustrated when they see you so relaxed and not worrying about problems that are occurring thousands of miles away. I know a few people like that. Just watching them makes me think that they are gonna get a heart attack at 40. You know the type. The world-savvy people who read TIME and talk constantly about how if they were so-and-so, how they would fix things. Enough talking already people. Time for action!

It’s actually time for lunch now but seeing as the only other person in the office is holed up in HER office. I don’t really want to go downstairs alone because of the – creepy people. Fly Fm is repetitive. Very repetitive. Very repetitive. Very repetitive.

Got work to do. Looking up cases. It’s not as bad as you think cept I’m a tad hungry so this may be a stretch for me. Work usually comes in like a flood after lunch. Problem is that after lunch you get sleepy. What a way to work.

Another day, more blood is spilled

I would love to write my blog posts on notepad. The simple simplicity of not having any format. No toolbars at the top to distract from the very important words that pour out from my talented fingertips.

Sleep and work distract me from finishing this post properly.

Doctors have the worst handwriting. It’s almost like an insult. Like they want to show off that they are so smart and so busy that they just don’t have time to write legibly. Who cares about legibility when you get a chance to play GOD? Not that doctors claim they play God. Course not. That's blasphemous. Although the abundance of doctors who lack in the proper grammar skills is shocking.

Air-conditioned air wafts gradually downwards towards my table, luring my eyelids closed. The sir is dry and arid and cold. The tiny green light indicating that it’s time to slumber. At my desk. Which is perfectly acceptable provided I have no work to do.

The lack of pictures provided on this blog is starting to worry me. I always found blogs with pictures so much more entertaining and now my blog is barren of all colour save that of the text on the screen and my hideous, gloomy portrait to the right.

My mind drifts next door. Not physically. The co-joined office on the right is dark and unused. The owner. We’ll call him Mr. Paul. The owner has been absent for almost a month. There are no visible signs of struggle but something sinister lingers in the air. Yet somehow, every morning I find messages from Mr. Paul instructing me to send out letters and type out documents. It might be a sign. A code. A clue. It might also be work he’s setting me seeing as his secretary is on maternity leave.

The rubbish bin overflows with rubbish like a container that can hold no more. The lid is ajar and the contents within are given a peek of freedom. Do they wish to escape? Into this cruel harsh world where lawyers disappear and women are pregnant. If I were them I would stay safe. Safe within the plastic bin liner walls. Waiting for the cleaning lady to take me out. But out where?

Work. Play. NOW

As I sit by myself at the desk, I look around. The absence of windows makes it impossible to discern morning from night. Dusk from dawn. Hell, I don’t even know when it rains.

The yellow-beige striped wallpaper stares forlornly back at me as it surrounds me in a cheerful array of alternating colour. I suppose its better than the glare of plain white. Which is better than nothing I guess. The great thing about striped wallpaper is how it goes around edges. And I’m not talking about straight edges either. I mean like the concrete supports that stick out from the ceiling. The wallpaper wraps it’s self around it like a fat kid around a lollipop. But that’s fatist. I love lollipops as much as the next lollipop-loving person out there – fat or thin. But I’m getting away from the topic at hand.

I see a glimpse of green and maroon in the form of books to my north-west. The gold inscription is repetitive but at least I have some glitter throughout the day.

The chair is flat. Flat like a pregnant woman sat on it. Which it has been. No, not me. I’m not pregnant, you gossipmongers. My colleague, Vivian, is. Almost 4 months next week she tells me with a smile. It’s a nice thing to have I suppose. A tiny human parasite inside you. I like babies. They are cute.

The gaudy red three-seater faux-leather couch sits half in and half out of the florescent lighting. The material as pristine as the day it was bought. But that’s not saying much. The essence of thousands of buxom-bottom imprints remain lurking deep within the foam below. But it does make a somewhat comfortable resting place. Just hope it won’t be my last.

The matching armchair in the corner of the room watches the door like a hawk. Well, more like an armchair. It wait and guards unblinkingly. Mostly because it doesn’t have eyelids. Because it doesn’t have eyes. It’s a strange paradox one feels when trapped in the gaze of an eyeless armchair. Strange, but creepy.

The phone remains silent. For now.

For All Eyes

Are you Malaysian?

Yes.

Then read this

Not Malaysian?

Read it anyway.

Matters of the freakin' heart

I would like to consider myself reasonably well versed in the matters of the heart; taking from personal experience and from watching the TV soap opera that life sometimes is.

Not to brag (well, yeah, ok, it’s bragging) but I think I’m a pretty clear cut judge of character, except of course, when it comes to the people I have crushes on. What is it about being in the spotlight that impairs our judgement so?

There are a few truths that I have painfully filtered out through many painful relationships (mine and other peoples) and will share with the World Wide Web that is my audience.

Truth #1

When in a relationship, the person who you are so enamoured with is viewed through rose-tinted lenses.

Absolutely true. This is a fact. It is only once you end the whole thing – and subsequently get over the denial/anger/hatred/self-loathing – that you see the person for who they really are. Not to say that deep down people are scum, but your view – at the time of courtship - is severely impaired.
And of course, all this information is of no use to those who have just started their relationships and are currently in the throes (in a non-sexual way) of passion. People who come to this realisation are usually those who have either: a) been dumped and have gotten over that person, or b) are still in a relationship and have gotten over the initial “honeymoon stage”. The b) people are lucky because they have found someone who really sees the person as other people see them. Not as a person on a pedestal. Which, of course, is what we all really want isn’t it?

Moving on…

Truth #2

When in a relationship, and so blissfully happy as a result, you try your hardest to make the people surrounding you to become as blissfully happy as you are, no matter how hard they resist.

And the stupid thing is that you are so caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that you tend to ignore the feelings of other people. It is so hard to imagine other people being unhappy or depressed or worried or stressed when you’re feeling so good about yourself. You literally have to step off cloud 9 (why do they call it that any way?) and bring yourself back to earth.
Trying to make other people be happy is kinda like looking into a mirror and if you see something wrong, you try and fix it. And you would fix it the same way you would fix it, by being with the one and only person in the whole entire solar system that makes you blissful. Being guilty of matchmaking is a common thing for any new couple to do. Or any couple in general.

Truth #3

Well I only have 2 real truths. The third is basically just a realisation and a justification of sorts of why we (women I suppose. I don’t know about the guys) go thru the tumble dryer of emotions that we do.

What I’ve realised:

You may have read about all the self help books and articles on what people feel after a break-up and why. I’m not going to tell you which emotion to go thru first because that’s really an individual choice. It may be anger, or denial or hatred, but evidently we go through them all. And I’ll tell you why. It’s because of all the emotion that we had stored up for that person. The larger amount of time and effort we are willing to invest in a person, the longer and harder it is to let go. But letting go is the easy part. Eventually all the emotions subside and clarity is achieved; but before that there is the release of emotions that we hold inside.

Not only does the amount of time and effort we were going to put into a relationship count, but also the time spent together.

For example, take couple A. They have been together for 4 months and girl A is already planning the wedding. Boy A is thinking about the football game tomorrow. Boy A breaks up with girl A. Boy A takes 2 weeks to get over it. Girl A takes 3 months.
Why the difference in time? Not because boys are wired with different emotions but because he wasn’t as invested in the relationship as the girl was.

Second example:
Couple B; been together for 4 years. Girl B starts to feel like it’s not working out. After 3 months of feeling like this, she calls it off. She takes 6 months, he takes 2 years.
Now they were both equally invested in the relationship, tho not the girl at the end. The main reason is the same as example 1, she wasn’t as invested.

Still not clear?

Here is my hypothesis in graphical form:

Body Language 101

How to read a woman (without opening your mouth)

We shall go from top to below-the-bottom:

HAIR

Depending on the season and weather conditions, hair is quite hard to read in terms of what’s going on in her head.
Basically,
hair up means: I can’t be bothered to brush my hair. Au natural, that’s what I say; and
hair down means: look at my lovely luxurious feminine hair. I’m such a girly girl. Teeheeheehee HEE.
Usually, girls with long hair who frequently keep it down, don’t tend to like guys with long hair either. Don’t ask me why, it’s just something I’ve noticed.
Hair in a cap: bad hair day – it is best not to mess with this girl. Even worse if you pull her cap off. She could react in two ways: Scream and yell Bloody Mary or glare at you nonchalantly and ignore you. If she ignores you, there’s something deeper that’s bugging her.
Ladies with shorter cropped hair are rather limited in terms of hair options and are therefore harder to decipher.
But take, for example, a girl with short hair who styles it with wax/gel;
Gelled/Waxed: took those extra 5 minutes to slap on some hair cement this morning
Ungelled/unstyled: ran out of hair cement and had to settle for water

MAKE-UP

I, myself, am not a big fan of make-up: I find it tedious and pointless. Well, on a daily basis anyway.
Make-up: "Look at meee! I look so preeety! Mummy says I look like a beeeutiifool butterfly!!!11! Oh thank you! Thank you! World Peace!"
Make-off: "Don’t look at me! I’m hideous! Can’t you see my inner beauty instead? You shallow and superficial ass-wipes!"

EYEWEAR

The eyes are the window to the soul. So the frame is obviously very important.
Glasses: Ah am so smart. Loookie me! Ehem. Yah. Oh course I wear glasses! Silly billy ;)
No Glasses: Hello? Who’s there? Did someone say something?

Shades: I am… the One – “dun dun DUNNNN” *gets bitch slapped*

EARRINGS

Preeety dangly cat toys hanging precariously from flesh bits of the ear. Yay.

Dangly: Attention WANTER
Studs: Attention Seeker
No earrings: Nudist
No earring hole: Chicken.
Huge ass hole: "I have a hole in my head" [Well said]

NECK ACCESSORIES

And for those who "dunno" what accessories are, they are those other things like bracelets and necklaces that… oh nevermind. You wouldn’t know what an accessory what if it came alive and bit you in the nads.
Necklaces: It is a pretty necklace and it suits my clothes today (Loong Necklaces worn with low cut tops: Look at my boobiezz! )
Necklaces with pendants: It is a pretty necklace but only this stupid thing hanging from it matches what I’m wearing
Necklaces with butterfly pendants: "I want to be like Mariah Carey! OMG!!"1!!

Chokers: Like, I’m so hip and rebellious (sooo last century, hello?)

But pearls are classy. But only in context. Pearls at a formal dinner – OK; pearls at a frat party with horny drunken college idiots – stay back! Jail bait! She’s probably only 12!

NAILS

Nail polish is so a girl thing. Unfortunately.
Painted: at least they can’t see my deformed ugly nails
Painted black: I have frostbite
Painted with nail art: I have enough money to splurge on useless frivolities like this and then shove it in my "friends'" face and watch her admire and envy me. MWAHAHA
Unpainted: Who gives a fuck about nails.
Extra: Guys with painted nails: I am secure enough with my masculinity to paint my nails (and also gullible enough to believe the girl that told him so)

BRACELETS

Oh those annoying flashy things that more often than not, get caught in hair/fences/braces etc.
Shape:
Thin: minimalist
Thick: maximalist
Many thins: maxi minimalist (she is an oxymoron)

Colour:
Red: for ze passion!
Blue: Ahoy Sailor!
Green: Save the trees! The birds! The whales! (I keep my collection on the mantle. Where do you keep yours?)
Black: I hate you. The world. It’s nothing personal. You suck. Grrr.

CLOTHES:

What a woman wears is of the utmost importance. To her. To you, it’s either, clothes; no clothes. Easy choice; but try and understand the complexities of putting on clothes everyday.

DRESSES

I like dresses. Easy, simple, one-piece outfits. Ready to wear and no matching necessary. But depending on style and colour they have different connotations.

Colour:
Every colour except black: Nice day huh?
Black: My father/mother/grandparent/gerbil DIED! WAHHHHHHH! [sympathy is needed]

Style:
Low-cut: You’d be better off going to prom or down Chow Kit with that dress.
High-hemmed: ditto as above
With bows: Front – lil’ lost farm girl; Back – wannabe lil’ lost farm girl

TOP

T-shirts, shirts, blouses; they all really mean the same thing. The Item of cloth that covers a girls ta-tas. Now before you try and pull the wretched material what’s obstructing your view away take in mind whether she’s up for it…
N.B. The following list is in reverse hierarchical order. i.e. Length trumps sleeves.

SLEEVES:
Long: noooooo touchie!
Short: casual, friendly. Belies a deeper and more vicious mean streak
One sleeve: Did you get lost on the way to the “dressing-yourself” lesson?
No sleeves: Phew! It’s hot here. And by hot, I mean me ;)
Bonus: No straps: JACKPOT!

LENGTH
Below the belt: Definitely. No. Touchie.
Belt-visible: And let’s keep it that way
Above belt: Lookie, lookie! Oh, you just missed it!
Midriff: Belly, what belly? Huh? HAH!

BOTTOMS

Now duh, if you’re gonna wear a top then obvious;y you gotta wear bottoms too right? YES. RIGHT.
Got 2 choices, skirt or pants.
Skirt: Girly, girlie, girlie GIRL!
Pants: Of course I’m a girl you cuntface!

Length wise, both are the same;
Long: Watchu looking at?
Cropped (from mid-calf to knee): I wanna run! I wanna run! Where are we goin’? C’mon! C’mon!
Short: HEL-lo
Mini-Short: I. Can’t. Sit. Down.
Micro-Short: What’s "underwear"?

SHOES

Shoes are the first things girls look at when looking at a guy. Usually. For the first time. Same with other girls. I think. Anyway, shoes can tell you a lot about a person. If they are neat or scruffy, if they are sporty or dorky, that kinda stuff. Girls can usually tell on instinct what kind of person another girl is just by judging her shoes. If she doesn’t like them, then she won’t like the person either. Guys should also learn to read shoes, they are the easiest way to tell what kind of mood she’s in.

Slippers: laid-back, i-don’t-really-care-about-anything-at-the-moment
Sandals: too hot to wear shoes; to formal to wear slippers, but sandals should do it. [there are sandal-holics btw]
OK, note: there is a difference between sandals and slippers. Slippers are just the flip-flips with a piece of rubber running between the big toe and the other one. Sandals have a strap behind the ankle.
High heels: Trying to look like a lady here. Watch where you’re walking! *squish* Sorry!
Trainers: I’m expecting to do a lot of walking so let’s go. The sooner we go, the sooner we finish. LET’S GO ALREADY.
Boots: Aren’t I SEX-AY? Kiss my sexy boots. Go on, kiss them.

SOCKS

Socks are ok. But they shold never be seen. Really, I’m all for foot comfort and all that, but as impractical as it sounds, I think the era of leg warmers and overgrown shoe fluff is way past it’s prime. Either hide them under some long pants or wear short socks. So,
For covered shoes exclusively:
High socks: DORK! (or Japanese school-girl wannabe, which equals to DORK! Anyway)
Ankle socks: smart and fashion savvy. You will pass thru the invisible fashion-bleugh detector undetected. Congratulations.
No socks: Good God woman?! Have you never heard of foot-hygiene?! I sentence you to an immediate dunking in the town duck pond and the cremation of those crimes against nasal passages everywhere!

ANKLETS

Yes, very DAHLING. Can be handmade or store bought, as long as they aren’t as gaudy as a clowns pants and less noisy than a tambourine.

Jingly ones: Cute, but not appropriate. Likes attention this one. Even at the expense of personal sanity.
Handmade: Hardworking. Yet pointless.
Store bought: rich biatch

Store bought but handmade: rich pointlessness

THE WHOLE ENSOMBLE
Now, it all had no meaning if you don’t put it altogether.
It basically doesn’t matter what she’s wearing, but how she’s wearing it. Mood-wise, this is a basic guide to guessing how she’s feeling, but if she’s wearing black and being all bubbly, then obviously she’s not Goth and depressed. Visa versa, even if she’s wearing yellow and cropped pants and slippers but still kinda lethargic and sleepy, then something is obviously wrong.

So gentlemen, take heed. It pays to pay attention. It may get you some booty, it may help you avoid a fight.
And as a last note, if a girl in high heels is forced to walk non-stop up and down town for 6+ hours, then YES her feet are gonna hurt and NO are not gonna STOP HURTING till she stops walking. Ipso facto, she WILL be pissed till she can sit down. Good to know.

Noisy Fuckers

IT’S FUCKING TOO LATE FOR ALL THIS FUCKING NOISE.

And it's not just any noise. Not like music-type noise. Just random "POP"s every so often. FUCKING LOUD “POP”s if you don't mind.

They’re supposed to be fireworks or fire crackers of some-fucking-thing like that. But unfortunately the asshole who worked in the fireworks factory decided to stinge on some colour and spent the rest of the company money on crack for his 70 teenage wives/prostitutes. That’s why these fucking morons who live in the bleedin’ kampong next to my condo can afford to spend their fucking money on so many fucking noise makers. And I suppose it wouldn’t be such a big problem anywhere else, but HERE, where I live, there’s like an amphitheatre of condos, which means VERY HIGH WALLS FOR VERY LOUD ECHOES. Now you can see why I’m so PISSED.



And they aren’t your normal average everyday kampong boys who run around and get flattened by SUVs. Nope. They’ve taken their game to a whole new level. You see, they’ve realised that if they piss people off during the day, eventually, one of them will march down to the hole in the ground that they live in and torch the place. But not before beating the shit out of the fucking buggers and make them eat all the fucking TNT before lighting the place up like a Christmas tree.
So instead, they go and set the fucking poppers off at night. EVERY FUCKING NIGHT. At TWELVE MIDNIGHT (12AM for those who like numbers). That way, they can annoy the fuck out of everybody and get away with it. Until, say, someone burns their house down. Fuckers and all.

I’d like to know the reasoning behind the whole “piss-people-off-and-see-how-long-we-can-survive” reflex. Is it because of the thrill? The danger that you willmight be put to a horrible and untimely demise at the hands of an angry mob? Or could if be the “tiada-apa”attitude? That they just really don’t give a shit.
I’m leaning towards the notion that they are mentally ill and secretly want to commit suicide but are to chicken-assed to do anything about it. I mean, people that stupid have got to want to die.

And what sort of sad sense of “joy” can you get out of “pop”s anyway? I mean, “hey, there’s fire” is great and all that, but get a grip. There are much better, safer and community-friendly ways of entertaining yourself: like branding your eyeballs for instance. Or experimenting with drugs. Or better yet, playing with power tools! That’s got to be at least 10 hours of excitement, per day!

And it’s not the fact that I don’t appreciate fireworks and the childish amusement it gives some people. I, myself, play fireworks every lantern festival. It’s a once a year thing, with family. And yes, I will admit that we do shoot some fireworks above my cousin’s neighbour’s house. BUT NOT EVERY FUCKING DAY. And NOT AT FUCKING MIDNIGHT. YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES.

I really do hope that one of the fucker’s I’m talking about has internet access in the kampong swamp that he lives in. I’m sure they do, I’ve seen one of those UN truck go in, with like food and stuff for starving people. Tho I’m, not sure if it came out again…

So let’s say they do: GO TO SLEEP YOU LITTLE FUCKER. DON’T YOU HAVE AN APOINTMENT WITH A ROTAN TOMORROW AT SCHOOL OR SOMETHING? EAT SHIT AND SWALLOW PISS YOU FUCKING BRAT. GO GIVE YOUR PRECIOUS FIREWORK A BLOWJOB AND LIGHT IT ON FIRE, THAT’LL BE A THRILL YOU’LL NEVER FORGET. DO US ALL A FAVOUR AND BLOW ONE OF YOUR FINGERS, OR TOES OR THAT CANCEROUS MASS YOU CALL A HEAD, OFF. GO PISS AROUND IN YOUR OWN TIME, PREFERABLY WHEN I’M NOT AROUND. FUCK OFF.