Irritant

A gaggle of girls sitting on the next table at this Mamak place, eager to join the masses watching the football game. Loudly commenting on every single action on the field to no one in particular.

Trying to convince the world that they are, indeed, the very rare and special species of girls that are seriously into football. They know all the players' names. Well done. They the loudest to cheer/moan/groan every time something happens. Sometimes belatedly. They think all attempts at the goal are beautiful and singularly worth talking over loudly for another 10 minutes or so. They wear the tiny team jerseys, proud to show their colors (and body) and where their allegiances lie. They reminiscence about the last game before this, that game was better, cooler, they watched that one, too. They are hardcore football maniacs.

Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And. Go. Home.

Everyone knows as a football fan, you're basically Justin Bieber (i.e. a fetus), but in the spirit of the Cup, we'll allow it.

Everyone also knows that you're only at this Mamak place for the guys, but in spirit of having some airhead eye-candy for the guys here too, we'll allow it.

Everyone knows that, the only reason why there are no guys sitting in the same table with you is because anyone who knows a smidgen bit more about football than you would laugh their heads off listening to the inane and irrelevant comments you insist on (loudly) making all night long, ironically to prove to the crowd how well you know their football, when, in fact, you don't.

But we'll allow that too.

It's the World Cup, and every 4 years, we can afford to be magnanimous to the needy and pathetic.

Just know that nobody is impressed.

And please, just shut up. If I want an inaccurate play-by-play, I'd ask TV1 to resume localised commenting. I want to enjoy the game in peace with my buds. I may not care about the result as much as you (seem) to do but your screeching every time someone dives grates on my nerves.

And learn about the offside rule(s).

And a deflection does not make it an awesome goal.

See you next World Cup.

Sigh.

Thank you.

The Lipan Episode

Warning : Long-ass post.

According to Wiki, a lipan is this creature.

According to me, it is an evil, sinister, creepy, critter from hell. HELL, I tell you. And I'm an authority on this matter because on December 29th of 2008, a lipan bit me on my thumb. 

Allow me to illustrate my previous statement.

This,

Fudging bit my thumb.

What Happened.

On a peaceful December 29th night, the whole clan was back in Temerloh, hanging out at our pad, chilling. Even though we each have our bedrooms, everybody preferred to sleep outside. We would spread comforters and duvets and inflatable mattresses on the floor and just slumber-party'ed around the living room and the family room. My spot is in front of the TV in the family room. Great spot, that. 

So, it was (not quite) the night before Chrismas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. I was asleep and my sister next to me was too. It was around midnight when I felt something between my toes on my left feet, drowsily I reached down and tried to brush it off with my right hand when IT happened.

The most excrutiating pain I've ever felt. Ever. Pain like you wont believe. White hot pain just coursing through my thumb. Numbing everything else but the shocking burning sensation throbbing at my right thumb. One moment I was asleep, the next, I was in serious, serious pain. 

Of course, instantly jerked awake by pain didn't help me figuring out what was happening. Woke my sister up with my quasi-scream of alarm. Still didn't really understand what happened. Woke everyone up after I switched on the lights and saw the 2 puncture wounds oozing blood on my thumb. No one was any help nor knew what to do because no one knew what just happened. But after carefully flipping through our beddings, my sister saw the red centipede and dad smashed it with a handy length of wood we keep around the house for situations such as this. When I say smashed, I mean, pulverised. I think it was 17 feet long and 5 inches wide. My sister said it was only 4 inches long. Whatever. She lies a lot.

All this happened in less than 10 minutes after I got stung.

All this while I was blubbering in the room, cradling my thumb and just crying my eyes out from the pain.

It was that bad. 

Clueless and hopeless (there was only Minyak Cap Kapak in the house, for real, y'all), dad drove me to the emergency room at Temerloh Hospital in 7 minutes flats. Props for pops. I was groaning in the backseat the whole way. Not so much crying anymore, but shivering with cold and clutching my thumb and just wishing the pain would go away. Okay, maybe I also whimpered some. I remembered thinking, if this is this bad, giving birth would be murder. Odd, but true.

The E.R at Hospital Temerloh did an admirable job admitting my sorry ass immediately upon arrival. Joy upon joy, a lipan bite was enough to be considered an emergency case and I was promptly ushered to a treatment room. At this point, I was more than ready to scream the mantra that's been in my head the moment I saw the Hospital's front gate, "Gimme the good stuff now. Make the pain go away!". 

They jabbed me three times (one on my shoulder, one on my butt and another through a drip on the back of my hand). The pain lessen (a tad) and after all the jabs, I was in pain and feeling nauseous. Well done. The rest of the hospital visits passed in a blur. My sister took care of the administrative stuff and I got called to see a doctor properly after a short wait (which none I remembered except discovering one of the doctors were my high school friend, Aisyah. I don't really remember the meeting except my sister told me I was lucid enough to be sarcastic to her when she asked me what I was doing there. Good to know)

We returned home and I snuggled next to my mom and tossed and turned a while (2 hours) in misery. I was still in pain and the painkiller didn't really help. Lying down wasn't helping so I walked around the house for a while (2 hours!), half asleep from the drugs and bumping into furnitures. I finally managed to fall asleep and woke up the next morning at 7 am for my Subuh prayers with zero pain. None! Other than the swollen thumb, last night could be just a dream. A very excruciating, painful nightmare, mind you but still.

The thumb after the night's episode:

The swelling went down in a couple of days and life proceeded as it should, unperturbed.

Or so I thought..

The Aftermath

A week afterwards, my normal size right thumb has only 2 small marks to show for the December 29th episode. I was more than happy to show my battle scars to friends and wallow in the 'awe and amazement' of surviving such strife (it could as easily be 'horror and disgust' but I like being delusional). Then the thumb started to itch. Bad. Because there were no discerning surface area that actually itched (just the whole thumb in general) my method of scratching the itch was by gripping the whole thumb in my left fist and rotate. 

And then the swelling began again. A visit to the doctor confirmed that the immediate swelling on the night was due to the toxin, but this time, this swelling was because of the infection. Hooray, right?

How long did it take for the swelling to go down this time?

2 fricking weeks, people.

2 weeks of mismatched thumbs.

Left thumb, meet right thumb on steroids.

Of itchy, swollen digit.

Gatal macam you wont believe, weh.

Of weirdness happening to the bitemarks.

I call this color pallate: the Rainbow of a Festering Wound. Tres chic, non?

Changes color according to my mood. Like a mood ring. Only not. And itches more. Shit, it itched.

Of medications to avoid more weirdness to happen.

Orange, strawberry, pineapple, mint and green apple flavored pills. I eat them counter clockwise.

I tried to keep a picture record but more often than not, I pretend my original right thumb was away for a while and I was stuck with a replacement thumb on loan temporarily. I would try to get to know the loan unit better but I longed for the day my original thumb would return to me.

Azura visiting from Manjung, Perak filling in until original thumb gets back from her skiing trip in Vancouver.

And of course, I couldn't leave a festering scab alone. So this would naturally happen when I picked and prod the stupid swollen wound.

How awesomely gruesome is this?

But after a while, like all good things, it has to come to an end.

A sure sign of being on a road to recovery when I can now bend my thumb. Yay thumb.

The conclusion

What I take from this whole experience are:

a. my current pain threshold register (sharp 36% decline since early 2000);

b. my understanding of government hospital procedures;

c.  instant goosebumps whenever I remembered the sheer, unadultrated pain I went through;

d. innate fear of giving birth (tabik ah para ibu); and

e. anti-spokesperson on the evilness of lipans, we should never underestimate these nasty crawlies.

I like to think I came out of this experience a wiser, more cautious person. That was why I took this picture during the next lipan encounter I had at the same Temerloh pad last month. What is with all these lipans in Temerloh, you asked? No idea, Fred. But we have 2 less than we did before, that I know.

Real live lipan, temporarily stunned by obscene amount of insectide sprayed upon it. Real live unpedicured toes belonging to me stupidly close within striking distance just so you can have a measuring basis. 15 seconds later what was left of this lipan was enough to be washed down the sink. Revenge, it is indeed most sweet.

-END-

What Was That?

If I were to pick a word describing our non-encounter : Juvenile.

So we pretended the other were invisible. Great. What's next? See who can hold their breath the longest? Dare each other to shave a cat? 

But as a "friend" oh-so-gently said, I'm probably still not over you.

What's your excuse?

IMHO, It Sucked; My Movie Review-Twilight

Being the consummate trend setter that I am(ahem), I've decided to check out what's the fuss is all about, the hoopla about that new movie, you may have heard of it, Twilight (cue: tween screaming).
And thus was reminded that, like 80's, the public really has no idea what they're talking about. I mean, spandex bike shorts, hairspray and shoulder padding, people. Really?
It was probably the innate dislike I have for movies that open with self narration. Or maybe that the girl is has 0.5% star quality and her character is blander than a boiled cauliflower. Or the very selective vampire lore they decided to follow that basically makes their version of vampires neither bad, good or remotely interesting (this I need to explain: What they did was make a vampire with all the fairytale qualities [rich, superhuman powers, immortal, good looking] and blatantly force- feed viewers to like their fantasy version, hallowed out vampire. Vampire Barbies. Surprisingly, this also turn their vamps very, very, very, boring. A vampire who doesn't drink blood? And I did not see fangs. Roll in Angel and Spike, please).
Twilight continued to unashamedly disappoint me because even as a so-called romance movie, there are practically ZERO CHEMISTRY between the lead casts. Nada. Zilch. They could be siblings for all good that it does. I should also mention that I am unable to stretch my considerable imaginations to even consider thinking Robert Pattinson as anything but remotely okay looking. He is not hot. Not. Hot. Stop forcing us to think that he is. What was the line, "He is so hot but none of the girls here are good enough for him," Are. You. Serious? How on earth could the deluded casting him as Cedric Diggory be let to continue this long? Is his family in the mob? Why is this happening? Although, I have to admit, I was entranced by his magical hair, where unicorns and fairies come out to play. Also bad was the horrendous make up. Igh. I shall however, refrain myself from saying anything about the nonsensical plotline and inane scripts because I, for one, am not a movie elitist and has/will admit to have enjoyed watching precious crappola such as GI Jane, Shaun of the Dead and 2003's Italian Job. But they were bad, the scripts and storyline. I read somewhere that the script was written in 6 weeks. I say, with the gaping plot holes and gets-nowhere lines, it showed. And the special effects, GAH, 70's much?
But perhaps, my biggest beef with this movie was the unnatural amount of time showing extreme closeups of Cedric and Blanched Cauliflower a.k.a Bella just staring at each other. For the love of God. Seriously, people. They're in love, we get it. Is that supposed to be, what? artsy? deep? What am I missing here? I have to say that they're hardly coming across as entwined souls wordlessly conveying silent messages of love; instead they merely look sappy, neurotic and slightly cross-eyed.
I wont get started with how I find the movie to be very misogynistic and depressing (bite me and let me forsake everything in my life because I am in love with you, the "hunky", brooding vampire I've met for 3 seconds. In no way should this be perceived as a submissive and self sacrificing gesture I'm doing for a male because we're in love dammit. Also, when I say I shall love you forever and ever and ever, I am not being a psychotic, clingy bitch. Take note).
I fast forwarded 2/5 of the movie because certain scenes were very painful to watch. Like the badly portrayed fight sequence, and the hissing/posturing after the baseball scene, the baseball scene, all the scenes with the dad, all the scene with the vampire dad, the immediately accepting high school cliques scenes, also the prom scene was especially unsettling, and the biology labs scenes, etc. etc. I did enjoy it whenever the evil (evil because they do what vampires are supposed to do) vampires and the Cauliflower's hot Native Indian BFF gets their shine screen time, however small. Oh well, in utmost strife, I do try to find my small pleasure. Happy this is over though.
What?
A sequel?
Shoot me now and bring back the 80's. At least then all we had was Lestat.

Switch off your iPod and lets just do this for 2 hours without saying anything.

Off a Matchbox

In every organization there will always be one person who knows what is going on: this person must be fired.

Halp!: I'm currently in the middle of a 17days workday stretch and I get to spend very single one of those with The Schizo Midget Bitch. Ain't life grand?

Like You Need a Lobotomy

Imagine this.

Did you ever joined a club when you were in school? Remember that. Imagine that now. A club of something. A club for, say, engineering. An engineering club.
So, you're in this club, right? So, the president of your engineering club wants to do something and he/she wants you and everyone to help. She/He wants to build something you think is stupid, like, a helicopter that goes underwater. He/She thinks this invention would help save the world, cure cancer and eliminate global starvation. You know she/he only wants it built so that he/she could take joyrides in it and use it for her/his own personal shopping trips crossing the Selat Melaka, to Bandung.
You thinks building a helicopter that goes underground is stupid but being a member of this club, you have no choice but to help her/him build this thing.
Then you found out that the school is funding this stupid project. The stupid project you're helping her/him do.
Then you found out that besides the underwater helicopter, he/she is also planning to build other stupid, useless things, things like a diskette holder for fish and a biscuit coaster for biscuits and computer mouse made of jelly.
All to be paid by the school. And it's costing the school something like RM800,000 for these projects your idiotic engineering club president are doing.
Which you're helping him/her with.
It doesn't matter you're probably only helping to do 2% of the overall work because essentially it still means you're involve in this wonderful exercise of taking the school's money and churning crap out of it.
How can you not be pissed? How can you not be totally incensed when you know he/she is charging RM500 for a piece of wall brace? RM5000 for laundry? RM17,000 daily rental for a crane? Why would you want a crane?
And who the hell wants a jelly mouse?
But you still have to do it. However stupid, inane, crappy, shit-for-brains, effed up you think this whole shebang is, you still have to do your job.
Which is super for your stress levels. Do the job you hate, for the person you despise and at something you disapproved. Why the hell not, right?
Then you found out that the school is charging everyone extra RM50 fee to make up for the huge expense the engineering club is tallying up.
Hoo-farking-ray.

I am not making this up. You know what I mean, right?
Tell me you do. Please. Tell me you got what I really meant. Oh Lord, what if you don't? What if you think we all need biscuit coasters? Because we don't right? Do we?
*hyperventilate*

Rooming With A Stranger

Dear Stranger I'm Rooming With,

Hi. Seems like we're stuck with each other for a while, eh? I don't know you and you don't know me but we're about to share and see each other doing intimate stuff. Maybe you should know that I'm prepared to like you. I'm a pretty likable girl myself, I like to think. But also at that, I'm also prepared to think you're crap.

One thing I ask, since we're now sharing a bathroom, is that keep the floor dry. Please. This is very important. It's not okay have any water on the floor. Because I will do everything I can and have to, to keep the bathroom floor dry. I will harass housekeeping into giving us an extra floor towel. I will get (and stay) on your case until you get this right. And should I ever find the floor wet after you using the toilet, I will gladly use your bath towel to wipe the water on the floor, around the commode and on the walls. I'm not kidding. I made it abundantly clear the floor has to be dry at all time. I even made up that ridiculous story about having bad balance and mortal fear of slipping on wet tiles. I lied because I was being nice. So if you can't follow this one rule, I will straight out say to your face that how damn kampung or stupid (it's not exclusive) can you be not to know how to use the toilet and keep the floor dry at the same time? Seriously. And wipe the damn counter tops too when you're fucking done too, please.

And yes, stranger I'm rooming with, I bathe a lot. Especially before bed. I like being clean when I sleep. But I also understand that some people still struggle with issues of their hygiene even when they are 30 years old.

It is not weird to unpack and put all clothes in the drawers either, stranger I'm rooming with. I do that if I'm staying for more than one night. You correctly assume I do this because I like to avoid clothes getting crumpled. But I also do this so that I wont have my clean clothes and dirty laundry in one cramped, airless bag. So, you may well take heed of this, that when I have one piece of shirt stinking of BO, my clean clothes are not being infused by it when I shoved it into a small space together.

I watch a lot of TV. Whenever I can. I hog the remote too. This I am not ashamed to admit. This is where communication is needed. Tell me if you want to watch something else. I may (or may not) compromise. I believe I am a peaceful TV watcher and will always mute the volume when you're praying. I also believe I watch interesting stuff. I appreciate you approving my choices of TV programmes. I am happy to be the person to introduce you to the joy of watching Mythbuster, Dirty Jobs and Man vs. Wild. But stop talking when I'm watching. I do not need to hear your comments on anything regarding the show we are now watching together. This is where communication is absolutely not needed. Shut up and just watch the show. While we're at that, even if you can't understand what they're showing while I'm watching ESPN, the shut the fuck up rule still applies.

Stay out of my toiletries bag. And just because you asked, the reason I have sunblock in the bag is because I use this one toiletries bag for all my travels. It has everything I think I need for when I travel. Sometimes, where I go may require me slathering sunblock. Not this time though. The existence of that tube of SPF50 sunblock in my zipped toiletries bag does not dictate my desire to swim in the hotel pool. I applaud your use of brain to deduct this, Sherlock, but unfortunately this is not true. And again, if you ever touch my stuff, I will whoop your ass.

So okay, inasmuch as I detest asking you for anything, I need to borrow your prayer mat. Don't act so surprise that I know and execute this necessity of a Muslim to perform the 5 prayers a day. Your surprise insults me. And I don't really need your prayer mat, I could always use the spare bath towel and even better, I could just have housekeeping send one up. I understand how a shallow person such as yourself may conform your mind to stereotype people as it is easier than keeping an open mind, but I really do know what I am doing and you should stop acting so fucking astonished that one such as I can actually solat normally. You know what, keep your mat, I'm calling housekeeping.

I like quiet time to myself. For this may surprise many, I enjoy some alone time just doing things I enjoy i.e. reading, messing around on my laptop, watching TV. So, stranger I'm rooming with, you may find me in this room we share more often than not when I don't have to be anywhere else. Feel free to leave me alone. I am not lonely. I am not in need of you filling up the silence. I like the silence. I don't feel the same about you. Usually I would spare some time getting to know the new people I meet, for I am a pretty friendly person, as I have mentioned and I like talking and getting to know people better. But seeing how there's completely nothing about you that does not irritate the hell out of me, I don't want to talk to or with you. I'm sorry you only get to see my splendidferous stuck up bitch side for I do have a more lovelier side I present to normal people. But you had your chance and you blew it when you bathed a spasmodic whale on the bathroom floor on the first day we started rooming together.

Lastly, dear stranger I'm rooming with, you'd notice that I use the shower cap when I shower. I would leave the shower cap on the hook next to the hairdryer on the vanity. Should you feel like sharing that, go ahead. Just don't let me know. But if you're not using it, leave it fucking well alone. Getting the shower cap wet in the inside is not cool. At all. Why are you playing with my shower cap, in any case? Can you get any weirder? Do you need special attention I should know of? If you want something to play, play with my razor. Slide the top part on your wrists. Look at the pretty red liquid gushing out. Just make sure to do it in the tub. I still wont tolerate wet tiles. Even by blood.

So there. I can't say I'm happy to meet you, stranger I'm rooming with. I am sure though that you'll be no less of a stranger to me when we part ways then when we we first meet. I wish you all the best and all the wet toilet tiles you ever wish.

Sincerely,
Nella
Room 618, Concorde, Shah Alam

Put my head down and cry

It's Monday and I came in work 20 minutes late.
I haven't had time to make my coffee.
I already have the meetings minutes that I've had to redo 6 times ready because I was supposed to send them to the boss's office last week, my supervisor just dropped a 330 (three hundred and thirty) pages UNESCO Budget report on my desk asking me to an executive summary by Friday, and about 6 other various letters for me to attend to; on top of the menstrual cramps.
It was father's day yesterday and it didn't go well.
Because (and only because) my browser's start-up page is the Postsecret Blog, I went for quick read through before starting on work.
I (almost) cried when I read this postcard.

Happy Belated Father's Day, Abah.
I'm sorry and I love you.

Let's get me some coffee now, shall we?
Blubbering, hormonal, emo mess is not a good look on me.

Caffeine Zombie

Waking up for work everyday at the ungodly hours of 6.15 am, I find myself unbearably grouchy and unsuited in a civilized capacity when I'm at the office until about noon. Also, I would be sleepy despite the mountainous amount of work to be done. After a week being a walking, half awake, time bomb, I resorted to drinking a cup of coffee in the morning. It helped. Of course it would. I was afraid of exactly that, actually.

My long history with coffee started in 2000, about the time I started working for Starbucks (big surprise huh?). I became a semi-junkie then but it wasn't really bad. I needed coffee but was still considerably functional without. I had to stop the habit when I started Matrix in 2001, mainly because my supply of free coffee ended but also because the story of another barista at Starbucks getting a severe stomach ulcer due to his heavy coffee drinking (2 carafes every morning, noon, evening and night) scared the beans out of me. Quitting coffee wasn't easy, nor was it especially hard. I just switched to Coca Cola instead. Har har. Same shit, different day. What was weird was my caffeine addiction got increasingly bad when I was hooked on Coke as opposed to when I was drinking it in latte form. At my worst, I would drink two 1.5 liters bottles in one night (I was cramming for a final).

This went on until I was in Uni. Off coffee completely, but Coke junkie, big time. It got so bad that I began slicing myself, spending all my money on it and doing everything just to get my next fix. Before I knew it I was living in a cardboard box in the streets, begging for drug money from people, not knowing where or what day it was. My ruin, was complete... KIDDING.

But it got bad enough that my mom had to conspire behind me with my roommates to make sure I wasn't drinking too much if it. I guess it got bad enough that the addiction had to be managed. It worked. Slowly, I weaned off that stuff. Still dabbled with it some time but not as bad. Yay me. Hello healthy kidneys.

So back to my current working conditions. Coffee every morning now. I was worried that I could be falling off the wagon so yesterday (after 1 solid month of drinking coffee every morning, 5 days a week) I put myself to the test, and I jumped off the deep end too. The most extreme condition imaginable; Monday morning, first day back after a long school holiday, I refused myself coffee. The verdict? Bloody hell. Tie me up, drench me in glue and roll me in hay; I am officially off the wagon!

Had withdrawal, bad. I was so sleepy and useless, I managed to finish one fifth of what was on my to do list, and there were only three things to do. You do the math. Also, I could barely contained myself from snapping everyone's heads off for no apparent reason other than their mistake to assume I'm a fully developed humanoid capable of taking control of my homicidal tendencies. And me minus coffee on a rampage would not discriminate (read: includes bosses and superiors). Not a very smart career move. Suicidal, even, yes? So today I'm back to ingesting my usual dosage of stomach lining drano. The only bright side to all this mess is that the Aik Cheong coffee in a bag I'm taking probably only contains 2% coffee. Yeah, I take what I can.

Lord. I'm so weak. So so weak. *curls up into a ball and cries next to the hot water dispenser*

TIME's 100 Most Influential

Have you heard?

Our very own Anwar Ibrahim made the Time's 100 World's Most Influential People list. And he's ranked ninth! How about that. Not too shabby, eh? While being Malaysian and the first to admit his sheer influence over our country's recent political structure renovation *cough*PAS*cough*PKR*cough*; it's strangely more exhilarating to know that the rest of the world thinks the same. Deservedly so. He was the Leonidas, showing the ever haughty `B&N (Xerxes) that they're not invisible, they are not infallible, they are accountable, they too can bleed. The Immortals, we put their name to the test.. (300 binge last night, sorry). Finding out he made the list (have I said he's ranked number 9?!), I felt the real pride of national achievement. Which I didn't feel even when we sent our first space tourist* for a vacation to space. Or any of the numerous previous, highly celebrated, so-called pencapaian negara (read: useless expeditions to the North/South Pole, swimming the Eng-fricking-lish Channel, Everest, etc etc). Yet, finding out Anwar Ibrahim made number 9 on this list, I felt real national pride. Last I felt this way was when the Malaysia team won Amazing Race Asia I. Heh.
And he ranked 9th, you know. Way ahead Oprah (22). After Barrack, Hilary and The Dalai Lama(okay, I'll give). After George Dubya too (well, idiots needs influential leaders too, I guess). Ninth! Even omnipotent Brad and Angelina is way back on number 21 (it is the Time's List).

For the rest of your ignoramus, here's some links on the Number 9 on Time's List the World Most Influential People. Anwar Ibrahim on Wiki and the Time's Article.

* for the last 2 days the news have been showing places in Malaysia namely Pahang and Sepang that are without the basic amenities of electricity and running water. They don't have electricity and clean tap water (yeah, sounds ridiculous the second time around too). Let's send some other useless schmuck to space, why don't we. Spend another million or so on that.

I wanna lick you up

My mom gave me a Juicy Tubes (in Fraise #17) and I'm having trouble stopping myself from gobbling the whole tube up. It's just so...juicy. It would take 5 minutes after application before I lick it off. Than I'll have to reapply it only to lick it all off again. This would go on all day long. You could imagine how fast I'm wearing the tube down. Methinks it's Lancome's genius evil plan for boosting sales. Devious bastard. But it tastes so good. My lips are luscious looking and lollipop yummy.

You know who else I want to lick all over? James Denton from Desperate Housewives. The show blows but the man is P.H.I.N.E fine. Yummy.

WTF

I just gained 4.4 lbs since I started fasting 3 weeks ago.
How is that even biologically possible?
I'm so damn special.


postscript: my company's Eid card is horrendous. Add this to everything else that's been fucking up in my life recently, has the makings of a truly worst Raya ever.

Birthday Edition

Turned 24 today. Lord. Besides the surprise flower at work, the prezzies and all the wonderful birthday wishes (thanks!), I had a great yet pretty normal work day. Which is good considering my mortal fear of getting older. I'm grateful for my family, my friends, my health, my (dubious) sanity, my safety, my blessings, my shortcomings, my loves, my hates, my time and my life. Here's to me. Lets not talk about me aging anymore, shall we? *breaks out in hives*


As a birthday present from me to you, I scanned an exercise we did during a corporate training. It's my deepest, darkest secret revealed. NOT. But it sure is interesting.
First, we ticked 10 of our own weaknesses of a long list and the list was passed around, we were then asked to pick 2 traits we identify most in another colleague. To sum it up for y'all, my officemates think I'm 1)Arrogant (by a huge margin) 2)Gossips 3)Hot Tempered & Disrespectful & Talkative (3-way tie). Gives a warm, fuzzy feeling knowing the people you work with thinks so highly of you, ainnit? Damn, now if only I care.

Update: added a polaroid baby picture of me in my Ugly Babies post.

Crumminess

Had a semi-almost accident on my way to work this morning. Actually I don't think the incident qualified as an 'accident' per se. But it involved two cars on a road, so maybe I can get away with calling the whole thing an 'accident'. Who fucking cares.

Basically what happened was a Murano suddenly cut into my lane and I skidded to a halt barely avoiding a full-on collision. After experiencing the near-death panic and the jarring, screeching, forward-propelling jolt, I was quite ready to let the Murano moron driver off with a indignant blare of my tinny horn. I was certain that our cars barely made any contact. I would know because my car is basically made of rice paper. Raindrops could dent it.

But Idiot decided to pull over so knowing I'm the innocent party, I pulled over too. Getting out of the car was an Indian lady, talking on the phone and checking the non-existent damage to her car, no thanks to her dumb ass driving. I got out too, too happy to confirm that Mr Jeremy Clarkson (my car) is hale and fine and in fact, the only damage was some rubber transfer from my wheels to the side of the Retard's Murano. Puny at that.

She was still yapping on the phone and I overheard the conversation enough to start taking offense and began getting properly mad for brainless homicidal driving. I heard her repeating;

1. "...its just a Kelisa.. Just a Kelisa.."
2. "...Malay girl." ~full emphasize on the my race.

She was also stressing the fact that I have a 'P' license to whoever on the receiving end. And when she started talking to me, she was still on the damn phone and she was talking in bad Bahasa Malaysia and overall sounding like she's talking to an idiot (me) who can't understand English and is beneath her because my Jeremy Clarkson is a Kelisa to her Murano. And not once did she ask if I was okay.

Pissed beyond anything mainly because she didn't even have the decency to hang up her call before talking to me, I let it rip. In very rapid, highly condescending English. I put as many more-than-3-syllables-words as I could. The gist was;

..I don't care if your car is made out of gold, you should always check your blindsides before you change your bloody lane. That's just crummy driving, no matter what you drive..

I told her that she should know how SUVs have blindsides the size of a tanker. I think I repeatedly (3 times) told her how crummy her driving is. Yes, I used that very word. Juvenile? It was either that or 'bloody fucked-up piece of fucking molting crap'. 'Crummy' was easier to say.

I turned up the snotty and told her if she'd apologize I'm willing to let this go, seeing how both of our cars escaped unscathed. See how big of a person I'm being.

I stood up for Jeremy Clarkson, I sounded eloquent and magnanimous and I managed to get to work on time. I'm happy.

Picture from my crummy phone of the uncrummy Asakusa Shrine, Japan.
Just because.

April Fool

4- 1 against liverpool?
yeah, pull another one, that one's got bells on it.

Try living it.

I'm sorry if my life is not up to your usual standard of entertainment.

no mood

i planned to write a very interesting post on 'The Oval-About of Death' but arsenal lost (again) last night to blackburn rovers so now im sulking and have decided not to.

and the oval-about post was gonna be such a great story too. this is what u get for pissing me off.

sulking too much to care about punctuation and capitalisation.

dis so sux.

bleh.

I really did.

"No, I have nothing against you personally. I just generally hate stupid people,"

post removed because apparently i have people reading this blog and reporting its content to my mom. low blow people. you pussies.

so instead,
HAPPY NEW YEAR PEOPLE.

i don't celebrate new year, never have.
i stayed at home and had a radical BBQ session with (traitor) cousins, ignoring the time and watching star wars together while making raspberries everytime anakin skywalker say something predictable and obi wan hangs precariously over a ledge. yawn.

only realised that it was past midnight 3 hours after that.

how slow is your net connection?
mine is just neanderthally criminal.

previous post

gambar tak keluar eh?