Getting Old..

Since I was updating my blog (3 posts so far, hiphiphurray), I thought it would be nice to update my Twitter as well.

Logging in to Twitter, I could not, for the life of me, remember my account password.

Myself: Maybe it's *****
DENIED
Myself: How about ********
DENIED, FOOL
Myself: Alright Twitter-bot, try this ********
HAHA

I know I could just reset the password and get the whole ordeal over and done with but I'm nothing if not persistent (stupid and stubborn). So, I went through my little black book, cause I write everything down, thinking that maybe my Twitter password is in there somewhere.

I did write it down, it says: "TWITTER PASSWORD SAME AS YOUR CIMB BANK PASSWORD"
Crap.

People Watching

There are no strip clubs in Kuala Lumpur (that I know of). Let's just assume there are no strip clubs here, hence Kuala Lumpur has no strippers. So, presuming you're not a stripper, why on earth do you insist on dressing like one*?

Clothes, you can buy. Style, you can copy. Class, you either have it or you don't.

*lucite heels, animal print ripped spandex top, short acid wash jeans shorts, fake lashes, 4pounds of makeup, dangly earrings, tramp stamp tattoo AND fuchsia lipstick. I mean, come on.

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.

If you are..

If you are what you eat,
..then I am 81% Mom's food, 17% nasi kawah, 2% McD and Domino (cause only they deliver), 1% feeling guilty and 100% good eats.

If you are what you read,
..then I am Pratchett - sarcastic and with jokes people wont get the first time around. Or maybe even the second time. Or ever.
(sometimes also Gaiman, Fforde and myriads of Romance authors, but mostly and firstly, Pratchett).

If you are who you hang out with,
..then I am the 'weird nerd who knows the best places to eat and talks about stuff no other people could relate to'. Never really popular, pseudo cool, but have the awesomest fun nevertheless.

If you are where you've been,
..then I am India cause I am colorful, ethic and strange and need some getting used to. And I'm gritty and you either love me or hate me, no in-betweens but most probably, you'll remember me.

If you are what you shop,
..then I am shoes and earrings. Bought during sales. Not always the best purchase but always something you could never have too many of. And never ordinary.

If you are what you wear,
..the I am a plain black T, fuss free (I try) and stain proof. Ahem. Probably a little boring too.

If you are what you write,
..then I am tacky with strong undertones of pretentious-ness.

If you are who you listen to,
..then I am moody and undefined. Most of the time labeled 'Unknown Artist'. Wishing am not so main-stream but can't take the time to find better things to listen to.

If you are what you're good at,
..then I am Merryl Streep; actress, extraordinaire.

If you are what you do for a living,
..then I am crap. Enough said.

If you are what you watch,
..then I am executive transvestite (Izzard) in Middle Earth dancing to old tunes (Tarantino) yakking to Bobby Chin about quite interesting things (Stewart, Colbert, QI, NMtB).

If you are who you try to define yourself to be,
..then I am stupid. And trying too hard. And should know better than to sum anything up in words.

Update! Yay!

17 Reasons Why it is Cool to Have 17 Plain Black T-Shirts

So Nadia has been giving me grief about my 17 pairs of plain black Ts that I own. Why, I have no idea. There's nothing strange with my dress sense. I have 17 perfectly good reason why it is perfectly okay to own 17 black tshirts.

1. Black tshirts are cool, says James Dean
2. Black tshirts are cool, says me (yes, I am going to shamelessly cheat on this list. Deal)
3. It matches with practically anything..
4. ..hence, you save time when picking stuff to wear
5. You can go crazy when you accessorize..
6. ..cause when you wear patterns or colors you should really rein in the add-ons
7. Same t-shirt, 7million different looks
8. You can buy them in bulks (yes, I am cheap. Don't judge)
9. Makes me look thinner
10. Makes anyone look thinner
11. Slogan tshirts are for idiots (I only own 2 of those kinds)
12. I'm incredibly messy and stain doesn't show on black. Yay black!
13. It's rocker punk, it's goth, it's adult sombre, it's hip, it's fun, it's anything you want it to be
14. Black is timeless
15. I look good in black
16. My personality makes up for my lack of color
17. I only have 16 pairs cause my mom threw one away so I don't really need a 17th reason now, do I?

So there. Satisfied? Do you now see why it is perfectly okay to own some-number amount of black Ts? I am not weird Nadia. You are. Ahem.

Not Dead

Nothing like getting spammed to spur you into pushing an update. I will try to find the time to, I promise. Okay, I will try harder.

On that note, this blog's layout is ugly.
What the hell was I thinking wei?

Allow me to digress..

and to procrastinate (I have a 40-page report due tomorrow at 1pm and I haven't done heck).

I found this while I was digging through the mounds of notes my 7months in INTAN has allowed me to accumulate ( I was supposed to be looking for my Research Methodology notes. I get distracted very easily, as you can very well see). It was the sketches of an article draft I was supposed to do for our magazine editorial. We just won the debate competition (more on this later, maybe) and Mr. Editor who was also on the debate team asked me to pen something about it. This was what I wrote:

The day we won the debate competition was indeed a day full of surprises. For one, the very fact that we even won it was an unsuspected ____ (encountered a writer's block despite the brilliant start. Asked the rest of the team to help out but they were rubbish so I restarted.)

We had one motto going into the competition, with due respect to the opponents, we held fast to our totem; "it's okay to lose as long as you do it with style". The win was an unexpected. Heck, even the preliminary win was a huge surprise. We were so unready for the finals that until we sat down on (sic) our seats on the stage (for the finals), only then that Un and I realized we had the motion wrong. But true to the spirit of the Sidang (which was strong within us) we decided to do what we have been doing the whole time; we decided to wing it. I doubt Shemi even realized anything was amiss, as usual he was too caught up with himself. What I remembered most from the competition was how vastly entertaining the audience was. One time, I only had just finished the salutations but the applause was befitting me curing cancer. I love the actions that was going on in the seats. I was sure I could see the VIPs themselves suppressing a smile or two as well. Even the hecklers was lovable. This whole essay as you can tell is about me, me, me, me, me, me and me!

I lost interest at this point and reevaluated sending any article at all for the Editorial. But 5 minutes later I got bored with whatever lecture that was going on in class and decided to give it another go.

Facts about the Debate Competition ppl don't know.

1. Shemi has photographic memory so in essence we cheated. Cause we brought wiki.
2. 2 out of every 5 facts we presented were totally fabricated.
3. It was the battle of the giants (school-wise) MCKK in one corner, SAS in the other. STF backing Koleq just for fun.
4. It was colder on the stage than anyone could every imagine.
5. Everytime we raised our hands for POI, we had only 50% of an idea of what to say. We lie best under pressure.
6. It has been collectively 25 years since any of us last debated.
7. We felt the topic was grossly unfair to us. But since we won anyway, it just shows that we're that good.
8. We overestimated our opponents. We thought they'd be much better. Apparently, they suck.

As you can tell, I wasn't being serious. Can you tell? Well, I wasn't serious. I was joking. My ego is not that huge. Am not that obnoxious. But I gave Un/Mr. Editor the draft anyway for a look-see and he made some notations:

Un's 2cents: no. 2 - don't mention, tukar lain

no. 8 - play nice dude, tone down

add-ons:

-Un had difficulties to listen to any of the POI from fellow oppenents because Neila and Shemi can't stop talking from both sides of his ears.

-at the back of the hall, we sang Mariah Carey's I can make it through the rain (while we were waiting for the VIPs to arrive).

Good times.

Oh Lord. I miss my friends at the DPA like you can't imagine. Choi. Back to work now. Sigh.

Wisdom is Boring

Ooohh.. trying to consistently update this blog is hard. It's probably the getting older. Because as you age, you reprioritize.

• Clearing your in-tray before trying to update your blog (just making my point).
  
• Getting clothes from the dry cleaners are now more important than going to see a movie.
• Buying shoes are now less important (blasphemy!) than making sure you don't double book yourself for two Ministry events/stuff at the same time.
• Not picking up phone calls is now a hanging offense (it wasn't before, I only picked up calls when I felt like it).
• Hanging out with real flesh and blood friends in real time over real food trumps updating whatever networking-website accounts and/or chatting online.
• Calls over SMSes.
• No more late night live football matches on work nights, sleep is essential to sanity.
  
• Finishing the meeting's minute in 3 days beats going home at 6pm for the weekly Scrabble/Boogle/Monopoly/Risk/Congkak session with family (however painful).
• Making sure you have the car is refueled every Sunday evening is definitely more important than going to that promising warehouse sale.
• Paying all your bills before the 4th every month including this month regardless how tempted you want to buy that stupid iTouch on discount.
• Buying handbags for storage space than only consider how good it looks on me.
• Owning black court shoes (I hate myself).
  
• Paying premium price for good food at a good place.
• Making sure you're never out of phone credit at all time.
• Making sure your shoes and your handbags match (I used just to rebel it out).
  
• Buying that RM300 baju kurung batik over the divine RM100 casual sun dress (groan).
  
• And ultimately, in bed by 10.30 pm is effing wajib okay? Nothing tops that, however pathetic/lame it may make me sound.

I suddenly realized that at least 3 items on the list makes me more..uncool. Dammit, I heard that getting old sucks. Now, this proves it. I'm off to listen to 'N SYNC (sad attempt to rejuvenate one's hipness. Wait, 'N SYNC is no longer cool? What? What do you mean that 'N SYNC was sadly never cool? The hell you say.. Fark it lah. I give up. So, I'm afraid I am now what I've always feared to be, a boring adult. What the hell lah. So what. I'm off to do my tax return..)

My New Year Post is from My Handphone 3 Months Too Late

This blog is not dead. I have just been crazy busy with work. I know that's a weak excuse and there are other people out there who also has a job and could decently maintain their blog at the same time and I admire that. But I'm not like that, am not that good. But I am here now. We should be thankful for what we have now, not what we think we should have. But then, there's probably nothing we should be thankful about the return of me sharing inane nonsensical ramblings of my overly bland life, spouting self rightous drivel, absorbed in the the misconception that somebody other than I would give a damn what I think.
But the again, I've discovered that my life would be exponentialy happier if I continue my delluded imaginings that everything could be better if I just scream loud enough. What utter foolishness, you agree? What load of peanut butter crock, you say? Indeed. But I'm happier and I am all that matters.

Hahaha. It's (surprisingly) good to be back. Bring it on!

I Call It Survival

~Meeting room, KPWKM.

Small Evil Boss Person "Bla bla bla bla blah"
Nella "Hum hum hum, do do do, ding dong, the witch is dead, hum hum"
Debbie "What are you doing?"
Small Evil Boss Person "Debbie, if you have something to say, you can share it with the whole room. No? Then please stop talking and pay attention to what I'm saying"
Debbie "Sorry, Datin"
Small Evil Boss Person "Bla bla bla bla blah"
Nella "Hum hum hum, do do do, we're off to see the wizard, hum hum"
Small Evil Boss Person "Bla bla bla bla blah"

*Meeting ends*

Debbie "What were you doing during the meeting?"
Nella "Whaa?"
Debbie "During the meeting, you were like, crazy focused and doing stuff on your laptop"
Nella "Heh heh. Wallpapering"
Debbie "Whaa?"
Nella "Heh heh. Tadaa"
Debbie "Dude. The Midget would be hella pissed if she ever finds out"
Nella "Heh heh"
Debbie "Cute though. Can I have it too?"
Nella "Heh heh"

FIN

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*

The World is Just..Awesome

I love the whole world
It's such a brilliant place
Boom-de-ah-da, boom-de-ah-da

Song lyrics : Discovery Channel; I love the world
Picture : Own, driving back from hell work

Work has been just brutal. Needed a heads up to remind me that life is worth living and why I should suppress that suicidal and/or homicidal feelings I have. I love that Discovery Channel song. I listen to it and feel my aneurysms fade away. My left temple would stop ticking. I love rainbows too. I could look at rainbows all day.

Unfortunately, all the soothing in the world can not help me from getting massive cluster headaches when looking up at the towering heights of paperwork I need to do trembling gently in the breeze. Add a psychopath midget yelling maniacally next to that, and I tell you, I could be swimming in a sea of lithium, soaked in rainbows, listening to serene murmurs of the cloistered peace monks of Nepal and cradled naked in the comforting bosom of mother earth herself and I would still have an anxiety attack every time I wake up and realized I have to go to work..

Lord, I'm too young to lose my mind.

What Would You Teach A Mynah Bird

Azzard (my cousin) had a mynah bird once named Bird (very original, right?) Bird was a delightful bundle of feathers. He could talk. Azzard taught him things to say and whenever we visit we would say (yell) our favorite phrases for Bird to repeat. Among the many delightful things he would screech was "I twot I thaw a puddy cat!", "Beam me up, Scotty" and "Hello Bird". Bird died and Azzard replaced him with a cat named, you've guessed it, Cat.

Got me to think, what would I teach a mynah bird to say, should I have one (which I probably never would). The thing about teaching birds to talk is that they pick up words and say them at the weirdest time. More often than not, in front of company. So, I came up with this list of what I want my bird (the hypothetical one I am not getting) to say:

1. Du~de! (I overuse this word like you wont believe)
   
2. Scaramouche, will you do the fandango?
3. Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!
4. D'oh!
5. Jam for beavers.
6. Don't make me go there and smack you across your face. (I say this a lot)
7. Resistance is futile.
8. Re-for-ma-si! Re-for-ma-si!
9. No soup for you!
10. Say, you ever watched that movie 'The Birds' by Hitchcock?

What would you teach a mynah bird to say?

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

Off with the Old

Said a few "hullo"s and a few more "guidbye"s this coupla weeks.

My bestest office buddy got transferred to Seremban. Office would be unbearable now. Oh waily, waily, waily.

That's her in green next to me. We're drinking to her escape from Hell. The unsuspecting Debbie (in purple on the other side of me), is her replacement, newly arrived from the warehouse and has no flaming idea what kind of twisted, horror movie she's now the lead cast in.

Welcomed a new supervisor (the old one voided her warranty and therefore had to be replaced). Am very content with my fresh from the box supervisor. It seems because of her many and somewhat dubious connections (not explaining), the Midget Schizo Witch a.k.a the big boss is a little erm, cautious in dealing out her normal shit to new supervisor. Yay.

Farewell to a friend who's off to have a blast on a three (THREE!) weeks vacation in Spain. Green. Jealous. Only I'm not really happy that he got to go and I'm stuck here so this farewell is like a fraction of a full farewell. Cheap imitation of what a real farewell will be like. Go play in traffic la, Ed. But don't forget my matador lithograph, ok.

Said hello to a new member of the extended A.O Bintang family. Cousin Deedy got married last month. Welcome Reena, we really hope you don't find out the truth about the circus you got yourself married into.
You can't really see the pengantin because that green blob brother of mine is blocking the bride. But you can see Deedy in his purple suit. Try living that down, cousin. Hahaha.

However, we are also saying Auf wiedersehen (we don't really say that. I had to google to find out how that's spelt) because soon both newlyweds are moving to San Jose.

Bought a new watch. It was on 20% discount. Sweet.

Dad replaced the cassette player in my car with a CD player. Way to catch up with technology, huh? It got embarrassing when the younger nieces and nephews genuinely didn't know what a cassette was. When I told them it's a box of string decoration for Christmas trees they took it literally. Only it wasn't a Christmas tree, it was the pokok bunga kertas depan rumah. Ah youth.

Afzan had a baby boy. I'm delirious for her.
Haven't seen nor touch the youngling yet.

Dad also got a brand new JVC HDD video camera for the house. Who cares it's probably 27 years and 100 family trips too late?

Lastly, not leastly, I'm saying "ta" to the last 25 years of my glorious life.

And saying "harlo harlo" to indeterminate more awesome years ahead! Wha hae!
Crivens. Quarter of a century old, I am.

Straighten Up and Fly Right

My life, as it is, is in complete shambles. I know this and I don't like it.
Things are to be done to overcome this. Measures.
I know this also.
Control needs to be asserted back into getting my life back in line.
I know this too.
I should do the asserting of control back in my life so that it will be shamble-free.
I am aware of this.
The problem is, should it be, I find myself simply..
TOO FUCKING LAZY.

"laziness is not a bad thing because- you figure it out yourself lah"

Lady Noisemaker

Have you ever met somebody who you think is just..noisy?
Not talkative-noisy, I don't mean chatty. Chatty is fine. Talkative is alright. (Eff off, Lizzam. I'm perfect)
Just noise-ful. Full of noise. A noisemaker.

I met such a person last week. At a meeting. Which is not a suitable place to be a noise-ful person. But she was.
How should I describe her?
She didn't say anything (which goes with what I said about talk-noisy versus noiseful-noisy)
But she constantly emitted various sounds that was not necessary. i.e. noises.
She jangled. She jingled. She banged. She clicked. She clanged. She clinked. She slurped. She buzzed. She was a bloody Onomatopoeia.
And she sat next to me.
I understand she created all these noises involuntarily. But it got irritating to hear the cacophony of the sounds she created nonetheless. Everything she did and everything on her would just screamed and hissed and barked. Her bangles, her wheezing breath, her chewing, her vibrating hand phone with some sort of small bells accessories, her handbag which she would not stop reaching into, her frequent shifting on the chair, her weird rattling pen with dangly bits, the lip smacking thing she did every 5 seconds, her loud bajukurung with the even louder scarf..EVERYTHING! She was this tempest of constant noises. Nothing about her was quiet. Nothing was restful. I swear, even her blinking was an auditory assault.

I came out of the meeting jittery as a junkie hamster made from coffee and found myself refraining from making any conversation with anyone for the next 5 hours. I needed my quiet. Lord, did I ever.

This is not her. But she was as noisy. Noisier, even. Stupid pig.

What Do You Call a Happy Burger?

This post is also titled; Spring Cleaning My Phone Camera Album Because I Take Crappy and the Most Ridiculous Pictures of the Weirdest Stuff.

Tell me if that's not a gorgeous looking plate of grub.
This was my highly aesthetic and very appetizing plate during Ed's Western cookout some time back. We had steak, salad, steamed veges and mashed taters. Good food.
I make awesome mashed potatoes and salad, I don't mind saying so myself.

This is my perfect Saturday morning afternoon.
Tak mandi, in my jammies, playing scrabble by myself with LoTR full volume on the TV, ignoring the piles of laundry that requires folding in the background.
Throw in a Stephen Fry in a James Denton body with Eddie Izzard humor and Jon Stewart wit, I could die happy.
I'll have two of those, thanks. With fries.

This is the view from my cubicle. Sunsets are lovely and I rate my day according to how many squirrels I can see running around before I finish my coffee.

But then again, the boss crazy-o-meter trumps any squirrel, regardless how many. The windows could be splattered with squirrels and I still would have a crummy day thanks to that monster.

So yeah, what do you call a happy burger?

Bergembira!
Har har har.
This joke would be lost on you if you don't speak Malay and have no sense of humor and have no pants that is made out of jam.

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*

The Gloody Letter That Comes After 'A' and Hefore 'C'

Am at work, first day at my new jot. I got the department I (so holdly) asked for. They gave me a very nice cunicle with a view. Went on the intro-tour of whole juilding. Met arout 6 millions people and smiled until my cheeks cramped. So far, I'm liking it. People are nice. The offices (there are 6 levels of it) are really nice; the minister's and the high level officers' offices are frankly meyond awesome. And to top it all off, I'm hoping for this department (which I so fervently asked repeatedly for) would live up to it's name and I get to join the fun. Nut for the meantime, I'm happy to go through the heaps of 'fail meja' and 'senarai serahan tugas' to 'terkhidmat untuk negara' yetter.

My one very small, very puny complain though; can I get another keyhoard? The one I've got now can't do the one letter; the one that comes after 'A' and pefore 'C'. Y'know, the letter that makes sense of this statement I'm awout to make:
"slimey, sizzare keysoard this, what russish. Sos sossed the sall to the seaming sand of sushmen srother sefore suying a slasted soscat with sooss"