The Great Escape

ok. it is not easy when you try to look both glamorous and sexy while having an excruciating stomachache and a case of the ever-growing supply of methane threatening to escape. you hope against all odds that your fart is not sulphurous. or at least you hope that when it escapes, you are able to act both oblivious enough to escape being the main suspect and at the same time, acknowledge it enough to be recognised as a fellow victim of public gas.

nevermind that.

i make it - without gassing the masses to death.

i get to the toilet and there are those two annoying women from accounts. one who walks slower than her grandmother, stares at the mirror the whole day without actually gaining any positive effect on her own beauty, has pictures of herself (herself, for god's sake) all over her table and combs through her hair with her skinny fingers after exiting the toilet cubicle without first washing her hands. and the other looks like a human version of kerokerokeroppi the freakin toad, with eyes so far apart from each other she looks like a bluddy catfish, never washes her hands after using the toilet, walks with her stomach (not feet) out first, and makes this funny gurgling/choking/snorting noise in her throat before spitting into the toiletbowl hence allowing stray phlegm bombs to land on seat.

doesnt matter since my friend, junli, can testify that she's seen me pee and i never seat on the toiletseat without working my thighs or half a truckload of toiletpaper. unless i'm so dead drunk.

enter my favourite cubicle, (favourite cos the floor is dry, doesnt flush eagerly every 30 seconds and certainly doesnt lick my pussy when it flushes) and discover in the toiletroll holder, there's only a roll, no paper. fantastic. enter # 02. #02 is wet all the time, flushes every time my hair moves 5mm and certainly licks my pussy when it flushes EUGH). #03's door is shut, but i wouldnt enter it anyway as it is a squat toilet and my quads/hams/tri-spams arent that excellent. and vainpot and kerokerokeroppi keep talking and talking at the sink.

hello?

privacy please?

take your business somewhere else?

but no.
now my hidden talent kicks in. i have to detonate in silence. of course the comfort factor is close to nil and my urge to scream, "Get out!" is high. nevermind that. eventually, they leave. i get my 2 minute repose. and then i hear the shuffling of feet outside the door to the ladies.

it has to be rahman, our bangladeshi janitor who has a knack of vacuuming our carpeted floor at exactly 1755 when we're all bluddy rushing to finish our work and leave by 1800 to catch the bluddy bus out of this ulu/out-of-the-way logistics park, leaves Jif cream marks all over our workstations making them dirtier than they previously were since he does not change the water in the bucket hence giving a whole new meaning to communal workstation-bacteria-sharing and has a bad sense of timing when it comes to changing toiletrolls.

i miss hassan, our ex janitor who vacuums after everyone leaves, cleans our tables beautifully and never leaves our toiletroll holders empty.

but anyway, my short-lived meditation ends. am very disturbed by man standing outside door waiting for only toilet patron to come out. i know i wont come out for another ten minutes. why cant he go away and come back later? no. our never-say-die janitor perseveres and makes OBVIOUS sounds that he is there. like, "please get out cos i wanna go in" sounds. he shuffles feet some more, raps his hands against the wall, sighs (a lot), paces to and fro. hello mister, if you're going to stress my shy anus more, i'm going to have to take a bluddy longer time to shit cos i just cant perform.

anal anxiety.

it's a problem.

MY BABY'S BACK!

oooh ... 61 minutes more ... 61 minutes more. his flight arrives at 1950. it has been an agonising two weeks. my brother and his girlfriend, nuril, came over to my place last night and asked "you live here? alone? alone?!"

mm hmm ... yes, yes, alone, all alone.

"in this big house all alone?"

mm hmm ... yes, yes, in this big house all alone.

"arent you scared?"

was too afraid to reply. i was, after all, going to spend one more night alone. took 15ml of benadryl (hey, not like as though i abuse my medicine all the time, i am also not a codeine addict, was sick last week and found benadryl to be extremely effective in drowsing me to sleep, though not as quickly as i'd like it to) and settled in bed with "Citizen Girl" which is driving me crazy cos of the huge font and large number of adjectives - i simply lose concentration.

but i shall persevere and attempt to have more success with this book than i did with Lord of The Rings. i am still ashamed of my inability to go past breakpoint page 281.

oh, no no no ... cant do it, no sirree.

am happiest when writing in blog and personal offline diary. oh, and when i'm happily picking my nose in front of ravi. however, am getting almost impatient as we still do not have internet access at home hence not able to write in blogs properly - we're going to move.

again.

in weeks.

and before we can commit ourselves to some goddamn expensive cable plan, need to find a bluddy house. but the moment i see these ads, can just imagine the slimy housing agents rubbing their grubby hands in glee with grey teeth showing up in crooked excitement and their oily noses all crinkled up on their pockmarked faces.

and ... i just cannot do it.
but i also am not able to sieve through all these fucking, yes, fucking bluddy fucking annoying ads posted by grammatically retarded housing agents who post cheesy two-liners like "looking for a house? look no further." and twenty million different fucking, yes, fucking bluddy fucking versions of the same bluddy thing.

ravi also does not wish to give away our hard-earned money to slimy housing agents with grubby hands, grey teeth and oily noses on pockmarked faces.

but, am also about to tear hair out of scalp as there doesnt seem to be a single bluddy, decent, fucking honest agent out there.

met a housing agent, kris, who practically almost cheated me out of our money as he said, yes we do collect from tenants too ...

contrary to what Slimy Kris says, our agent friend (two of them) has said - NO, no collection.

wankers.

all i want is to find a nice, decent apartment with a nice paintjob, or an existing paintjob that does not involve watermarks from burst pipes and poisonous eye-sorous lizard droppings, a washing machine, a dryer would be fantastic, a clean fridge without cold-blooded lizards seeking warmth in between crevices of fridge doors, a queen-sized bed that does not make strange noises erhmm, a cupboard that is not mouldy and some freaking sunlight (yes, i love light) and wind through the bluddy windows.

all this
so that
i can finally
i can fucking finally
apply for cable
and get a new desktop
which i can sell
and earn some extra money from

starhub is giving away free desktops to anyone with a new signup. isnt that fantastic? give someone a computer so he can start paying you for your cable services.

no one is honest these days. but i'm not complaining if i'm getting that freaking desktop for free.

love the iMac G5 but it is not being put to good use as we have yet to find the above-mentioned bluddy apartment.

also completely dislike current dishonest landlord who promises this and that and does not perform this and that but has a freaking 'dr' title in front of his name.

i do not know what exactly he doctors, but he definitely could have doctored his doctorate.

have also re-newed friendship with old, old, old (how old can a 22 years 7 months old life be?) friend, ali. most striking moment with ali? was when he sprained his ankle and i was actually heartbroken.

cannot understand why i was heartbroken, but i just was. i was an extremely sensitive child, and ravi can attest for me that nothing much has changed since then.

besides the fact that i have grown both longitudinally and horibluddyzontally.

yeeeeeeeeeess ...

thirty-eight minutes more to go. all i gotta do is go to the toilet, make my hair nice-nice a bit, leave this freaking cold office and head down to the airport to wait (impatiently) for my baby.

cannot take excitement and depression. it's a strange cocktail.