klang valley

if temperatures keep soaring like this, i might as well melt away. weight loss (as pledged to edzie) is on target. have lost the 1kg i had gained in Kuala Lumpur. not quite sure if the 1kg loss is considered weight loss seeing how i am still at the pre-KL weight i pledged to lose before i went to KL.

had a fantastic time in KL although ravi was on site most of the time. his exhibition site was such a dreary area that i recoiled when i visited him. but the boat ride (tourist shit) was pretty nice. pictures will be up soon by procrastinating little me.

edzie and matchap succeeded in feeding and overfeeding me. by the time i was on the train to the airport, i was bursting out of my shirt. not a pretty sight, and i had strange middle eastern men staring at me. then i realised that one button, strategically at my chest, had conveniently popped open.

nice.

first night. immigration is unbelievable. if we thought taking the flight would have been a fast alternative, we were dead wrong. an hour before flight takeoff in singapore, 45 minutes in plane, 15 minutes on train to immigration checkpoint, half an hour at checkpoint, one hour in cab to the city centre. an hour shy of a sin-kul bus ride that would have cost me 1/3 of the plane ticket. at first i could not understand why there were belts for queues at the immigration checkpoint when there were so few passengers. then i realised. the immigration process was so slow that the queue simply built up. didn't help that i made the mistake of switching the filled out arrival form with the blank one and actually handed the immigration officer the blank one. that wasted another fifteen minutes as a family came through after my turn and i had to wait for all 6 passports to check out. nice.

then came the longest taxi ride of my life with a cabbie from hell. he sped down the expressway at 140km/h. i was too tired to worry. then we were stuck in friday night jam near the hotel. arrived at the hotel and realised we had not travelled too far from singapore. half the occupants were singaporeans. you know they are singaporeans. children running through the lobby with high pitched sirens that inconsiderate parents are oblivious to, loud singlish echoing off the walls, teenage girls in mini skirts dragging their flats around and senile grandparents shouting dialects at the top of their lungs.

and then there was the hotel room. have to be honest, i was disappointed, but i didn't make a sound, didn't complain. there was a toilet (not too clean), there was a bed (missing a blanket) with sheets that came out too easily and the walls were stained with tens of luggages scraped past. an hour later, ravi complained, but i didn't mind - as long as the air-con works. that night, we had the famous Madam Kwan's nasi lemak at Midvalley Megamall that edsie and matchap introduced us to in KLCC, and slept our exhaustion away soundly.

second day. when ravi and i are asleep, we do not wake up. period. lover's cuddle. you hug, you attempt to wake up, you sink back into the pillows, and two hours fly by. ravi was late for work the first day and i missed the hotel breakfast. but it didn't matter much, was going to meet edsie and matchap for breakfast.

i was super asscited. edsie had raved so much about the duck confit at Delicious by Ms Reads and the nasi padang at Bangsar, i couldn't care less about missing the hotel breakfast which was probably "Continental Breakfast and Local Delights" anyway. it's the same in almost every hotel in KL. bad "american" breakfast and nasi lemak. always. donned a halter top and white pants, hoping that white would shield off as much cruel KL sunlight as possible. my hair raised the temperature around my neck and shoulders by two whole degrees. i wish i had brought ravi's company's Family Day battery-powered portable fan. that would have been very takglam though. translucent blue cheap plastic portable fan tak kena dengan baju i.

and then there was the nasi padang. ooooh. sedapnya! matchap introduced me to the fish eggs lemak gulai but not having eaten a lot of fish eggs as a child, i declined. it's an acquired taste, like sashimi. then we went off to Delicious by Ms Reads. the chocolate cake and bread pudding was droolicious. it's no wonder that my network password at the office are always names of food or ice-cream brands.

unfortunately, edsie had to go back to work, hardworking scientist she is, and matchap was kind enough to accompany me around KL which is Strangeland to me. i should not say this, sssh, but Imbi is a funky place with great bootleg DVDs and Photoshop for Mac programs that work perfectly. it reminded me of Sim Lim before the shops cleared out most of their bootleg stuff. don't tell me piracy kills creativity. i ain't gonna pay USD400 for a program when i'm no pro photographer. Sungei Wang reminded me a little bit of Far East back in Singapore. floors and floors of shops with amazing stuff, mostly unique clothes that fit small chinese girls/small malay girls/small indian girls. enough said, i went away with only a hotdog in my stomach. a girl in a shop recommended a blouse to me, "dis un? dis un can stwetch one." er ... thank you, honey, but i ain't gonna buy something just cos it bluddy fits me.

the torture of the day was watching Senario XX with matchap. i am no malay movie fan (except P. Ramlee, who isn't a fan?!) but i appreciate a good movie anytime. even if it's malay. i've seen senario episodes and tv and they mostly left me with rolling eyes. mine. my rolling eyes. senario - you either hate it or you love it. i hated it. but i thought, what the heck, just watch it.

for half an hour, i just could not laugh. i froze over. i laughed whenever matchap laughed cos it was so funny. he really digged it. after i got over my high-and-mightiness, i actually laughed at some parts. i mean, how realistic can one be when the movie is about an alien landing in some kampung with an overzealous indonesian immigrant bomoh?

Apa ka, he?

went back to the hotel and fell asleep. am no shopper. walking around malls tire me out. am an eater. explains why i've put on 10kg since my 22nd birthday. if i can put on 10kg in a year, i sure as hell better lose it in one year. am not going to be a dumpling at my wedding. or a siao long bao as a male colleague once called me affectionately.

dinner saw us at Madam Kwan's again with ravi's dad. this time, i had nasi bojari. am/was/always will be, a pig.

third day. again, we could not wake up. but this time, we could have breakfast at the hotel. rushed to Sungei Wang to get my airticket back then went to Midvalley Megamall to shop around. bought lots and lots and lots of socks. thought i saw a familiar face, am quite sure i knew her, but walked past her in Vincci anyway. then i went to tacky little Mines. i could not believe i had to pay 20sen to enter a toilet that was so gross. was i paying 20sen to be grateful for other malls' cleanliness? ravi made me come down to Mines for the boat ride through the mall and out into the artificial lake - an abandoned tin mine now filled with water. a resort has been built at the brink of this lake.

then off to the out-laws. i've grown to love ravi's family. i'm such an emotional pussycat. and a pig. you just have to feed me, and i'll love you. had to force food down my throat there since i was still full from delifrance barely 90 minutes before that. then we sat in the living room, just talking. like families usually do. as we got up to leave and meet edsie, mike and matchap at bangsar, suresh, ravi's brother, surprised me with a birthday cake although my birthday was two weeks before that.

that was unbelievably schweet. did not know how to feel when ravi's mother took a slice of cake with her hand and fed me.

by the time we got to bangsar, i was about to pass out from overfeeding. ravi ran off to buy more bootleg Jesus DVDs. i swear ravi's a closet christian. needless to say, we hit the sack the moment we went back to the hotel.

KL, our friends and family have been good to us.

but little did i know that our friends had more in store for us. more food in store for me.

fourth day. hotel breakfast disappointed me again. soggy cold cuts, missing butter (again) and chalky mee goreng put me off. packed my bags, felt slightly depressed as ravi wasn't around and promptly waited at the lobby for edsie and matchap. this time, we had the famous duck confit. i wish i was hungrier. but i was full from bad hotel breakfast so i gulped everything down instead of savouring it slowly as i usually would. i didn't want my friends to waste money on me - i'll finish the food. duck confit was great. at first i wondered how i finished it.

nevermind that. i finished it. and half the scones, and half the chocolate cake.

then at KLCC, the nougat milkshake.

on the KLIA Ekspres to the airport, i was hoping SQ would not serve snacks on the flight. 28 minutes later at the airport, i realised there was nothing to do but eat or shop. i could not sit down and read as my buttons were popping. so i shopped. i shopped for food to eat. i chocolate shopped.

it's no wonder that they say the taurus is indulgent and loves her food.

i already miss KL sans conniving/cheating bastard cabbies. i already miss edsie and matchap.

too bad i wasn't able to mishandle george this time around!

ok, edsie, i'll get my driving licence, we'll talk of a car, then we'll see you guys more often and come back to singapore with more scratches on the car :)

heavy bones

Read into the star sign "Taurus" deeply, and you'll find that "lazy" is used to describe The Bull at least twice (Linda Goodman - fantastic insight into star signs, even if you think astrology's bullshit. She got me by the horns, pun absolutely intended).

I'd have to be pulled by the nose ring to do anything (again, intended). Unless some mad wind goes through me. Feel like I'm living at my parents' again.

She: You're still ironing, schatz? It's 0200am.
He: Yes, will finish everything in the basket.

He has two laundry baskets - blue and green. I have a (surprise, surprise) pink one. Like in my previous post, he has the tendency to iron the entire year's laundry ration. While I, well ... I look for the toiletbowl only when I need to shit, if you get what I mean. My father used to say "HAH! Cari jamban bila nak berak!"

He: (entering bedroom while She stands idly by the window wondering what the hell to do next, sleep?) Have you finished everything?
She: (smug) Yeeessss ...
He: (leaves bedroom to continue ironing remaining half of blue basket, three steps outside the bedroom door can be heard) WHAT'S IN THE (PINK) BASKET?
She: ...

Feigned ignorance / deafness in ears after bedroom door closed when He left to iron remaining half of blue basket. Shit, forgot that I had to go to the kitchen.

She: (leaves room and immediately starts conversation to avoid He repeating pink basket question, shouldn't be a problem since He has a short-term memory of no longer than 5 seconds) Have you drunk the coffee, yang?
He: Yeah, not yet. WHAT'S IN THE (PINK) BASKET?
She: (drats!) Oh, no need to iron those ... (yet).

Looks like I have not run so far away since moving out.

taxi! fweeeweeeeet!

taxi drivers.

you either love them or loathe them.

a taxi driver can make or break my mood on any one day depending on how late i am on that day, how wet my hair is or whether the temperature has surged past 31 degrees.

i take hundreds of taxis a year. that's a whole load of emotional upside downs. yesterday, mr wong was suggesting i bypass the erp and take another route which would save me some money.

"it's ok. saving $1 and being 5 minutes later is not worth it for me."
"if only everybody was like you, miss."

and so it began. suddenly i knew his entire family. the patient wife, the irresponsible and non-thinking 19 year old daughter, the two innocent teenage boys and their small pockets. it's nice sometimes, when you meet a guy who tells you about the difference between people living on a higher floor and those who live on the lower floors.

"you don't get to see so much when you live on the lower floor, but when you are the higher floors, you get to see so much. you get to see things differently, not just what's in front of you."

how right he is.

unfortunately, 85% of the world population live on the lower floors. even i go downstairs sometimes.

and then there was the other cab driver who was singing to ancient chinese songs and driving me up the wall.

and then there was the cab driver who snorted, sneezed and gave me change.

there was also another who was bent on driving at the legal speed limits and below.

then there was mr lee. mr lee was telling me about how a lady cheated him out of cabfare by saying she didn't bring her wallet. she gave him her number and asked him to call her and get the money from her. when he called her repeatedly, she never picked up his calls. and lo and behold, she boarded his cab again three weeks later by sheer coincidence (i swear god is a conspiracy fan) and asked her to send him home. halfway throughout the journey, she suddenly realised she was in a familiar cab. she started shifting uncomfortably in the cab, then requested for a change in destination - two streets away from where she originally asked him to drop her off. then she made him drive another round, a few streets further away. mr lee said, "haha. she didn't want me to know where she stayed!"

there are the good, and the bad and ugly.

(the good) cab drivers don't have it good here. as for the ones who obviously bypass you to wait for your taxi booking - you should be ashamed of yourselves.

they spill the ink in the bowl of milk.

next weekend, ravi and i will fly down to k.l. (yes, am showoff, edzie).

looking forward to relaxing, shopping and eating with edna, mike and matchap. matchap's the only guy i call by nickname, other than Orni whom i call maknenek all the time.

i miss Orni :) did you hear that, missy? hehe.

edna will singlehandedly render all my current clothes in my wardrobe useless. she's gonna feed me, i know it.

i should not have lent $400 to Peediddy. i knew it would not get returned on time, and somehow i felt it would not get returned at all.

now i have to cut down my shopping budget in k.l. unless Peediddy returns the $400 back.

i still cannot find that shophouse. argh.

office fallitics have been interesting this past week. you see grown up men scheming their way to another's downfall and you see them at each other's throats using sophisticated manipulation and mind-control methods to twist simple english words into caustic, job-causing statements. all these from different continents and time-zones. and we are using a different approach to work. we're gonna turn everything upside-fucking-down.

it's gonna be fun. if i lose my job, i'm going to work with the chimps and teach them that eating baby chimps is "not good, boys".

as usual, i've been having vivid dreams. but what i find weirder is that i've been dreaming of a particular colleague for three nights in a row. eck! i.will.not.analyse.

dreamt of Fundel. he's supposed to be back in singapore this week already but have not seen him. maybe he decided to stay in germany and leave his filipino girlfriend behind. Orni - don't kick yourself that you didn't make a move on Fundel when he was here. he's luverly.

saw an Ikea sale ad. have.to.restrain.self.

have a good weekend everybody!

Star Wars Geeks Galore

i just couldn't stop laughing at this

where is that shophouse?!

i knew then.

i knew then that i should have kept that newspaper clipping.

there was an article published in The Straits Times about a shophouse that one is able to rent for a night or two to throw a party.

you just need to rent the place, pay for drinks and corkage.

i've searched "party", "shophouse", "venue", "rent", etc etc and i still cannot find it!

just when you have a bright idea, when you finally know, that a wedding dinner is not what you want.

you want to throw a party, to celebrate a marriage.

and i cannot fucking find that conservation shophouse for rent.

AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

rose and sandalwood

you know, as you were growing up, you'd be taught to see the signs and understand where they are coming from so you won't stray from your path. christians/jews/muslims were taught to be overparanoid.

will i be overparanoid in observing that each time i have a spanking good time clubbing, i'd fall drastically ill?

i really mean so ill, you'd feel your life ebbing away.

oh god, i can tell already i am going to metamorphosize into a hala-hula-masya'-allah tudung makcik.

sometimes i suspect half these women decide to wear the tudung because they're actually losing hair.

oh god, will definitely turn into a hala-hula-masya'-allah tudung makcik now.

taking doxycycline as a last ditched attempt to flush out the bad, bad, sticky bacteria from my urethra has proven bad. it does flush out the bad, bad, sticky bacteria but it also makes me nauseous.

now, physically, it is almost impossible for me to puke. it just doesn't happen with me. i just cannot no matter how much i want to.

so what do you get when you have an inability to puke and feel like puking all the time?

hunger (you don't want to eat cos you'd feel like puking it out), whitewashed face and irritability.

i'm not so hot now.

thank god for Kleenex. they have the best scented tissues (rose and sandalwood) and the softest lotion tissues (dry, not wet) so your nose won't chafe from all that blowing and rubbing.

i've learnt that my "crimson room" entry is driving friends nuts. she thinks it's e.v.i.l.

munday(ne) sunday

woke up with swollen thyroids, sore shoulders/neck/tummy/thighs and excruciating pain in weak knees. must learn not to dance like mad whore high on meth who forgets she hasn't worked her muscles in months or has osteoarthritis of the knees. music keeps me going. it's primitive. everyone can dance - if they can learn to let go completely.

i wonder sometimes, what will happen if one day, i can no longer dance? will i close my eyes and imagine me dancing to the sounds of songs like Elube Changó (Son Afro)? will i listen to songs like these that evoke the inner soul to jump onto a table and dance wildly? songs that mysteriously turn my lips into an upward crescent and my shoulders to jerk rhythmically although the body is not willing though the soul is pushing? will these fantasies feed me if one day, i can no longer dance?

oh lord, please, let me keep my faculty of thought and dance till i am grey with age and (hopefully) wisdom.

three things make me really happy in life.

1. song and dance.
2. animals.
3. capturing emotions/thought on (digital) film.

my friendly/sociable image belies my closet recluse who craves devotion from the subjects in her life. there is nothing i can do happily in this life without diving head-first into. also a fallible quality. i only have myself to blame when i bleed. how can one feel half-baked emotions? how do you put one foot into a relationship and another foot out?

is moderation an acquired skill or a choice in life? it is not possible to celebrate life without getting your hands dirty or giving up offerings of one's heart to one's friends. if one is always so afraid, then how can one celebrate life or one's self?

if one gives in to one's pride and insecurities, would one not be short-changing one's self? lose self? lose esteem? lose friends? lose life itself?

the friends i've lost because they've hurt me to protect their insecurities, i do not mourn.

and so i find myself turning to three things that know no insecurities, (1) song and dance; (2) animals; (3) photography. the friends who do not lash for the protection of their insecurities are few, and these i treasure.

on my agenda for this year:
(1) take violins back from parents' and learn to play the violin since my hands can no longer play the piano due to a botched surgery.
(2) endeavour to convince The Boyfriend to keep a cat at home.
(3) pursue photography.

i think this is enough on my plate for now.

i had a good time last night, Ina.

the crimson room

crimsondevotchka was stuck in the crimson room. a colleague sent this over to me, stating that there are 13 items to find. if you find 0-6, your IQ is super low; 6-10 - your IQ is (only) low; 11-12 - you're normal, and that less than 4000 people in the world can get out of this room. of course i haven't a clue where these numbers/statistics come from and am pretty sure they are grossly inaccurate but it's fun and worth your fifteen minutes when you finally get out! don't give up! follow your instincts!

mad monks

i've never tried typiung when high or drink, but i suppose that this is a good time to try. what iu cannot stand is that even in this state, i am prone to hiutting the "backspace" button.

my corset is falling off my chest, i';ve a drunk friend in the guest room, my hair stinks of cigaretts and the sink is full with dishes i used/. oh, and th washing machine still holds the wet clothes i was suopoedsed to hang. then ravi was supposed to jang. then he forgot.

and i can rememver.

even at 0440am, wioth my corset off my chest, twp hodtodgs in my stomach, pousion in my wstomach and farts trying t escapt out of tight jkeans, i can check if the clothes have been hung.

am bonafide conrol freak.

am also spellingretad when high,

when sober, bumped into sally who was with hafiz. then realosed she didnt come into home with us.

we must be quite embarrassin g.

what do you get when you have eleven people and a gib bulk,m i meant big gulp[ cup with smirnoffff and sprite? and a banjo?

i couldnt believe that guy qwas playuing music on a baniko.

first i thought it was a guitar.

then ina exclained, what a small guitar!

i looked,. nthen i couldnt stop laughung.

oit was a banko.

i mean, who has a banjo these days?

byut anyway, was nice.

ha vent blubbed in some weeks.

i dont miss it.

i'm mbso;tue;u domesitaected.

cant help being maternal.

in a way, i ;ve fojnd myeslf.

iover-and0ut/.

have a fantastic sunda everybofdy,.'

off to shower and rjnken sec. roghjt nmow.

fetishes

sleeplusnus sans partnerus. it's a disease.

My body may be screaming for the bed, my contacts may feel like they're about to pop out of my eyes, my eyelids close against my wishes but I just won't sleep if Ravi's not in bed with me. We're ironing freegs.

Once you pop, you can't stop!

I'll say to myself, need to iron one top. Then I'll iron another, then another, and another. Till I've ironed enough for the entire month.

Ravi irons for the entire year.

He gears himself up for ironing every Sunday (Monday now cos it's Labour Day). Fake beer in tall 400ml bubble glass on study desk in living room, fan facing the ironing board, ironing board in perfect angle for prime view of TV and the entire year's worth of clothes on the sofa behind him.

He has more clothes than me. He has more shoes than me.

Something has to be done immediately.

He has at least 20 shirts. 95% of these are various shades of two colours - brown and blue. Everything I got for him was either red, maroon or crimson. OK, everything I got for him was every shade of red, even the ties. My obsession with red spills into every decision I make.

Even the trimmings on my thongs need to be red. When I look for shoes, I naturally gravitate towards the red shoes. My wardrobe has since improved albeit too drastically. From all shades of red, to one shade of white. I have at least 7 white shirts. But who cares? The office probably thinks I wear the same shirt with different sleeves everyday of the workweek.

Bought a red Fatboy and a red snowbead cushion.

The Red Snowbead Cushion.

Now, post-now-famous-Mug-throwing-incident, I have realised that Ravi has been watching a lot more TV lately. We made a deal on his birthday when that famous blue mug was thrown onto the kitchen floor flooding it with milk and chipping the newly renovated ceramic floor.

That he'd cut down on TV hours.

I've been tolerant of the sticky habit coming back but I've realised that the TV habit is returning because of me.

Because I had insisted on the Red Snowbead Cushion.

Have you come across those snowbead cushions that are stupendously expensive for that small a size? The ones that feel out-of-this-world with the smooth lining and the soft beads that feel like ... well ... snow?

Yes, those fantastic, malleable, sensual, tactile cushions.

I have caught Ravi fondling the Red Snowbead Cushion many a time since we bought it three weeks ago. He rolls the smooth lining between his fingers and rubs the beads between his forefinger and thumb, twiddling it.

I feel violated for the Red Snowbead Cushion.

He'd watch TV, switch off, but his fingers will still be twiddling and molesting the cushion.

I need to get rid of the Red Snowbead Cushion.

I am losing my man to a fucking cushion.

Room to let!

Hi there! We're a young, professional couple with an available room to let. 30 steps to clubbing haven, 300 steps to Cold Storage, minutes to Orchard Road. Air-conditioned room is fully furnished with a mattress-less timber bed, one-seater sofa, brand new study desk marred with burn marks left by thoughtless bitch-ex-housemate/freeloader, wardrobe that reeks of mothballs (eek! what was she thinking?) and - get this - ensuite bathroom that thoughtless bitch-ex-housemate/freeloader said she washed but smells suspiciously like the toilet in the wet market I frequented as a child. Landlord is extremely easy-going, drinks fake beer/cloudy lemonade and eats instant lasagne in front of TV while nodding in agreement to the commentators on WWE. Landlady is anal, certified obsessive-compulsive who arranges/re-arranges items on a per minute basis, has mug-throwing fetish and combusts into fiery explosions when least expected. Oh, and no visitors, please.

Any takers?

Sooooo ... F's gone. The source of 95% of my disgruntlement at home is gone. GEE-OHH-ENN-EEE. It's too bad that things had to come to such a sour point but I had a part to play in that - I am non-confrontational. I tolerate to the point of intolerance till I go mad with rage. With the Peeping Pervert incident, everything came down in torrents.

I might have lost a "best" friend last week. I can forget about my friendship with the blabber. She has too much pride. What is pride between friends? I'd like to give her a call, and forget the entire thing, but I'm sick of people stepping on my heads.

Ina thinks I am too kind. I think I'm just too patient with the wrong people and too impatient with the wrong people.

Man, I've screwed up my priorities!

So, perhaps a cat is on the way. I am not sure. I've spend gallons of tears, whimpering and whining. It just might be successful.

I really do miss my cats.

Coming from a house with 27 mewing/whining cats, a father with a boombox of a voice, a brother who's deaf and blasts the stereo and a mother who talks non-stop to the cats and maid - to a house of just Ravi and I is awfully quiet. Dogs are wonderful, but they stink and need constant attention.

Cats are real schweet bitches.

*sniff* I smell rain. I smell ... quiet.