the art of being melancholy

I'm taking a break from the usual dosage of self-help books on relationships. So right now, I'm reading this book called Your Personality Tree. It's supposed to help me understand the way that I am and how I am able to cope with people of different personality types.

Barely into the second chapter, the book has all ready told me what type I am: A Melancholy with parts Choleric and Sanguine. (The book tends to categorise personality types into a whole X or a combo of Y and Z but I am definitely a mixture of R, S and T.)

I will only list the parts which I feel are true about me, as the book also notes that not all the traits may apply for every person because we're all unique and stuff.

Melancholy, The Thinker:

Emotions
Strengths
1. Deep and thoughtful
2. Talented and creative
3. Philosophical and poetic
4. Appreciative of beauty
5. Conscientious
6. Idealistic
Weaknesses
1. Remembers the negatives
2. Moody and depressed
3. Enjoys being hurt
4. Has false humility
5. Off in another world
6. Low self-image
7. Has selective hearing
8. Self-centered
9. Too introspective
10. Persecution complex
11. Tends to hypochondria


Work
Strengths
1. Perfectionist, high standards
2. Detail-conscious
3. Sees the problems
Weaknesses
1. Not people-oriented
2. Depressed over imperfections
3. Chooses difficult work
4. Self-deprecating
5. Hard to please
6. Standards often too high
7. Deep need for approval


Friends
Strengths
1. Makes friends cautiously
2. Faithful and devoted
3. Will listen to complaints
4. Can solve others' problems
5. Moved to tears with compassion
6. Seeks ideal mate
Weaknesses
1. Lives through others
2. Insecure socially
3. Withdrawn and remote
4. Critical of others
5. Holds back affection
6. Dislikes those in opposition
7. Suspicious of people
8. Antagonistic and vengeful
9. Unforgiving
10. Full of contradictions
11. Skeptical of compliments

Do you recognise these traits in me? I'm sure you do.

Because I am idealistic, I refuse to see the reality before my very eyes. Because I am appreciative of beauty I am depressed by the flaws I see in myself. Because I remember the negatives I find it difficult to move forward and constantly dwell in painful moments. Because I enjoy being hurt I will continue to let myself be hurt by people whom I care about although they may not care about me, but as I am idealistic I refuse to see the reality that they may not care about me and that I should move on. Because I am a person with pride, I will persecute those whom I find are less than perfect. Because I have selective hearing, advice does not work on me because I am stubborn and will only choose to hear what I want to hear. Because I am a perfectionist I get depressed and feel that life is not worth living when things do not go the way I want them to go and because of that, flawed people will never become my boyfriend. Because I enjoy being hurt I will choose difficult work to make my life more complicated than it all ready is. Because I am deeply insecure I need to be validated constantly and that is why I will ask you what you think of me at random moments to fish for compliments although compliments given without asking make me suspicious as to what the true motive behind those nice words may be. Because my character seeks to find the ideal mate I shall never tire you with grouses of not being able to find a boyfriend until I actually do find one. I am antagonistic and vengeful and I show this side of me through my sharp words and standoffish stance.

This is the Melancholy me.

Read More...

the idiot's guide to self-help

The inevitable thing has happened. I've flying kicked Agatha Christie novels aside... and embraced the terror that once was. That is to say, I've become addicted to buying and reading self-help books.

Within the last four months, I've bought at least ten of such books with dubious titles like: The Man-ual. The Surrendered Single. Unleashing the Inner Seductress Within. Crazy books with topics like how guys appreciate girls in miniskirts (duh!), how breaking up is a lot more liberating than living in Kenya, how to feel happy by jumping rope (and looking fitter and better at the same time), how to be a great kisser, etc.

There were some entertaining reads with some gem of advice thrown in between the pages, but others were major dud. I really don't need to know that a guy thinks about sex thirty times a day. I all ready know that. Heck, I do that. (I'm normal. I also happen to have more testosterone in my system than the average girl. That's why a specific part of my body isn't prominent enough.)

Anyway... you know what? I did this dumbass thing. Which is to follow the advice of this stupid book. Which is to hang out at certain locations in hopes of snagging an eligible guy.

So I went to the bookstore... and all I met were aunties and uncles browsing through the self-help section (ack!). Then I went to the hardware store... and all I met were grungy-looking construction men. And then I hit the bars... and all I met were unbelievably nerdy looking desperate men... and some cute foreigners but I am not interested in foreigners.

So what if I am the media! The only people I run into are the same media people day in and day out - and if I was never attracted to them the first time I met them ten months ago, how am I supposed to be attracted to them now?

Fucker...

I'm going to eat cookies and fume.

Read More...

fly, mo-neh, fly

And so the mo-neh flies... 'cos I have found myself a brand new vice - online shopping without a credit card!! Tadaaaaahhh!!!!!!!!!

How the heck did I managed that? Oh, it all began with that one website. They sell clothes on its site see, or more like blog. Then from there I clicked on a bunch links... and they all sell clothes too, see... and then I saw things that I liked. They were cheap. Some were branded, some were not.

Wanting wells inside my little heart. The pocket starts firing smoke signals screaming "Buy, buy buy!" The insignificant thing (now insignificant) called willpower collapses. I succumb. My closet shall have new additions. Muahahahaha... and comes again the cycle of broke-ness before we reach the end of the month. Dang.

But there are some really good finds online. And it's amazing that I don't even need to have a credit card to make my purchases. m2u is all I need. Everything will get PosLaju-ed to my house. No doubt my mom will start making inquiries as to what the things the postman drops off at our gate are. Never mind! At least it saves me the hassle of driving, wasting petrol, wasting toll money, wasting time going in and out of stores and finding that there's nothing that looks good.

Oh... I love the Internet. And me, and my salary, are fucked forever.

Read More...

the curse of the armpit hair

As far as I'm concerned, armpit hair serves absolutely no purpose to me. I don't know about you - maybe you actually LIKE having armpit hair 'cos it makes you feel warm and fuzzy (in a literal sort of way). Like, MAYBE. (Who knows?)

Anyway, I can't stand armpit hair. They're just unsightly things which shouldn't even exist in the first place. I'd lived for half my life without armpit hair, and that suited me really fine. Really, armpit hair just ruins everything there is about a girl. It's so unfeminine to have something growing out of a girl's pits. (Plus, a lot of guys find a girl with armpit hair gross.) And so, I invest in a razor - I use Gillette Sensor Excel Woman, by the way.

The other thing I can't stand is when I come across girls with stubbly armpits. Well, so it may be hassling to actually pick up the razor in the mornings while you are rushing your shower but if that is the case, do not wear a shirt that exposes your pits, whole or even partially! It's just too gross to see a day-old, or God forbid, a few days old, armpit stubble on any girl - even if she happens to be an absolute knock-out.

Read More...

flying kicks gloria gaynor, with love

First I was afraid, I was petrified!

And truth be told, I am still petrified. Why? Because I gave you that damned key and I haven't had a chance to change the lock yet. More like, I am reluctant to change that bloody lock.

So I am waiting behind the door, waiting for the lock to turn while I lie in a catatonic state, like a rotting piece of veggie.

I've got all my love to give but I don't know if I'll ever survive actually.

(I should just lay down and die.)

Read More...

sushi goes 'peta'

I... have got some weird fantasies hiding in the folds of my armpit. (Eh?) But you all ready knew that didn't you? Like the one... with the dog... and with the girl... and with the umbrella... (Eh??)

It's not as awful as it sounds. There's not a lot you can do when you combine a dog, a girl and an umbrella together anyway and especially if it happens to be raining. Worse comes to worse, the dog and the girl can only shield themselves from the rain with the umbrella. If a flasher runs up to them, they'd still stand quite still underneath the umbrella in refusal of getting wet.

If it wasn't raining, the girl could whack the dog with the umbrella. It has to be yellow, preferably, that umbrella.

Anyway, today's fantasy is about sushi.

(Omigod! A disturbingly disgusting image just flashed into my head!!! I accidentally imagined a piece of sushi resting peacefully on somebody's hairy armpit!!!)

(Flying kicks the disturbingly disgusting image to a far away place - but without love because disturbingly disgusting things don't deserve love.)

Anyway again, sushi. If you take a piece of sushi and fwapped it against the table, it'll make this 'peta' sound. That's today's fantasy actually. Taking the same piece of sushi and going 'peta', 'peta' against the table top for a hundred times until the smell of sushi is embedded into the table (and my fingers) and remains for the next three days.

'Peta', 'peta'.

Ooh, I think I want to eat sushi off...

Read More...

adding that extra inch

Ultimately, the best shopping finds has always been on the days when I am a little bit down. Last night, after an assignment which I found mind-boggling (I think... the whole The Devil Wears Prada lifestyle does not suit me) I consoled myself by buying myself a pair of heels. So it's not Nine West - I am not fashionable enough nor am I rich enough (for now) to buy a pair - but it they are really, a nice pair of heels. A gray bordering on black, slightly glittery-metallic, with thin straps a la Mary Jane style, peep-toe with swatches of clear plastic on the sides for a peekaboo effect.

They are also a good inch higher than all my other heels - at most, my heels are about two inches in height while the new one must be about three - and it feels a bit wobbly when I walk about in them as I am not used to the height yet but I feel more powerful in them. I feel more 'grown up' actually, and I don't just mean about the height - although I do adore the view from higher up. (I've always wished that I was a bit more taller.)

My deflated little heart could not help swelling with a bit of pride when the women I met over the course of today's assignments openly admired my heels. They were very well-dressed women so to have them acknowledge my fashion sense spoke volumes that I had made a good choice because I'm just clueless when it comes to being trendy most of the time.

Heels project an image of a confident, sophisticated woman who is bold, brash and wears sex appeal like a second skin. I am not quite sure how people see me but when I wear those heels, I would like to project myself as such.

Read More...

anxiously, i burst into flames

Scenario 1:

Do you have this dream where you need to pee really badly? So you go to pee? But somehow the pee doesn't trickle down? And somehow you still don't feel relieved? Then you wonder if it's a dream? After which, you actually do get up and find out that it was a dream but you really do need to go after all? So you rush to the loo in time, partially wet your pants or maybe you wake up to realise that you've peed on the bed?

Scenario 2:

Do you have this dream where you're brushing your teeth? And as the bristles on the toothbrush touch your teeth, they start tumbling out and fall into the sink as if they were glued onto your gums with potato starch? And you watch in horror as your teeth flow into the drain along with the water running from the tap? Then you try to grab the other bits of teeth in the sink and try to stick them back onto your gums? But they won't stick? And then you wake up and check your teeth to see if they're still attached?

Scenario 3:

Do you have this dream where there's a girl? And you know this girl, you like this girl and the girl likes you back? But you did something really crappy to this girl, like you cheated on her or lied to her or said something unflattering about her butt and she comes at you with a flying kick? Which is to be expected anyway because you did her a great wrong anyway? And because she really likes you? And your guilt is seeping into your dream?

Read More...

the rage of natto

That itty-bitty brown stuff that looks a bit like cute rabbit poo? It's actually edible and quite delicious. Natto to me, fermented soy bean to you and it tastes just like rabbit poo.

But I'm just lying. Because I can.

Oh yay, natto.

Once upon a time, there was natto just as there was tempe in the household. Natto, soft and sweet, gooey and sticky with a smattering of soy sauce tasted good on plain rice on the days when there was no chicken nuggets to fry for lunch. Tempe, hard and bland, fried to a crispy bar was a horror to swallow, a horror to digest and was banned from the household after it made an appearance underneath someone's bed as a molding, stinking mess.

It's strange how something rotten (read: fermented) can taste so good. A lot of people don't agree though. They say mean things about natto, the whole lot of them - which of course deserves a flying kick from me (with extra love, of course). They say that natto smells funny. (Oh yeah, as smelly as your grandma's underarm?) And they say that it just tastes bad. Like I said, it's rabbit's poo. Not everybody can stomach rabbit's poo.

But before we veer off the track, let me remind you that I'm lying again. It's fermented soy bean. Soy bean. Bean. Rabbit's poo.

(Ooh, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good".)

And being soy beans, it's healthy stuff. It has protein. Like how beef has protein. That is why I eat beef on non-natto days.

By the way, my youngest sister? On Mondays, my mum packs her a little lunch box of steamed white rice with a container of natto. No wonder she's so unpopular at school. Kids don't deserve this kind of treatment. They need chicken nuggets OK. Nuggets are the mainstream thing. Natto isn't.

And because I have a daily word limit, here ends my story on natto.

Read More...

kicking you in the ass with love

Let me be clear on this: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Every new blog needs new resolutions. Here are mine:
1. I will (try to) stop being all mushy and emo with my postings. I will unhinge and take out my frustrations on the zombie nurses in Silent Hill: Origins.
2. I will eat pancakes with a vengeance. With extra helpings of maple syrup. Sweet!
3. I will be nice to goats. Goats deserve a bit of loving too (with a flying kick thrown in for good measure).
4. I will become the topic fairy. Every posting will be based on a single topic, and they must be random because random is fun.
5. I will embrace my flaws. I shall scrutinise my bum in the mirror right after this and wonder how I can afford a nice jar of bum shaping cream.

And the last one - and the motto for the remainder of the year:
6. Love me, and I shall kiss you (but only if you're a man and a cute man at that). Unhinge me, and I shall kick you - but with love. Because I'm kind like that.

Read More...