selamat tinggal 2008

The most cliche thing to be writing right now would be on the past experiences, the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the rainbows and the (arm)pitfalls that made up the last three-hundred-plus days of my life in 2008.

Bo-ring.

Please gag me with a spoon.

So going against the norm, let me proceed to tell you that I friggin' forgot when was the last time I took a dump. No, seriously. I FORGOT.

That must account for why the gastric pains had to sneak up on me and go 'boo' right in my face two days ago. And I got insulted by the doc for that.

"You forgot to take your meals, huh? Smaarrrtttt..." she went, without even looking me in the eye.

I coulda punched her in the face for that wisecrack.

I don't miss meals. Not anymore anyway. I'm trying to gain weight - add more mass to my boobs, which had gotten smaller over the course of the previous months. Stress? Not enough McD's maybe. So I'm busy firming them up with this RM6 bottle of boob-firming gel I found at the pharmacy some weeks ago.

I mean, I figure, what the heck. It's RM6. If it doesn't work, it's only RM6. Rather than I pay a couple of hundred or a couple of thousand Ringgit for some fancy massage shit at Marie Claire and find that it didn't work, RM6 is as good as RM6 goes.

And I've been doing some weird shit man. Really weird shit like I'm starting to become a bit fucked up in the head, way fucked up than I was anyway. Like Jiminy Cricket's gone on vacation, I'm being a total badass.

Goodbye conscience, it's hello ruthless babe. Bitch. Whatever.

I kinda like it.

Plus I've been massively chewing on these gummy things. It's like crack I tell you. Good stuff.

Oh yeah, I need a dress. Something cute. Provocative. Something that screams - OK, I'm not putting that up here. It's 'censored' 'censored' 'censored'.

Finally, the evil laugh.

Bwahahahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!!!

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another shade of dark

The transition to the dark side is complete. I have done the morally despicable and there is no turning back. I am darker than dark.

Let me revel in this new power of corruption.

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here we go again

Ah, the games people play. Otherwise known as the 'let's see who can manipulate whom better' game.

It's a game I wouldn't bother playing because it's a dangerous game where you are treading on the fine line between manipulating and getting manipulated - and a higher chance of getting manipulated there - if you don't know how to play your cards right. I dare say it does give me the thrills though, the risque nature of the game but to constantly be on your toes, watching out for the red herrings AS you throw out YOUR red herrings to the other party and crouching low, waiting for the bait to be taken as you prepare to move in for the kill.. man, it's just tiring. Too much work.

So I don't understand why there are people out there who like to play the deception game - with several different people.

Wait a minute. Suddenly I've this sense of deja vu. Have I posted something about this before?

It's a game of risky dice, which one gets addicted to fast. Never mind that I've lost at this game once before. Like the foolhardy gambler who's just caught on to the tricks of the trade, one learns from experience when's a good time to throw in the chips, raise up the stakes, and cash in on the money. And if I lose some.. well, there's always some spare cash hiding in these pockets..

And we roll the dice.

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things you need to know

Insecure men are such turn-offs.

I had a recent 'experience' with yet another one of those kinds of men and while I was a lot kinder this time around when I was telling him that he didn't make the cut, he didn't take it too well. He didn't get mad or anything. He just started gibbering like some prissy diva about how he'll never find someone like me anywhere else in the world and golly gee, how unlucky it is that he will have to settle for a mediocre girl now I refuse to stay in the same picture as he.

And man, oh man... was it such a chore trying to drill the positive messages into his thick skull. The guy was just bursting with negative vibes.

I had to reassure him that it wasn't that he was ugly (he is definitely not ugly, but not my type) but that there just wasn't any chemistry. Among other things.

I felt kinda sorry for the guy. He struck me as someone I used to be many years ago when I was a whole lot more insecure about myself than I am right now, only a bit more worse.

It sucks that he is still that way even after all these years but as I learned the hard way, confidence can only come from yourself. While the struggle to break free against the confinements that have molded you into becoming an 'insignificant' person is a labourious process with full of defeats along the way, you can never get over your insecurities unless you learn to climb the hurdles life puts in front of you.

Like for me, I beat the surrounding people's (and my own) perception of who I am by joining a reality show. Maybe it's the most absurd thing to do for a lot of people but hey, I showed people that there are things that I can do. I surprised them all, didn't I? And it feels good although I didn't win to be able to tell people that I was on TV.

I will keep on challenging myself. I will keep on falling along the way but no matter. I will just have to pick myself up, dust the sand off my knees and continue my way.

I will evolve into a more confident person. You'll see.

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and it turns around

It's funny. Well, actually, it's not. It's not funny that people I am not interested in are expecting me to be interested in them when they keep on pestering me with inane questions like, "When are you going to see me again? Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh?"

My favourite doujinshi by Aijou Bank has this title: You Can't Hurry Love. Give me some time to contemplate, realise the wonderful things about you, be romantically swept off my feet and maybe, just maybe, you have a chance.

But the blokes usually just blow it by being excessively enthusiastic about everything that's me, me and me. I'm sorry. I don't enjoy talking about myself every damn minute of the day. I don't enjoy having to give an opinion about every damn thing that needs a commenting on. If I loved myself that much, I'd just give myself a damn good wank and feel the love stir deep within my heart - then go to bed.

If everything's ever going to be about me, when do we get to focus on you? In the end, I learn that you're desperate to please and man, nothing can be worse than a desperate woman. Oh wait, a desperate man.

Ah, but wait. There's another reason why it won't work with me. This little charade to get me to fall for you.

And the answer is, there is someone special to me. I can't get him out of my head, I can't get him out of my heart. Fucking parasite.

Seriously.

Oleh itu, don't try to push for things so hard. Gently, wrangle me away from the goddamn parasite. Give me a reason to believe you can be special to me without being such a parasite. Yeah, then I'll run into your arms babeh.

And we'll sing Eidelweiss on the mountaintop. Just like in the Sound of Music.

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hey, i don't like you

Hey, I don't like your fancy hair, fancy clothes,
the Armani jeans and the Gucci purse,
Strutting in your heels like a two-bit whore,
Two-bit whore, two bit-whore,
Fluttering your lashes, laid thickly with
Dior goo, Iconic Lashes whoohoo!
Think you're like some hot drama queen,
All you need is some guys wankin',
To keep your ego inflated, like the doll
you are (sexy, inflated, fuck me up),
Inflated doll mouth open wide,
Aaaahhhhh two-bit doo-wip, doo-wip,
Don't like how you talk Miss Country Hick,
The Fifth Avenue ain't for the likes of you,
Spread it wide, your legs, your legs,
Heels in the air, your vanity can't be compared,
Smash that mirror in your face,
Laugh smile so bloody red like a MAC lippie
in a shade called (guess what?) Bloody Red,
I don't like you, hey, hey, hey,
You and your fancy hair, a curly wig,
A cover for the no-brains within
that thin skull as fragile as porcelain,
Hey, I don't like you, yeah I don't like you,
Hey, I don't like you, yeah I don't like you (repeat to fade).

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the wounded heart

Ah, sakitnya hati ini.
Sakit hati kerana cinta tidak ke mana.
Sakit hati akibat ditipu berkali-kali.
Sakit hati kerana impian tidak menjadi kenyataan.
Sakitnya, aduh, mengapakah sakit ini wujud?
Bukankah sakit ini seandainya sebuah imaginasi?
Sakit ini tidak patutnya wujud.
Kurasakan begitu.
Kerana... ku tidak nampak luka yang nyata.
Calar-balar yang tersorok di bawah darah yang kering.
Ku tidak nampak semua itu.
Tetapi sakit ini tetap ada.
Jauh di dalam benak sanubariku, sakit ini tinggal.
Tidak akan ke mana-mana lagi.

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it must be...

It must be something that I did.
I must have done something wrong.
It must be so... musn't it?
Else you wouldn't be glancing away,
Pretending I wasn't there.
But I am here.
I am here in front of you.
So I wait. And I wait. And I wait.
You are not noticing me.
You don't want to notice me.
So I get up and walk to you.
You walk away, hurry, hurry.
What did I do wrong?
Was it the things that I said?
Was it the shirt that I wore?
Was it the way that I laughed?
Was it just me... for existing?
That's right.
I shouldn't exist.
The world doesn't need me.
Neither do you.
Neither do I.
If it means a world of loneliness,
I don't want to exist too.

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zettai unmei mokushiroku

The little bird with its the wing cocks its head to one side, it's watchful eyes peering at the upside down castle in the sky. Miracles are said to come true if you set foot in that place of mystery.

You could even... revolutionise the world.

The little bird with the injured wing stumbles in surprise, a shadow looming high on the wall is seen prancing with a sense of utmost glee - but there is nary a person in sight.

"Did you know? Did you know? The princess with the dreams of becoming a prince, her secret wish is to become the princess who will be protected by her charming prince. Her desire to protect is a facade, a facade for the fragile heart beating so softly beneath her milky chest," the shadow says with a musical lilt to its spoken words.

The princess dreams of becoming a prince, shouldering the burdens of the false princesses of the world to bring blossoms of smiles upon their dainty lips. She walks with courage and bravery, shoulders squared and chin up as she takes proud strides in the valley of malice and corruption. For the sake of their smiles... for the sake of a smile from...

Princesses can never become princes, she knows.

In her secret heart, she desires a prince. She desires to be the one to be protected.

The little bird with the injured wing lies still. Its body as cold as stone.

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the immorality of balloons

... you know. I have this stash of condoms at home - a box of chocolate flavoured rubbers and a handful of Durex rubbers in colourful foil casings - stuff that I nicked from a fashion party some months back.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you're going to be all Moral Police on me, fine. I didn't nick them OK. The stuff was just sitting around in glass bowls on the coffee tables.

They were party favours OK. Party favours. And it was a fashion party OK. Not some horrific orgy party where you swap partners and hump the furniture. Or pretend to be a lamp stand.

So anyway... the rubbers. They're hiding in this shoe box at home and I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do with them. I mean, sure, I know what to use them for but condoms, they're like a fucking party dress. You don't wear a party dress to work. You don't wear a party dress to the supermarket. You fucking wear a fucking party dress only when you've the fucking occassion for it and fucking hell, I don't have a fucking use for those fucking useless condoms because I fucking don't have a fucking partner to slide those slippery rubbrs on and fuck it all to hell!!!!!!!!! HAVE A HAPPY FUCK DAY TO ALL YOU FUCKERS WHO HAVE A FUCK TO FUCK.

There, the fury is unleashed. Now on to more important matters. I can do other things with my assortment of condoms. I can:
a. Puncture them with needles and then leave them lying around on certain people's desks in the office and hope that the best kind of shit happens to them.
b. Inflate the condoms by filling them up with strawberry jell-o. Then fling them onto random passerbys.
c. Chew on them when I get bored.
d. Try to fit my cat into one.
e. Dispose a condom in the office lavatory, no flushing, and wait for horrific reactions and rumours to run wild.
f. Nail a condom on my boss' office door.

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hey, yoda!

Today's a public holiday and I've decided to spare a few hours of my life today doing the most bourgeois thing a person of my standing in society could do - lepak in Starbucks. So here I am, my ass nicely warming up my wooden seat as I take delicate sips of my Christmas edition Toffee Nut Latte, iced with whipped-cream, and surf the Net like practically everybody else in this particular branch of Starbucks.

Ah, to be bourgeois. But it is a luxury I could only hope to afford perhaps twice a month until the money in my bank account runs low. God knows what I've been wasting my money on. It ain't Starbucks. Well, not really.

The fact is, I wouldn't even be here today (with two younger brothers in tow - and I also had to buy them a Starbucks drink each too) if not for the stupidity caused by Streamyx. Yeah, we can't use the Internet at home. Why? Who knows. Anyway it's been like that for some days and honestly, it wouldn't have bugged me so much (I've been keeping myself entertained by building myself an empire of lemonade stands in Lemonade Tycoon 2) if not for the other fact that is, I have to e-mail something to the office.

The other option I have is to actually drive the half-an-hour distance to the office and send in my document but that would have been stupid since the time spent at the office would only amount to a little over five minutes. So why waste time? Might as well go to Starbucks, waste my money, get myself on a caffeine high, contribute to the economy, make the world go round, send my document, download some comics and then well, get back to Lemonade Tycoon 2.

So here I am. Lame lame lame lame.

I love my Toffee Nut Latte.

By the way, did you know that if you put a picture of a tapir underneath your pillow, it would eat all your nightmares? Cool, huh?

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lamentation of the prune

Eh... prune!

Prune will help me with my constipation woes!

Prune will make me learn to fly!

Prune will make me as beautiful as She-Ra, sister of He-Man - alter ego of the pink-shirt-and-lilac-tights-wearing prince of Castle Gayskull! (No, I did not accidentally miss the 'r'.)

My mom, she was a constipated woman. Prune never worked for her. Neither did laxatives. Nor rotten milk. When I was born, I suppose I must have been quite the constipated babe. I remember being stuck in the loo for long periods of time ever since I was five.

It's a bad experience, constipation.

It's not too bad when you've got books to read in the loo though.

But I just read all my books and comics so going to the loo has become quite a dreadful task.

But I need to, you know. Poo. Because if I don't poo enough, I'm going to get colon cancer. That's what my mom says anyway.

But we don't have prune at home. So how? So how?

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