i saw a birdy

There used to be a time when I'd look at my face in the mirror - and I didn't like the face that was looking back at me.

There also used to be a time when it seemed as if love will only happen to you, if you happen to be a beauty queen. Oh yes, it did seem that way. The girls with the flawless skin, the shiny hair and the dangerous cleavage seemed to have that. That lurve thing. Never mind that their relationships were always short-lived and that it seemed that they were trading boyfriends among their circle of just-as-pretty girlfriends.

These days, I don't mind the girl I see in the mirror. She's a bit chunkier now, with a bit of a belly that sticks out. But those are just signs saying that she's curvier now and has a wonderful relationship with her food. The pimples have mostly gone, though left are the scars from the times spent picking on painful pustules. But I don't mind them so much. Because now I can see that within the skin of my 'self', lies an emerging entity that can be just as beautiful as the girls who are pretty on the outside.

And love? I don't think I am experiencing love just yet but surely, these affectionate feelings coming my way must be a way of telling me that I have grown to become... maybe a beauty queen? Nah, perhaps not. It just means that I am not THAT lame anymore. And that there are people out there who will cherish me with my flaws and all.

When you love me, that is when I shall truly become beautiful.

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oh wow, i'm sick

I've been eating my meals. OK, some days later than others, I admit, but fact is, I haven't been skipping meals or trying to go about dieting and shit. So I don't understand how and why I got the gastric attack yesterday.

And so, I am off today. Had a great long sleep. Ate strawberries and am going to have salad and pasta for lunch instead of the usual nasi campur or kopitiam variety. Now I'm doing my e-filing for my income tax payment and then I'll have to go to a clinic to get an MC although I don't feel like it.

Heck, I've got my bottle of Alucid (the anti-flatulent sort!) and that works just fine. It's not like I'm going to get some really good medication at the clinic anyway. They'll just chuck me some self-diluted, generic stuff and the usual packet of Paracetamol just so they can claim more from my company.

Oh. Last night I went to catch this movie Make That Happen, one of those forgettable girl with dreams of becoming a dancer types with plenty of dance routines, with Nadirah and her new friend, some traffic announcer called Mo Nasrul from fly.fm. He was cool. The movie was cool. Until the really unrealistic part where Lady Gaga's Just Dance came on, purportedly the genius creation of this lame club music director in the story. Huh.

I think I need to get out on more dates. Why? I'm not going out enough? No, I don't think so. I just need to... meet new people. Make life more interesting. Have more stuff to bitch about. Yeah. That sounds just about right.

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points to ponder

Kangkongkangkongkangkongkangkong.

Am I a sweet girl?
Do people find sweet girls amusing?
Is it good to be a sweet girl?
Am I? Am I? Am I?

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my little tapir

Oh! I am so happy I could just roll around on the floor to express my utter delight!

I AM! Going to the Sg Dusun Wildlife Reserve in Melaka next week to see my darlings, the tapirs, porcupines and the slow loris (kongkang in Malay). YEAY!!!!!

The director of Selangor's Perhilitan gave his OK and all I need is for the centre's director to say OK too. And then it's off to see the tapirs! YEAY!!!!!

I wonder if they'll let me pet the tapir? I wonder if they'll let me hug the tapir? I am going to take plenty of pictures and record the tapirs so I can let everyone hear the sounds they make.

I am happy.

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no title

I'm confused.

You say you don't want to be a third wheel, yet you say that I neglected you. That I ditched you. Was the first part your PR answer?

And I should let you know that I never ever said to a single soul that you were interfering in my then budding friendship with your colleague and friend.

In fact, I really have no idea why you are shunning me. You told a mutual friend that you felt left out because me and your drinking buddy were doing things without you. My reasoning is this: People just don't bring a third person out on dates. It may make us uncomfortable. It may make you uncomfortable. We didn't want you to feel 'left out' as the third wheel. And most importantly, don't you think it's healthier for two people to explore a relationship on their own without the aid of a mediator?

If we had planned a party and invited a bunch of people but purposely forgot to invite you, yes, I believe you have every right to accuse me of neglecting you. If I had ceased all form of communication with you for an entire month just to go out with this new guy then you, I believe you have every right to accuse me of neglecting you.

Unfortunately, let me remind you that we never held a party without you. We only went on dates meant for two people, which I believe is the norm anywhere else in the world. (And if we had wanted to double date, we would have definitely invited you and your police dude along. Unfortunately, neither of us are into double dates so that never happened.) Also, you confided in our mutual friend that I'd been neglecting you THREE days after we had hung out with you for a karaoke session. Wow. If it takes such a short time for you to feel neglected, you must be a pretty insecure person. I never really pegged you for one.

So now you're so ticked off at me you don't even want to remain anywhere within a five-foot radius of where I stand.

Rather than you, I think it should be me who's supposed to be ticked off.

I consider you a good friend, and I'm pretty sure you did the same despite bossing me around to drive you to places and sorts, and I expected that you would tell me what I had done to wrong you instead of deciding to give me the cold treatment by starting with ditching me for dinner on my birthday, of all days.

How can I apologise when I have no idea what I did wrong? And I have called you and texted you numerous times. I even apologised without knowing why I needed to. Yet you ignored me. Even when our friend's dad died, you totally chose to ignore my calls and texts when all I wanted to ask of you is for us to put our troubles away for a bit so we can both be there for our friend in need. Are you that petty a person?

I did finally get a reply from you. You said you were having a personal problem and you admitted that you were avoiding me. You added that you will keep in touch with me soon.

I never answered to that. What do you answer to a text like that anyway? Sure? Take your time?

And it's been three months now.

And you're ignoring only me, not the guy.

Don't forget, you were the one who persuaded me to try my luck with him. I am, of course, thankful for your generousity. Usually you'd be the one to hog the guys all to yourself despite having a marriage candidate in tow.

Maybe things would have been different if the guy had decided to peg me for a loony and nothing came out of our dates. You'd be free to hog him all to yourself and treat him as your maid-friend. You'd also be free to have me at your beck and call, right?

But I'm sorry lady. I'm not your boyfriend and he isn't too. So all you have now is that police dude and all the other male floozies who'd love to sleep with you to manipulate and treat as dogs.

Tough luck.

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ponderings

There are rare moments in my life, being the ultimate champion whiner, when I actually feel blessed. Today is one of those rare days.

I feel blessed for having friends who can laugh with me (and sometimes, at me) and not give me strange looks for the odd jokes I have a penchant for cracking. I feel especially blessed for the new friends I have recently made, and revisiting and strenghtening a what had become a waning friendship over a few years with a university mate.

The latter is Ross. Computer geek and previously, a major weirdo in the student newsroom. A (now ex-)girlfriend and working life had changed him and sometimes we hang out for sushi and ponder about how it will feel like to bite into a huge chunk of raw salmon. Do other people wonder about that? (And of course, we also ponder about other things. Like exploding toilets and sorts.)

And in the former group, there is a friend whose acquaintance I had always wanted to make since I met him at an assignment over a year ago. I never had the chance, I don't know why, but recent circumstances has led to a friendship that is suffice to say, unique.

We must be two very different people but he laughs at my jokes. He laughs at me often. I launch into a ranting tirade at him for throwing plastic rubbish into the glass bin. Actually, I rant at him every single day. But he's still hanging around. Sometimes in the background, sometimes in the foreground. And I find his presence very endearing.

Sometimes I am in awe of this friendship that we have. (By the way, is it friendship that we have? I don't want to make the embarrassing mistake of assuming one thing when the other person clearly does not see it the same way - the mistake that big-breasted friend of ours made, yeah?) It makes me go: "Why are you friends with me, again?"

It is a question that I have asked many friends as many of them are, truth be told, nothing like me at all.

Like Fatie. The ex-gangster girl turned government bitch. She's sweet, sometimes naive, cranky on PMS days and now when I call her, the first thing I ask is: "Fatie, are you having sex?" just to bug her. And she laughs at my jokes.

Or Eubs. Self-proclaimed gigolo and most horniest person I know. He's a nag sometimes and he has this no-nonsense attitude when it comes to stupid people (and you know how the world is so populated with stupid people, don't you?), lazy people, whiny people (which includes me), etc. Basically, he's the guy you don't want to mess with unless you want to get an earful of insults but he's alright. Calls me 'princess' and he doesn't really laugh at my jokes but goes: "Bangang."

Or Kalbana. Major party girl with a heart of gold. Biggest procrastinator in the world and very generous with hugs. The only problem is that she has no concept of time at all. (Please, get a watch.) Not just that, she has this set of friends who are always caught up in some Bollywood-style brawl over pointless things like girls, booze, who-has-the-cooler-gang kind of shit and stuff. And for some reason, her friends (and even herself) have a habit of getting into motor accidents. God knows how often she goes visiting at the hospital. Or, the police station. And she laughs at my jokes too.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that laughter is what bridges a friendship. A 'friendship' without laughter isn't really friendship at all. Like how it is with a lot of my colleagues, the people that I meet on assignment, the man on the street. Those are not friendships. Maybe acquaintances. Maybe work contacts. People I'll forget after a bit.

And the best friendships I have is with those who find my off jokes funny. Who can follow my lead by adding more funny imagery to the disturbingly strange joke of the mayor and his fictitious kambing Kassim. And plot with me about kidnapping a hated colleague, tie him up naked to a lamp post, spreading a generous helping of Dunlop glue on his chest hair and then sticking a big, live rat onto it. Or the great impress-your-dad Valentine's Day plan of having the guy you like appearing in front of your door, all bundled up in a rice sack with a ribbon tied round the neck? Remember that, Elayni? (I know you were way mortified that I just came up with the idea in front of your friends, but they laughed too.)

God. I'll always stay this way. Nothing will ever beat toilet exploding jokes.

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motoring days

What women really think. I think.
By Shamsul Yunos
05/09/2007

I had an engaging discussion with a young lady about cars today. We were test driving the Hyundai Santa Fe Diesel and she started off by asking me what the difference is between diesel and petrol cars.

Obviously, I figured that the explanation should begin with the absolute basics. She is not what you would describe as car savvy but she confessed to a certain love of classic motors and anyone who likes oily MGs counts as a good person in my books, so we got on quite well.

On a drive to Kuantan, three of us were in the car, the young lady, a journalist from a well known localised international title, Danny, and myself. We started talking about what kinds of cars she liked and she listed the Nissan Murano and March as possible chart toppers, but her hot favourite was the Suzuki Swift.

The two men in the car nodded in agreement, for the Swift is a good car and universally acclaimed both on Venus and Mars.

Then Danny asked her what car she thought looked good on men, and she first gave the politically-correct answer: "Any car is fine as long as it is not in the habit of threatening to abandon me by the roadside".

Danny rephrased the question for clarity and she said that she thought a guy, her age (in the low mid 20s) would be dapper in a Toyota Vios.

Now that was an answer that floored me. I mean, the Vios is as close you can get to a John Doe of a car without actually having a toe tag. She said that such a young guy would look like he was sensible, responsible and a reliable person with a steady job and a good income. Husband material. Self made.

"What of guys who drive cars like the Alfa Romeo?" we asked in chorus.

"Those guys are probably uptight," were the words that marched confidently out of her lips, like well drilled soldiers.

She was definitely sure of her answer, so we sought for her reasoning.

"Well if they are young and can afford fancy or flashy cars, then they probably come from a rich family or are working for a successful family business, or something like that," she explained.

I have always thought that girls would be impressed by guys choosing an Alfa Romeo because it is a sign of individuality and confidence, but clearly there are those who can see the flipside of the choice.

I am not suggesting that the verbiations of a single Venusian is the accepted rule, but it is certainly something to ponder.

It is true that a Toyota has all the traits that the company would like people to think it has but to have them attached so firmly to the driver as well is nothing short of a marketing coup.

So what car should I drive? I am a thirty-something male, married, with children and wants to project a youthful, energetic and vibrant image but yet be seen as mature, confident, sophisticated and not showy. A Lexus GS300 perhaps? Or is that too Nouveau Riche?

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