bitter and twisted: "the men don't get it"

I have passed the last three minutes blowing saliva bubbles.

You can officially proclaim - but don't forget the trumpet-blowing part - that I am an eight year old boy at heart. What is life if there are no scabs to peel! One cannot even begin to tread on such grave thoughts, lest one lose one's manhood, or what the abominable female species prefers to call "cooties".

As an eight year old boy, I aim to spend all my one cent coins on wishing fountains and, if highly desperate, bomohs, hoping I will never grow up to become A) a wifebeater, because I hardly think boys aspire to be pieces of fabric; B) obese; C) obese and dumb; D) a heartbreaker. Dang. It looks like I shall have to be un-male.

Perhaps I could save up those coins for a sex op and fashion myself into Bigger-Than-Kumar-If-He-Were-Female. (Note how one cent coins have in fact been tragically decimated by the central bank. Damn globalisation. And expensive sex ops while we're at it. And excess flab while I'm female. And multiple personality disorders.)

Could it be that the male species, bar all the gay people of the world (I love you all; long live gay rights movements and picketing) has finally made me give up hope? Apparently, it definitely could. Even geeky Seth Cohen cannot live with the idea that monogamy is actually supposed to be the correct path to take. If you are thinking, "Monogamy? What's that? Is it, like, a boardgame?" then you need to find a tall building you can jump down from. Alternatively, a very sharp knife pointing (and moving, most importantly) in the general direction of your still-too-unashamed-to-stop-beating heart may do the job. Remember, key words: sharp knife, heart, tall building, jump.

Mao Tse Dong, Vladimir Lenin, Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Kim Il-sung, Saddam Hussein, Pol Pot, Idi Amin, Ferdinand Marcos, Vlad Dracula, Charles Manson...

Wow. You men are impressive. The blood on your hands numbers to the...wait, I can't even count that far. And women can't run for office in most parts of the world. In Pakistan, women take the blame for being raped, as if losing modesty isn't an encumberance enough. Obstetric fistula in Africa mean anything to you?

The world is at war because even men fight over nuclear weapons their favourite toys.

Bitter and twisted,
bitter and twisted.

And nothing ever changes.

little asia

I am cruelly counting down not the days to the very exciting National Day Parade (ooh! I'm so excited I'm sure I just felt my heart release a rainbow that embraces all the carebears on your shelves) but to the final day that lately seems increasingly inevitable. The day when I will find myself standing in a field of deer, hitchhiking my way out of the Pacific. I don't particularly believe that is even possible, which makes my financial situation a little bit more dramatically dire.

As of hours ago, I think I only have just over a hundred dollars to pay for ransom in the event of kidnap. I assume this is my own kidnapping and not someone else to whom I may be complicatedly related to by means of DNA or inter-marriage between Man and Beast. I wish my mother was here so that I wouldn't have to live on such a disturbingly tight budget. Presently I feel like a pauper, and that sensation grows accordingly with the number of shops I visit. In lay-economist (an oxymoron, perhaps) terms that would be a "direct relationship".

Unless I am colour blind (which would then mean I deserved better than that D7 for O level Chemistry - don't blame me if you make fragile test tubes!) I swear my hands turn blue every two hours. It's like haviing two-dimensional varicose veins. I am intrigued at the idea that I could possibly lose some fingers cause what a better way to remember your vacation than to set free one or two fingers? Of course, I would have no money to pay for my operation unless I come into some money (I won $23 at Lotto today but that would not suffice) or make friends with bourgeois World Vision philantrophic patrons that are eager to help a poor Asian girl.

allaroundbackgroundsound: Long Live The Weekend - The Living End

"________________, it must be something in the atmosphere."

I am craving MSN.

clicking christchurch

Well, I collected my third roll today.

No cows here.

(My second roll was black and white which takes a week to process and develop here. By that time, I'd be on the plane home watching Ice Age: The Meltdown on a 10-inch screen, carefully pressing fast-forward with precision, worrying about how far I can lower the back of my chair without making new nemeses, or how I can excuse myself to the bathroom and not wake the whole flight up. I would be inwardly groaning about airplane food - which isn't that bad - and panicking that I will grow old and have deep vein thrombosis or the like. Whatever that is. And yes, I am aware I just typed all this into parentheses.) So there.

"welcome to christchurch."

I've got my first roll of film ever developed.

Yes, I saw some cows.

There are so many Asian people here it's like watching VV Drama twenty four hours a day (remember: daylight saving) or a documentary on the rise and fall of Meteor Garden. Asian pride has gone somewhere where I put my nationalistic patriotism and left it there. White old grannies look at me as though I would rob them. I could, had I actual muscles. But then again, I'm zen. Yoda would say something like "hurt old white people do not".

Thankfully, I didn't kill anyone or knock down any ponies while I drove around. There was some temptation to steal wool from unknowing sheep but I say, beware all animals. I also found that elusive mint I have been asking everyone about. The one from my childhood. Apparently, they're called Minties.

I bought two big packets. Even though they make my teeth feel like kamikaze martyrs.

allaroundbackgroundsound: Crazy - Gnarls Barkley

uno fest

I beat Kelvin at Uno.

allaroundbackgroundsound: Wish I'd Never Met You - The Rolling Stones; Cuts Across The Land - The Duke Spirit

i'm a little troubled

You Are 50% Boyish and 50% Girlish

You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be.

How Boyish or Girlish Are You?

Your Penis Name Is...

Leaning Tower of Pisa

Penis Name Generator

flower child

I have a problem, it seems. I have fallen asleep in the last two movies I watched, and both times, the somnolence stole me during the fight scenes. Please do not ask what movies they were. I am through with the default reactions at my response: "But it was so gooood!"

Apparently I have an in-built aversion to violence! I always knew I was a peace-loving heterosexual Asian girl, even though I indulge in the clandestine cult practice of slamming doors when provoked, flinging chairs at people in Secondary Two when there was a fight. Yet, still, very much a lover of peace.

So now that I can confirm my affiliation with the flower power people of all races and ages and sexual inclinations, I feel as though I have accomplished all I could possibly accomplish! A nobel laureate! Now it is time to picket homophobic holocaust-dnying congregations and get arrested for rioting.

Mmm.

I will be in New Zealand from the 25th, clearing fecal matter of cows and sheep and freezing my arse to death. Please come and pick me up from the airport when I return on/after the 3rd, with gigantic banners as though I won 19 gold medals at the SEA games. You may ask for my autograph but I don't guarantee you will be graced with anything, execpt my majestic presence.

allaroundbackgroundsound: Blue Angel - Squirrel Nut Zippers

Instructions:
Name 20 people you can think of at the top of your head - don’t read the questions before you write and tag 5 people to do the survey.

1. Jac
2. Kirsten
3. Kelvin
4. Mukti
5. Fiza
6. Lina
7. William Shakespeare
8. Asya
9. Hong Kong
10.Mark
11.Marcus
12.Reynard
13.Eugene
14.Mr Neo
15.Mr Singh
16.Grace
17.Adolf Hitler
18.Jesus
19.Mom
20.Haruki Murakami

1. How did you meet #14?
A fatal enrolment into a fatal college, dragged down by thick Economics textbooks and the whiff of Armani Mania.

2. What would you do if you had never met #1?
I actually wouldn't know. Really don't know how to answer this. I can't even imagine it. I'm allergic to such thoughts.

3. What would you do if #20 and #9 dated?
Shoot Angelina, or stab her violently since guns are outlawed.

4. Would #6 & #17 make a good couple?
EXTREMELY GREAT. But the rest of us would have a hard time for sure.

5. Describe #3.
Nice smelling, drinks a lot of Coke, is perpetually in boxers, handsome, kind, extraodinarily cheena, needs sunbeams in great abundance in order to survive, worships the ground taxis drive on, prone to oversleeping, addicted to ginger and spice, affects my moods significantly, laughs either very loudly standing up or very silently semi-crouched on the floor in the middle of anywhere, and the first time I laughed at him was even before we went out when he told me the name of his dog.

6. Do you think #8 is attractive?
PFFT. One will have to ask Bobo about this. But in all honestly, yes. Even if she can't pee at will.

7. Tell me something about #7.
Dead, gay, mastered the Sonnet.

8. Do you know anything about #12’s family?
No. Nothing substantial. I think he has brother, though?

9. What’s #8’s favourite?
Peeing when there is no one else in the toilet.
And, me.

10. What would you do if #11 confesses that he/she likes you?
Examine his scalp for existence of scalp fats, call Gwen and warn her about his disloyalty, and SMS him "hahaha yeah right"

11. What language does #15 speak?
PUNJABI. And English only if it is profane enough. (Favourite Anglo word: Morons)

12. Who is #9 going out with?
The mysterious never-before-seen "Pin"

13. How old is #16 now?
Uh...72? 22? 23?

14. When was the last time you talked to #13?
Months ago. :<

15. Who’s #2’s favourite singer?
The Pussycat Dolls! Haha! Admit is ah, don't shy...

16. Would you date #4?
Never! Not even if I was blind, deaf and/or homosexual.

17. Would you date #7?
Yes, if I like my men in the posthumous state.

18. Is #15 single?
We should hope so.

19. What is #10’s last name?
Goh. If you want his full name, text me. If you want his number...ha ha ha ha ha

20. Would you ever consider being in a relationship with #19?
I already am.

21. What schools did #3 go to?
MAHA BODHI, okay!!!

22. Where does #6 live?
Sembawang.

23. What’s your favourite thing about #5?
Her 30% discount entitlement. TSK. And the fact that she loves me a lot though she never will admit to it.

24. What do you think of #18?
Underrated.

25. What do #4 & #19 have in common?
Both bizarre, erratic, panicky, talk loudly when they should be quiet, and whisper when they can't be heard.

26. What special qualities does #17 hold in your life?
My aversion to racism.

I haven't tagged anyone so just do it like they do on the Discovery Channel, and tag me if you have so I can have sneak peaks. Also, hands up! Give me your money!

allaroundbackgroundsound: Spies - Coldplay; Cartoon Heroes - Aqua

view from row 23

I wish I had better shots to show you of Coldplay. But, too bad. "You can't have your cake and eat it too" - by far one of the stupidest sayings life has repeatedly thrown at me. In this case, though, it just is really appropriate.

brinjal, a footnote*

My new favourite pastime, which, remaining true to my character, I will soon get sick of, is considering alternative jobs.

I am ticking them off one by one (if you have enough love within yourselves to help me think of more, feel free, feel... American).

If I were still in Primary One, punching keys on keyboards and counting money as if I were a chettyar, with fastidious precision and blase nonchalance, I would love being a cashier. I worshipped them, but not all of them. Mainly the fresh food people at Cold Storage who remembered the codes for everything from whole chicken, chicken wings and chicken franks (my obsession with chicken will NEVER DIE!!) to prunes, potpourri and potted plants. They were geniuses, the Madonna to my Britney, the Bono to my Chris Martin, the Osama to my Moussaoui.

My father has politely given input, recommending that I examine options in the security guard industry. I wonder, now, if there is a politically correct term for security guards. I remember coming across "safety officer" somewhere in this lifetime and giggling boisterously inside. There is ever the confusion within me: would I, a robust robber from JB with a million pecs, really be afraid of a sexagenarian with a belly so pendulous that make Tarzan's vines look like props from a puerile Disney cartoon. Oh, wait, that actually exists. Then there is also the prospect of being a hair colourist, among other ideal occupations. But my father tells me it is bad for my hands, conveniently ignoring the existence of gloves, an apparatus one uses to cover and protect one's hands. An apparatus that has been around much longer than he has. Rather like Jesus, whose existence my father also conveniently forgets.

Right now my adopted pet project is the struggle to convince my mother that dying her hair green is not a good idea. First, it is too late in the World Cup season to be supporting Brazil. Second, it is too late in her life to be auditioning for the role of "Tree" in the annual school play. Third, she would find me precipitately removed from her company, as if a friendly neighbourhood Gust of Wind carried me to 1516. Also, it is an absolutely ridiculous decision!

(Help me: I am 'watching' a movie she has been celebrating all day. Offering words of hyperbolic praise for something she has never personally experienced is typical of her character. Not that anyone is asking, but this movie stars Jennifer Lopez. Yes. My sentiments exactly.)

allaroundbackgroundsound: Surprise Ice - Kings of Convenience

*I love you.

deadly dogma disease

Finally, I have adapted my carnal being to stray from the television sets and towards books, as if being within one metre (that's 3.28084 feet, if you live in a different planet - which invokes much jealousy from me) of the device could set one's arm hair on fire and atmospherically cause an acquisition of the world's deadliest diseases. At the risk of sounding like a crazed Brittanica fan, I will do myself the liberty of listing some of them: AIDs, Tuberculosis, Malaria, Syphillis, Cholera if you are stuck in either a time warp or at third world village, and Body Odour.

Before I begin an 80-page essay on the obvious unattractiveness of Body Odour, and wake up finding terrabytes of hate mail from The B.O.D.Y. O.D.O.U.R.I.S.T.S. Club International ("Body Odour Defends Your Obese Democracies Of the Universe Radically and Innovatively So Throw Spray-ons-out-the-window-today") , and fan mail from kids that are the polar opposite of Haley Joel Osment and Dakota Fanning, telling me how they admire my 'oniony fragrance, like the romantic allure of string cheese and pizza paradise', I will deftly digress.

See above: Longest Sentence 2006.

Perhaps I should focus my attention less on the olfactory senses and more on reintroducing the sale of chewing gum on our humble five-foot-ways.

I think if chewing gum is ever allowed to be sold here, without a prescription, those of us who are not looking for fast effective slimming therapies, or are not addicted to nicotine, tar and carbon monoxide, bundled together in an attractive package the cool call "Menthol Lights", should put our savings together - currently I am a few cents short of ten bucks - for a fireworks display.

I think that could rival the NDP and actually put us on the map! That is, of course, if World Cup 2010 doesn't pull through. But of course it will! I mean, foreign talent is the answer to all our greatest ambitions! Trust me, that's why i use an iPod, not a Creative Zen Micro. I am, if you have read my Malaysian-inspired entries, a quitter. But the Creative is rather cute, and from what I hear, pretty damn spiffy.

Also, if anyone knows how to conduct pregnancy tests for cats, please apply here.

allaroundbackgroundsound: Love Train - Wolfmother; Skip To The End - The Futurheads

no more passion play

The worse thing: to stumble on someone's site, thinking you'll be greeted by benign humour and something to pass your time while you gather enough laziness antidotes to do something else. Instead you find more pictures that just absolutely - there is no better word to say this - suck. From that day; but someone else's point of view. Who in the hell invented the internet? He ought to be shot, impaled and threaded on a fishing line. Free world, free world, and breaking hearts for free.

allaroundbackgroundsound: Displaced - Azure Ray

super furry fatboy editors;

I think I got tagged by Saphira. (Saphira, did you did you? : "now i tag, shan, xing, kaa, hect, lee, jacchan, GEOR."?)

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your Livejournal (or blog) along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to in absolute random order.

1. Super Furry Animals - Juxtaposed With U
2. Fatboy Slim - Praise You
3. Editors - Blood
4.The Clientele - Porcelain
5. I Am Kloot - From Your Favourite
6. Pearl Jam - I Can Feel It Coming Back Again
7. Camera Obscura - Theory of Sex

national anthem of a fatal tango with sloth

I have been spending the past several days (although admittedly, I have long forgotten what day it is) shovelling imaginary piles of snow on my imaginary boulevard where an imaginary Vikram Seth lives wedded in imaginary matrimonial bliss to John Lennon and the imaginary world is imaginarily happy. It has been an excruciating exercise to make the clock tick faster than Flash on drugs. I blame a phenomenal field trip to Boredville. I am riding the controversial wave of ADD and I don't know how to go on.

Lately all I seem proficient at is battling the speechless voices in my head as they partake in a heated debate about what my next meal would be. And also, I am now struggling to deal with an addiction to Super Wordoku (Over 104 Puzzles! Hours of Fun!) that I think my first novel may very well just center itself around Wordoku, Tetris and Mahatma Gandhi - very much the designated non-sequitur of the three but who cares!

Because I am as lazy as they come, and also because I am a victim of the cold-hearted child labour industry, I have lost my acceptance to hostel. Officially, I am homeless. But judging from the tattered jeans and overgrown beards that tend to melt my fondue heart, homeless may just be the new black. Although I am not using that as an excuse not to fight for my rights to live on campus. In fact I am striving to be as un-homeless as I can, taking comfort in the fact that one is never really homeless even when one is dead.

At least if I can count on anything, I have started writing again, hurrying words onto my secret journal before ripping out the pages and tearing them apart.

"My agent says writers block,
to keep publishers off my back
So who the hell are you to
come in here and spoil my party?

Well times have changed,
and time sure has changed you.
Don't you realise you've really changed?"

allaroundbackgroundsound: Cocaine Blues - Nick Drake; 'Til The Tide Creeps In - The Thrills