Big Boys Don't Cry

Real men never, ever cry. Over anything. Not even a death in the family, not a bullet in the chest. Full stop. Case closed. You may mist up slightly in one eye only when a favourite sports legend retires, but real, macho men know just how bad life is. Real men grit their teeth and take bill after bill, war after war.

And I am all that!

I never cry. It takes a lot for me to shed a tear of two. Yes, I have a heart made of moon rock. I couldn't even remember when was the last time I did. Probably a decade ago, when I had to be consoled by my little sister when we both watched Mufasa died in The Lion King. But again, whoever, rock-hearted monster wouldnt't right?

I take pride to know I can stand tall and proud among the real, legendary alpha males; in the company of Genghis Khan, William 'Braveheart' Wallace or Sir Elton John.

So I repeat, I never cry!

But, this week, I guess I kinda broke somekind of a new record. At least in the Macho-dom. I CRIED. Gulp! Not once. Not twice. But THREE times! Over what, you may ask? Getting tetanus shot? a chipped finger nail? another lion died?! Nope. Nope. Nope. I say you won't believe this.



See, I told you, you wouldn't believe it.

It was all started when my former boss recommended this book to me (now I blame her). At first I was hesitated, cause, you know, it's essentially a love story. Something that didn't bore too well with me. The stinking cheese of that Twilight craps still linger with me that I swore never to touch any so-called 'love story/chick flicks' by any female author again...urghhh. I could die of hydration due to non-stop vomitting!

Anyhow, I made a mistake (after much coaxing) of reading the few first pages of the book. And what a big mistake it was. The book turned out to be a total unputdownable, so to speak. The next thing I know, I got this watery substance rolling down my cheeks. Damn.

It's a story about a man who time travels. The only thing that hold his life together is a woman whom he always come back to, the love of his life, throughout her existence. He met her when she was six and he was 42 and their 'life' keeps on intertwining (time-traveling-ly-speaking) since then.

Sounds like the most romantic thing you ever heard huh? The only catch is, he can't control where or when he'll be gone. So most of the times, the girl is left alone in the present, pining for her man to come around, not knowing he's in fact, always there for her somewhere, someplace, in other period of her life. A little confusing but powerfully heartbreaking stuff.

OK I cried THREE times somewhere between page one and the last page. That was a little twice as many I cried for the past ten years.

I have proven myself to be the wimp by admitting this. Or maybe machismo is simply an overrated thing, I really don't know. It is a very slippery thing. It's hard to live by the old macho code these days. Blame it on the Beckhams or the Eltons but today's men, would even cry for a pair of shoes or....God, help us all...a book!

Oh world, hear me now, and chant this loudly with me;

I am a real man. Big, sweaty, meat-eating ignorant man. I have large packages. And balls. Made of brass and metal. Well, I used to have them anyway. Now I want them back.

We want them back, do we?

Man, I pine for the sheer stupidity of the old macho days.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Right after the end credits rolled out, I turned to my company and asked, "Sooo, what do think?", half expectedly, I thought, he'd jump out of his seat and hail The King. Alas, he only murmured, "Oklah..." with the similar enthusiasm of getting his eyebrows plucked.

And that exactly how it was. "Oklah".

Calm down, peeps. This is not saying the movie, "AVATAR", was a major snooze-fest. In fact - if it really makes everyone happy - it was actually far from it. It was eye-popping, heart-stopping, mind-blowing, one hellava movie ride. But coming from the very same director who brought you "Titanic", I guess you should already know what to expect - true, it was technically amazing, got the grandest of setting, visually spectacular, breakthrough CGI.....and quite frankly, ehem, not so much of anything else.

OK for one thing, the movie was way, wayyyy too long. By the time it ended, I felt like I was already halfway through to Planet Pandora! I am sorry, Mr. Cameron, but my big butt and my tiny urinary bladder can only tolerate two hours of continous sitting, so please, hire a better editor!

And Sir, while you are at it, can you please find a better (preferably with conversational experience with real people) screenwriter? Honestly, the dialogues here were downright cheesy. (They've sent us a message... that they can take whatever they want. Well we will send them a message. That this... this is our land!). Cue: roll eyes. Need I say more?

And come on, Oh what's so original about "girl-meets-boy, boy-falls-in-love-with-the-girl-who happens-to-be-the-daughter-of-the-leader's-tribe, then-the-girl-finds-out-the-truth-about-the-boy-and-gets-really-upset-and-dumps-the-boy, and-the-boy-tries-to-win-back-the-girl-in-a-background-setting-of-a-major-doomed-epic-tragedy"? 'Pocahontas, 'The Last of Samurai', anyone?

Even I can summarize the three-hour long movie in less than a paragraph! I bet most spanish soap operas got more intelligent twists than this one has to offer.

Stripping down all the stunning-but-super expensive effects here, all you see is one big, giant cheeseball mess, with too many sappy, cliche-ridden lines and the acting was way too forced.

Anyway, trying not to be a further ginormous ass that I already am, I am gonna say, the movie was still worth checking out solely based on the escapism value it offers only and nothing else. If you are looking for an emotionally engaging, mentally stimulating movie, then by all mean, look elsewhere.

So, I am gonna shut my trap now and recommend this movie only to those who are really into action packed, Sci-fi, 3D blockbuster flick and/or....er, Sam Worthington.

OK, now I talk too much. Zip.

My Frogging December

I love December. It's the month full of festivities, weddings, mega sale and school holidays. The traffic is less maddening and I'll be out of my office most of its days, so it's very hard not to love it. December is definitely my favorite month of the year.

OK, OK, maybe they are couple of things associated with the month that bug me as well. O you know like the crowded mall, jam-packed cinemas and the mandatory, much-obliged New Year's resolutions which I despise so much. But, in the meantime I guess I'll just have to get by those annoyances by entertaining myself - like watching a movie.

A couple nights back, I managed to catch 'The Princess and The Frog' in Alamanda Putrajaya. I am pretty much sure I watched it on the first night it premiered so I guess I am entitled to bragging right, ain't I?

Anyhoo, the movie was delighfully entertaining. Being a little child trapped in a (beautiful) grownup body, I've always loved Disney's animated flicks, so there's no suprise here. (This would automatically disqualified me to write a full blown review cause you know, objectivity issues). But it was really, really an amazing movie. While I didn't expect anything less this time, I was a little overwhelmingly inspired by the take-home moral of the story - wishing is the only half of a dream, hard work is the other.

Now, coming back to what I despise the most - the New Year resolutions; having taken hint from a movie I watched earlier, this time I will just abandon them altogether. What's the point of keeping disappointing myself? I will concentrate more on the 'working on them' instead of just 'dreaming over them'. I've come to know dreams/goals/resolution isn't just about the time frame; when to start or on what day to stop. It's a perpetually continuos effort.

Who knows what'll happen to me next year. It's not like I've been caring that much what I have or have not achieved this year,so I'll just try to look forward. Even so;

I am gonna go with the flow but I will try making more wise, rightful decisions. I'll try to be less demanding and more accomodating.
I am gonna be a little more realistic. And if by the end of the day I still don't get what I want, heck, I am gonna pick myself up and do it all over again, like an enegizer bunny on steroid.

And comes New Year in a couple of weeks, I am gonna celebrate it hard. I mean really really hard. There goes another year and it's for all things I have done this year (achivements or failures, proud and shame). Bottomline, so far I am happy I did manage to make a couple of wise decisions for myself nonetheless. I have no regret, only lesson.

I am gonna celebrate it, hard. You will see, you will see. Cause I am gonna bust my butt well right after the partying ends. I promise.

I Wish You Wouldn't Say That

It had been awhile since the last time I met my old buddy, Sulastri. It's probably about time he called me again 'cause I kinda missed how he looked like these days. Honestly, I was hoping he's fat with a shiny bald spot on the top of his head. And probably with bad back. Well, no such luck but I am still glad he still keeps my numbers.

We were quite close back then when we were both worked as management trainees in a (take a breath) hell hole, blood sucking, now-defunct, once so-called financial institution that I refuse to name. By the end of the program,we found ourselves heading to our separate ways, since he was posted to JB branch and I was here in KL. Sounds like a tragic love story eh? Only it was not!

Fast forward 10 years later, he miraculously managed to stick around with the same "hell hole" we loathed so much and I am on my 11th job now. And of course he's gotten married with two kids and me still single with two teddy bears! He went on to open a restaurant and I am just opening wound to my bruised ego! OK, sure I hate the man!

Anyway, two days ago, he was in in KL for business and was nice enough to call and invite me over for lunch, you know, to catch up. Of course I was more than willing to accommodate an old friend's request for catching up as long as he's paying, so I picked up one of my favourite cafe in KL.

Like a mother who has just reunited with her long lost daughter who ran away with an Indonesian worker, we were talking for hours. We talked about everything, we even made plan on things to do in the evening since he was planning only to go back to JB on the next day.

So we went around making plan for the second half of our 'catching up' session. We went on detailing the evening's itinerary. We kept telling ourselves we missed all the fun stuff we did together and we wanted to feel that feeling again. You know, free and young.

And then his phone rang. Or sounded more like a screech to me.

His daughters called. They missed him so much and 'begged' him to come home that night. And there and then, I knew the daughters won over an old, unmarried friend anytime.

He had to cancel our plans and said something like, "Gosh, I wish I were still single, you know like you, so I can do all all these fun stuff, guilt-free"

"Sure, you do"

Hang on, he wanted to be just like me? That didn't sound right. Somehow it didn't make me feel good about myself either.

Man, what have I done with my life?

The Road

For years, friends have been critisizing me for having 'unclassy' inclination towards today's popular literatures. Meaning, I only read those tie-in books with soon-to be released Hollywood adaptation of them.

While there maybe a certain truth to that, I have to admit, I gravitate towards neat packages and great marketing. I believe great cover usually translates a great story - always judge a book by its cover (no matter how incredulous it sounds). So yeah, I guess maybe I am not that classy, so deal with it.

Anyhow, by being a little ahead of the movie premier, I got to complain, whine and point snoobishly to my friends, if and when, the movie version isn't as good or not up to my "expectations". Now, that feels good, isn't it?

So having said that, my current "squeeze"- in the most literature and Hollywood sense is - The Road by Cormac McCarthy.

The story is pretty simple. It follows a man and his son who are trying to get to the coast (where the 'good people' are) when the world has been burnt to the ground and the bad guys are trying to find and kill them.

And when I said 'simple', by golly, it really means simple. All the characters have no names or at least purposely never mentioned for the duration of the book. The book also never discussed what happened or caused the apocalyse and why. In this world, things are bleak. Really, really bleak, with the land bereft of nearly all plant and animal life. The only thing that get our hero going, is the love he has for his son, who by the way is too young to understand the calamity around him.

I think The Road is the book that has affected me more strongly than any other. In the most brutally bleak post-apocalypse scenario that could ever be envisioned, a father and son trying to stay alive, plodding on, weighed down by constant misery and fear because it's all they can do. Cormac McCarthy has broken pretty much all issues in life to their bare, terrible bones. Father and son, removed from all context of family or home, are like two dogs watching out for one another. Memories are everywhere and yet so distant.

There’s no why: whatever catastrophe took place is essentially unexplained, and it doesn’t matter anyway because the ruin of the world is so complete that they often seem out of recognizable time and space altogether.

And O yes, I got misty eyes, cough, cried once or twice not because seeing the death of humanity but rather foreseeing how Hollywood is gonna make out of this terribly fantastic take on life and yet managed to be so profound.

Why Don't You Like Me?

Sometimes I wonder how important is it for everyone to like me. I know it's incredible shallow and stupid to expect everbody to like and approve everything I do, but knowing you do get attention, once in a while, makes a lot of different, don't you think? Shamelessly, I want to feel included.

While trying not to be the egomaniacal, universe-revolves-around-me kinda friend, I aware enough to know I want to be the centre of this 'little' circle.

That is why, lately, it bothers me a lot when friends kept on 'forgetting' to include me in their get-together or social events. I should expect excuses to my quiries would range from "We thought you were busy", "You wouldn't enjoy it anyway" to "It's raining, we don't want to bother you", but when the excuses went a little too far-feched to be believe in like "We forgot", I am beginning to wonder whether it's all about me.

Maybe I am paranoid, or maybe I am not, but the fact is I haven't even seen some of them in months! (name that rhyme with schearman)

OK, I really should stop whining now, it probably wasn't as bad as I make it up to be. Maybe I am really an overacting paranoid. But for whatever it is, from now on, I have come out with my own 'policy' when it comes to friends. It's called DON'T CALL, DON'T ASK, UNLESS INVITED. People, well, as it says, it simply means that I won't call or ask to join anything anymore, well, unless I was clearly invited. Otherwise I take it my presence isn't needed.

A tad too emotional eh? I know it's bound to be controversial, but I hope everyone understand that I was merely protecting my interest, if you know what I mean.

Come on, it's not like you don't see this coming miles away already.

And admit it, it's a little catchy, isn't it?

What Life Would Never Tell Us

I am worried about my mental health. Of late I have become increasingly forgetful and quite likely...um, deranged!

I had a Oh-So-Classic-Me experience the other day – my brain was stolen. I was at the petrol station when suddenly I couldn’t start the engine. I couldn’t even roll down the freaking window!

My “A-ha” moment only came much later when I was franticaly flipping through the car manual and read under the subject “Driving for morons”. As it turned out to be, I accidently locked the steering and – damn - forgot how to go about and unclock it! How's that for a little revelation? A terrifying age-related phenomenon like this would most likely to cause maximum humiliation, I tell you.

No, I am not going senile, I just need a mental work-out. That’s one of the things I need to figure out from today on. And No, carrying a little black book around would be out of question - it's trampling my style, people! Maybe, just maybe, I should seriously consider a brain transplant.

Annoyingly, it’s easy to remember useless stuff like the words to a crap song like 'Put A Ring On It' or what Akon’s middle name is but our own IC number can be real struggle. Sigh, I don't get this, but you know what, just like what Ms.Whitney Houston used to sing, “Life never tells us the whens or whys”, so I guess I should let it go.

I never used to be such a ditz. Now, I can barely even remember how to pull a steering?

Wait, did I say I forget how to unlock a secured car steering?

You Really Don't Know What You've Got.....

People come and people go. That's one of the things that kinda certain - like death, love and to some......taxes. It's an unwritten promise to us as long as we believe in Heaven and Hell.

For as long as I live in this world, I've welcomed a lot of people in my life and for that matter too, quite a number of people that I had, urm, you know, disowned. I don't blame anyone for how things had turned up. I believe they happened for a reason and most of the time I love to believe it's for my own good too.

So I don't have any regret. I just move on and go on to other things. It has saved me a lot of headache. Now that I've grown wiser and have a good grasp of that little fact of life, I've come to another revelation - other people move on too!

See, I told you my boss is leaving soon. The one that I adore soo much. The one too, that at first I refused to believe the news and the one I chose to ignore.

Now, I have come to my realization, I was being unfair. I am beginning to understand why would she want to leave and I - eventhough still digesting - would 100 % support her decision. If it's good for her career so who am I to be in her way? I certainly won't be the one who's going to stop her dream.

I guess I was a little bit selfish then. I admit, it was more about me than it was about her. OK fine, she's probably the best boss anyone could ever has, more like a friend to me. And when she nurtures, she is reminded me of my favourite teacher, and when she gossips, man, isn't she really gossipping! She's the one who taught me 'there's only so much you can do about your work, but the real life only starts at 5.30pm!

Boy, I am soo gonna miss her presence. I wish her well, I really do.

It got me thinking, maybe she's going to miss me too?

I Got Ego!

I am a very private person. I don't do Oprah-style, heart-to-heart revelation about my own life. I don't whine around unnecessary and I hate sharing my "deep thoughts" and "inner feelings" to the world, except maybe to a few close friends and family members that I truly trust - even then I exercise restraint. OK I got ego!

In many ways, I guess that's why I have this blog - where I can "whine unnecessary" to exactly 'no one', plus I don't have to be coy about it. What I really mean is (cough!) I don't tell people about my failure and I don't share my problems to others, well, at least not until they find about it themselves! Again, my gigantic ego!

So, as I told so many times through many channels and mode of communications before, last night was our Annual Corporate Dinner, in which I was one of the committees.

OK, let me first to break the news to you - last night was disaster, just to put it midly. And how to put it as it was?

First, the show ran a little bit longer than was planned for and I could clearly see people, especially VIPs keep fidgeting on their seats. Then, the so-called 'gimmick' fell flat on the nose, the hotel refused to give a much bigger changing room for the performers, the AV people made a giant mistake by putting the projectors in front of the stage and I donned an mismatched sequined orange shawl (horror!)

But the biggest blunder of all, anyone could ever imagined, was the main highlight of the evening - the invited, award winning singer/performer failed to turn up. The reason: tak sihat, sedang berehat di bilik.

It was one of the nights I would like to forget - forever. I wish I knew a good neuro surgeon.

I maintain I am a very private person. So for those who's planning to see me soon, please don't ask me about the details. This is the most 'intimate' details you could ever get from me. Allow me to digest the whole debacle first before I can even show off my humiliating self around the block again.

What Am I Going To Be?

OK, it's true. Ever year, when it comes to our corporate Annual Dinner, I freak out. I mean, literally, I'd be churning out a pool of flop sweat the size of lake. I don't freaky know what to wear! And what's with this year oh-soo-lame "theme" - Nusantara Klasik? Gosh, I think I might as well wear my PJs!

I know I shouldn't be all over town over trivial things like this. But I love to think that my reputation is at stake right know (as if it's already in place!). I imagine people in line waiting with bated breath on what I am going to turn up as - kinda give them what they want, something for them to talk about (I know it's bad!)

And best of all, imagine too if I were to win that coveted "Best Dressed" award. Man, it would be sooo awesome! Ehem, I hate to admit I am kinda a slave for the attention, although its not necessary healthy.

Come what may, I am game. And right know it a toss between this.....

...Or this.....

What do you think it'll be?

L.O.V.E.I.T.!

Note: this is probably going to be a terrible piece of music review. So please stop reading if you adverse to morbid fanatism.

The fact is I am the biggest fan of Mariah 'The Voice' Carey! (probably not the most manly thing I ever admit). And suffice to say, when the lady announced that she would be releasing her new record a couple months back, I was super excited…pretty much like a fat kid in a candy store.

So my “opinion” may not be matter much to my detractors. Still, I am going to review the album for you anyway – I promise, only a 'few' paragraphs, no more – as I listen to it for the first time…or a thousand times later!

Memoirs of An Imperfect Angel – Mariah Carey *****

I Love the CD. This, probably her best CD yet since the biggest selling, "Music Box". It’s a return to form in the sense that all the music here are all about Mariah's biggest asset (her vocal, perv!) on the syrupy sweet R&B pop and ballads of her past. Songs like 'Languising', 'Angels Cry' and her second single 'I Want To Know What Love Is', probably won't be rocking the current Billboard chart but enough to make the 'old-Mariah's fan' like yours truly happy like a swine in a mud.

However, Mariah has grown wiser this time. From the opener - the best opening track ever! - "Betcha Gon' Know", you can instantly hear that, lyrically, this album is slightly less "girly" and too "rainbow-ish". This is an edgier Mariah, speaking to the darker sides of life and love. I must say all the tracks convey remarkably the hurt and anguish lost love can bring, and it is my opinion that when Mariah connects with the raw emotions involved with common life-circumstances, that is where she is dynamite for me.

Other gems I think have a huge potential for being standout singles are "H.A.T.E.U.", "Standing O", "Ribbon", "It's a Wrap", and "Up Out My Face". One little "complaint" from me is that there is hardly really fast or uptempo songs in this album, except all the remixes version of 'Obsessed' but then I guess hence the title!

In conclusion, the best bit about the album is that this time Mariah really "sings". No more distraction from her annoying rappers/guest appearances. I hope Mariah would continue to focus on what her fans want to hear...her voice. She is still one of today’s most gifted vocalists and she could sing about fried chicken and watermelon and still make grown women and men cry.

Unfortunately the same can't be said to a certain so-called "Diva" who'll be coming to our shore this month. Ooopsie!

Moving Away......

No need to call my phone cause I changed my number today
A matter fact, I think I'm moving away (away)
Sorry, the frustrations got me feeling that way
And I just keep having one last thing to say
And I just wanna hold you, touch you, feel you, be near you, I miss you baby baby baby..
I'm tired of try'na fake through, but there's nothing I can do..

(Mariah Carey on H.A.T.E.U from Memoirs Of Imperfect Angel)

There are many reasons why you might choose to move away and making this decision can be difficult. There may be pressure all around to make a decision one way or the other. It is important that you make a choice that is right for you.

It is normal to have mixed feelings about leaving. You may also be feeling scared or lonely.
It is not unusual to feel nervous about leaving your familiar surroundings.

But I know I need to do this. I need to move on and move away.

I will let you know my new home soon.

Watch this space!

My Birthday – What Did I Do All Day?

Yesterday was my Birthday. O yeah. I didn’t go to work. In fact, I am taking the whole week off. It was the day, the week in a year I usually feel neither- here-nor-there. I was happy. Still am. Maybe a little bit sad. OK, mostly sad.

I know I can be overdramatic sometimes. Fiercely in denial even. But as my mother or any other person who loves me would constantly nag to my ears, life’s got to move on. So I just pretended it was just like any other day. Like the rest of 364 days. Normal.

But, try as I might, those birthday messages/wishes were very had to ignore. Sigh.

4.46 a.m: Woke up, had a slice of bread and a cup of coffee.Took a dump.

6.01 a.m: Cleaned myself. Went to office (to sit for an Exam).

1.02 p.m: Cleared off some pending works. Went straight home.

1.36 p.m: Dozed off.

3.14 p.m: Watched TV. (Let’s see, a re-run of ‘Every Loves Raymond’, E!’s Hollywood True Stories, History Channel’s The Lost World and Disney’s Phineaus And Ferbs, how’s that?)

4.55 p.m: Checked the internet. Emails. Facebook. Mariah Archives (Strictly for research), Chatting etc.

5.48 p.m: Run a few errands. Bought some groceries. Checked out Bazaar Ramadan.

6.59 p.m: ‘’Alone time” in the bathroom.

7.21 p.m: Buka time. Most days, I’ll go with the liquid meal like cendol or laici or cincau and a handful of salads or dates but yesterday, I went for “the whole nine yards” spread. Well, imagine what a big grizzly bear would stock up right before wintertime as they go for hibernation....you get the idea. It’s my Birthday, dammit!

8.34 p.m: Read my two novels I just got last week for about an hour. Hope I can finish them before Raya. (I dig ‘The Lovely Bones’, what a masterpiece!)

9.47 p.m: TV time. (I can’t recall any show!)

10.59 p.m: Curled up in my bed. This is actually my favourite part of the day. The bed is warm and toasty and I get to hang out with some of my favourite items – Kiki and Lulu. (Dont you judge me!)

11.13 p.m: Cried myself to sleep.

Next year, same time: Wake up, take an aspirin and do it all over again. I am in rot!

I Am A Mad, Mad Man!

It is all started with this “friendly”, seeking-help email, and my faith in finding the life’s little joy in everyday problems was officially over.

-----------------------------------------

To whom it may concern,

I tried to reload my debit card (Tune Card) via online service (CIMBClicks) this morning. The amount was successfully deducted from my CIMB account but what mystified me is, up until now, it doesn’t appear nor has been reflected in my TuneMoney account.

Please assist me in checking on the root of the problem a.k.a Where the hell is my money?!!

Details of the goddamn transaction are as per below, if you don’t mind my tone:

Date/Time : 26 Aug 09, 10:14:13
FPX Transaction ID : *******************
Seller Order No : *******************
Authorization No :********************
Seller Name : TUNE MONEY SDN BHD PREPAID
Buyer Bank : CIMB Bank
Amount : RM*****.**

And please, don’t make or even entertain the prospect of asking me to call you or CIMB again, or God help me, I’ll show you the absolute meaning of ‘being difficult’.

In closing, would you please advice me as soon as possible if you are still interested in doing business with me, or if what has happened here is your not so subtle way of telling me to do my business elsewhere

Thank you

Syed Mustaffa Syed Mohamad
0173***027

……………………………………

As the cumulative effect of all this nonsense began to weigh on me heavily, I became increasingly frustrated. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. More unsettling however, was the fact that I’d been through far more serious challenges and problems in my life and had come through with my peace of mind intact.

Why was I now feeling so miserable? So hopeless? Sure, a lot of little annoyances, mostly with our stupid online banking service, can grate on you, but the angst I was feeling deep inside certainly didn’t seem commensurate with these rather pedestrian problems.

I mean, what is wrong with me, lately? Really.

Mus’ Pet Peeves No. 2: I’m Incurably Unthinable!

I love to eat terrible food. What can I say? Nasi Lemak, Ramlee Burger, Mee Goreng, Roti Canai, chocolate, ice cream, anything fattening that I can jam down my throat. And now that Ramadhan is just around the corner, I like to go to “all-you can eat” buffets, where I always feel obligated to eat what I perceive to be my money’s worth. O brother, trust me, for months right up after Raya, all I can wear is maternity clothing.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is all the weight I gain always goes right to my gut. If the weight would just distribute itself evenly, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t mind if I was a well-formed fat guy; that would be OK. But all my weight goes right to my stomach. So if I am not careful, I end up with skinny legs, skinny arms, and no shoulders, but a big, fat gut. Euww.

Truthfully, I hate dieting. But it’s really not just about a diet. I believe, it’s more about changing how and what you eat. It’s not a temporary fix to enable one to slip into one’s leotard by the weekend, but a complete overhaul of one’s eating habits. But let’s face it, if you are not ready to change your eating lifestyle, you are not ready.

Case in point, a few months prior, my sister had tried to get me interested in dietary health by giving me a book on nutrition. I poured chocolate syrup on the book and ate it!

It's hopeless. I am incurably unthinable!

Mus' Pet Peeves No. 1

I went to see this movie the other day. No, not “see”, strike that, I was trying to see that goddamn movie the other day. I would have posted a review here today, except that as usual, the theater was filled with nothing but ill-mannered idiots conversing at high volume during the film, I ended up being clueless and too peeved to recall anything about the movie at all.

It never ceases to amaze me how loudly, and how often, people talk during films these days. When I was a kid, people got kicked out for coughing. Now it’s like Mardi Gras in there, but less inhibited.

I supposed there are many reasons for this horrifying trend, such as introduction of VCD and DVD players, when people watch movies at home and talk to each other throughout the film, and many aren’t bright enough to realize that carrying this behavior over into theater where others are trying to watch the movie is incredibly inconsiderate and inappropriate. It’s not a matter of a few folks whispering occasionally. Most movies I attend at cinema nowadays sound like the floor of the stock exchange.

I don’t care if you are having a heart attack, you can drag yourself out to the lobby and quietly call for an ambulance. Anyone who did talk would be immediately treated to a twenty thousand-volt burst of electricity sent through their seat. Their next of kin could then claim their ashes quietly once the film had ended.

And that’s how the public cinemas should be, quiet and grave.

The Adventure of A Man With Freakishly Large Feet

The great thing about being a man is that you can go shopping and get all the things that you want in less than an hour and you can do it completely alone.

Unfortunately, shopping is almost always man’s least favorite occupation. That’s part of the reason why when he goes shopping; he buys enough to last him for the next 10 years.

Well, unless if you go shoes shopping for a SASQUATCH!

Having rated ‘shoes shopping’ on a par with having a prostate examination by a doctor with cold hands, I am glad to announce my three weeks cross country shoes hunting quest finally ended last Sunday afternoon. I finally found the pair.

I am beat. I usually found the stress experience while shopping ranks with the kind of stress experienced by a police officer dealing with an angry mob in a riot.

And don’t even get me started of the RM amount spent on this entire ‘little adventure’, that inspired a humiliating “experience” on its own……

***************************************

(*Mus* here is not someone I know)

Mus were in the department store looking for shoes – a very big one.

“I want this pair with size 11,” He said to the sales assistant. She showed him a pair costing RM350.

‘That’s a bit much,” said Mus, so she returned with a slightly more affordable pair of RM250.

‘That’s still quite a bit,” Mus complained.

Growing disgusted, the sales assistant brought out another ‘economy’ pair.

Mus grew agitated,”What I mean,” he said, “Is I’d like to see something really cheap”.

So the sales assistant handed him a mirror.

The Blood From My Bleeding Ears

What a paradox; humans go to war and argue thinking that we know and own everything, while the world holds more than we can comprehend, like ‘why do we let this guy sing?’.

Now, I am not so sure if he was crooning or howling – but either way, yech, double vomit, throw-up, burp, and lingering acid reflux. I mean, someone better hose him down.

On no, wait – that happened last week.

Oh yeah, genius, that’s me. Last Saturday, Hasmiron, Sham and me were went against our parol officers’ wish – to not go near 30m parameter radius of any karaoke joint! - and sing! (Which undoubtedly sending professional vocal coaches scurrying to their textbooks to discover whether some random incoherent, gibberish is an actual ‘singing’!)

I don’t really need to go into all the reasons why would anyone want to shove a mini-hot curling iron in the ears and open it, but suffice to say when we do, garage doors go flying, cars combust and dogs run into traffic. We sound pretty much like a bunch of hyenas on helium.

No, I don’t mean to exaggerate but If you were there with us, everything will become clear to you - you’ll wish you could shove your ears with a hot curling iron too!

I mean, how else did I write this post without using the blood from my bleeding ears?

Who’s That Sad, Lonely Guy?

Who just went to his graduation day alone? With no friend and family to cheer him on? Think you know who the loser is? Need some clues?

1) He tends to be a little bald and looks as if he has been badly shaken up in a bus accident.

2) He leans against railings a lot and stares off in the distance with tears up in his eyes.

3) Caught napping throughout the program and was delighted to wake up and found his name call up just in time?

4) Took pictures of himself with camera timer?!

This post is written not in celebration of his education milestones, since obviously there is not much to celebrate and no one to celebrate with. But to let you know that someone is aware he is out there. And that he is not alone. There are millions like him, even though he has only a small chance of meeting one of those people – who celebrates their important days alone.

You think this is sad? YOU THINK?!!

The Renaissance Man

Something terrible happened to me last Friday afternoon, so terrible it gave me nightmare for days. I thought I was losing it. No, no I won’t tell you what happened. I won’t give you the excruciating details here - at least not here. I believe sometimes, something best not discussed or talked about out in the open, because it would bring no one any good, other than just pain and confusion.

And you know what, in fact, I really don’t know what happened. I’ll probably spend a good portion of the rest of my days wondering how I went from, “I am so awesome and nothing could go wrong!”, to “Everything I do sucks!”.

But I guess that’s good, because now I am starting a new life philosophy. Instead of getting bogged down in the soul-numbing sadness of the situation, I’ve determined that I will take time to do all the things necessary to vastly improve my life.

Starting today, I’ll work out every morning, read classic literature before I go to sleep, organize all my CDs, sign up for karate class, donate time to charity and just generally become the Renaissance man I’ve always known I was deep inside.

Damn!

Forty eight hours later, I realized that I was once again experiencing the state of confusion that always comes over me when something inevitably goes awry in my life. You’d think I’d known how to handle it by now. It’s been the same story for most of my thirty years.

Man, this is much harder than I thought I could ever handle. Tomorrow I am going to face all my colleagues and probably force to spend the rest of my Monday morning re-telling of what actually had happened.

I know I’ve never been fond of Mondays, but tomorrow would be even more so.

Inside My Heaven

Surprisingly, not many people actually got a chance to see me without my shirt on. I know it’s everyone’s lost but I kinda put a certain high price for a privilege of such heavenly sight. And NO, not because I have a complex body image issue, and I am most certainly NOT a delusional wool-coated glob of fat, like some of you might've suggested.

In fact, quite contrary, I can say with all the confidence, I feel very much secured in my own skin and I love my body. That’s right. I may not have the body of Greek God proportion like Sham has, or serpent-like flexibility of Hasmiron’s, but I always know, there is something I got that others don’t – in water, I am buoyant. So haters, shoo, go away!



Last weekend, for two days straight, Saturday and Sunday, I made time to have a splashing good time with my dear friends Sham, AJ, and Eirul at Shah’s condo pool. It was a blast. We churned out endless laps of pulling and kicking, and learned to swim with the effortless grace of fish (Or in our case, like a certain aquatic mammal!)



I don’t know about my friends, but I simply love to swim. Swimming makes me feel good, both physically and in overall satisfaction. It makes me much calmer and less uptight. I know it sounds weird that this comes out from my mouth but swimming is really mentally engaging as it is physically pleasurable and enormously gratifying.

I have reached a personal nirvana where every lap I swim feels blissful. Because I’ve never been a gifted athlete, I became convinced that the joy of swimming well is attainable by everyone, rather than a gift reserved for a talented few. So friends who haven’t got acquainted with Shah’s pool yet, come on over this weekend and splash away with us. (This is an unpaid ads)



OK, now if all of you are done "savoring" every inch of my body, show some class and get a room!

Monster On Wheel

You may have noticed that I drive an imported car – a continental one, to be exact. And I know what you’re thinking, “Mus, you’re a big Hollywood star. You can afford any car you want. Plus, it’s ridiculous seeing you squeezed in that shoe box wheeler. You’re Mus The Great, for God's sake, you should get a bigger ride.”

All valid points, but as a tree-hugging, panda-loving environmentalist, I am especially sensitive to human’s exploitation of the environment. My Korean-made baby, being extremely fuel efficient and emitting fewer pollutants than other cars, can help lower our reliance on oil and can help slow down global warming.

Plus my car is trendy. In addition to myself, Leonardo DiCaprio, Cameron Diaz, Hasmiron Hamdan, Azreena Zakaria, Herman Mizar and Shamutiara all drive compact cars. So YES, I am quite happy with my car right now, and NO, I don’t think I would want to trade that little fellow for anything else anytime soon. Ehem,well, at least until the next (and the next, next) salary review.

Sigh! But I am a man with many, many wishes and I got (human-ly) urges.

A few days ago I saw this heaven-sent splendor parked beside my lowly ride and by Golly, I was completely in awe. It was like a vision from up above. Such an unparallel, take-out-my-checkbook beauty.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days; fantasizing about how cool would it be if I could, just for a moment, squeeze and rest my bottom on its softy, first class leather seats and run my undeserving fingers through its shiny dashboard. Aaah, I could just imagine the joyous ride it would be, should I agree to mortgage my parents for one of those baby.

Man, I can go on and on talking about what exactly I am gonna do - a million of unpure, automative thoughts but I think I’ll just stop now; cause you know very well what an amorous, redblooded young man like me would likely to do next - the internet!

And oooh yeah, here are some 'sick' pictures of this baby I got from the internet to satisfy my “motorized” needs!

Now, If only I am still not living with that arsonist........!

The Worst Friend Ever

Last week was probably the worst and the best seven days of my life. From the lowest point (my mom’s health scare) to the highest (got call from the Academy about my upcoming convocation in July, yeah!); unintentionally, I may have had disappointed my dear friends along the way.

Obviously I am no Angel (though sometimes I can be borderline Evil), and for that, I am writing this, in hope that, those who I have wronged last weekend (for not turning up for a couple of social events I've agreed to come), to understand why I did what I did. And I humbly beg for your forgiveness and understanding.

OK, the problem with me and my friends is complicated. It’s all started when someone invites me for something, to somewhere. As always, I knew I couldn’t come and yet I hate to disappoint them, so I’d say a provisional ‘yes’ while claiming a possible, but as yet unconfirmed, probably due to some imaginary “work” commitment. And then a couple of days later I sms back and say ‘I am sorry but no’.

Or more probably I act the real coward and ‘disappear’ for days and ended up disappoint them even more. Get it? See what I mean? Complicated.

The biggest problem with the invitations is how to turn them down. Accepting is dead easy. It’s turning them down that’s so difficult. There are many invitations that I feel obligated to accept for reasons that range from a genuine generosity in relieving someone’s loneliness to even death threat!

So friends, given how ultrasensitive I am to your feeling, if you call for invitation, the general principle would be to try and avoid putting me in a difficult position like an open question like ‘Mus, what are you doing on Friday night?, Oh I know you are free,right? So.....’ OK?. Now that’s a trap. So give me a get-out. It’s the right thing to do because it reduces potential social conflict. I may not want to come. It’s almost inconceivable, I know. But I might not. For whatever reason.

Man, I know how much you want to strangle me with my tie right now, but I feel really bad about it already. I really do. Again, I am sorry for being a jerk of friend. I promise I’ll try to be more direct with my answer.

Maybe next time I’ll just say, “I can’t come, it seems I’ll be watching televison that night”. See, I am EEVIIL.

Drag Me Out Of This Hell!

After years of not seeing each other, Ginger and I finally reunited. And what a better way to rekindle our long lost friendship than watching a sucky horror B-movie together. Oh yeah, we love to “scaugh” (scare + laugh) ourselves silly and bitching about the movie a long, long after that; which in a way would compensate our sore disappoinment for not getting tickets for that new “Transformer” movie.

So, Saturday afternoon , right after lunch at his home we checked our brains out at the theater’s door and watched “Drag Me To Hell” and giving a new meaning of “hell”to the people who sat next to us. First of all, the movie was a apocalypstic train wreck. We laughed so hard throughout the movie that I think I broke my laughing bones (if there’s such thing exists).

I mean, come on, you know you are in a hell hole when the main character debates whether or not she should keep the button that cursed her or ultimately give it away to someone else. Those of us in the audiences chose to debate the far more provocative questions of whether the demon, in fact a jackass or rather a saviour that killed her and put out of our misery once and for all.

And the visual effect wasn’t that any good either. The last and final scene where they got this big, the-Exorcist -inspired scene with people twirling, spinning up and about in the room, the effect was so-so at best, which is like a perfect storm of movie suckiness.

My favorite part of the movie, though, would have to be that medium’s reaction when he figures out that our lady in distress was cursed by the most powerful, ancient demon, Lamia; he looks like a chimpanzee slowly discovering that the reflection in the watering hole is actually him.

But all bitching aside, like I said to Ginger at the end of the day, the most important thing about the whole experience is the chance for us to hang out together again like we used to do, the companionship, the laugh, the bad movie and all. Man, I am glad she’s back.

Ginger, in her bad, baad hair day.

But in an extremely rare good day, Ginger, is a handsome woman; compassionate, charming, attractive and shapely, too. Now, a lot of people confuse my ability to recognize Ginger’s many qualities as “having a thing for her”.

Nothing could further from the truth, for the most part. Ginger is my friend and the two of us share a very special friendship that I wouldn’t jeopardize for anything. Even if she’s experimented with mind-expanding drugs or I had saved her life or something. The point is, Ginger and I are great friends. And that’s all.

Well, unless you’ve heard her say otherwise?

I Believe In Judgment Day

I drive to work everyday. Yep, just like any other snobs who repulsed the idea of sharing our private space with strangers in public transport. And of course after spending almost a quarter of our monthly income on gas and toll, we have to look for the cheapest mean to park our sub-50k car.

And Oh Boy, what a price I have to pay for being a tightfisted snob. On Monday, all four caps on my tires’ tube got stolen. Damn!

But being a person who staunchly believes in Judgment Day and afterlife; instead of throwing nasty hissy fits by the roadside, I just prayed that evil-doer got rotten in Hell. I am sorry, but those four caps cost me RM10.00.

Oh yeah, RM10.00 that I could have just dumped it in the ravine or burned it in this scumbag’s a**hole instead; ‘cause as per yesterday’s afternoon, all my new set of caps got stolen YET AGAIN.

God, I sure blew my stack this time, I was so angry I could spit bullets. Only two nights ago I was griping about it for a good 20 minutes with my close friends and now it happened again.

Piss off doesn’t even begin how angry I am right now. I seriously need to look for new parking spot now or start (gasp!) paying for better, nearer place to park my car.

Oh sure, everything is my fault!

I Swear, This Is Not PD!

Let’s face it, our working life is pretty thankless. We toil for 12 hours a day, largely for the benefit of the richest 1 percent of population, and then we come home to craps like 'Kimora’s Life On The Fab Lane' and 'Paris Hilton’s New BFF'. We are an inch closer of throwing out of the window our TV set everyday, but we quickly remember that 'E!’s Top 10 Fabulous Holiday Destinations' is next. So the TV throwing can wait another day.

Obviously I needed a break. I needed fresh air, sunshine and a chance to get away from it all (and that means parading around in my tentlike shorts, putting my belly on proud display at a beach). And what a better way to accomplish all that than to take an old-fashioned, four-days-three-nights vacation in a certain remote-but-exclusive part of the country?

This vacation costs a fortune that I truly believe only emirs can handle them comfortably. It was so expensive I felt a certain pressure to run around like a madman, trying to have fun every second of the day. Since there isn’t a hell of a lot to do at the beach (the whole idea of the beach is there’s nothing to do there) a conflict may arise , causing dizziness and vomiting.

And as the world struggles against the tsunami tide of credit crunch; for 'aristocrat' like Din, credit crunch is not in his vocabulary. “Credit crunch? What’s that? Is it a new brand of slimming breakfast cereal?”, exclaimed my partner in crime.

If you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it.

Ask anyone, your friends or family – to tell you what they want out of holiday and they will invariably tell you the same thing; ‘I want to spend quality time with the people I care; I want laughter, good food and fun’. It’s as simple as that. We all share the same vision. So if we want the same thing, why does holiday so often highlight our differences and divide us rather than bring us closer together?

Essentially, the answer is simple; because we’re different. Yes we all are. That’s why I’ve long accepted the fact and tried not to worry too much about those little things. Why get an ulcer over things that don’t matter?



Once I was at the beach, with the water lapping up against my shorts, I saw clearly that all man’s worrying is ridiculous since we are all just particles. A speck of tiny sand. Now, what’s the point of having to be flown back from an expensive vacation, a whipped and dejected man, as a result of worrying about all the money I have spent and those people I had short-tipped?

Man, I have another waay important thing to worry about. It’s called credit crunch.

It Wasn't Meant To Be

Friday afternoons should be the happiest time in a week for me. I should be home by 5.00pm and be watching my favourite toons. I should be eating dinner by now while making weekend plans. It should be a joyful, most awesomest, super-fantastical-psychedelic Friday.

6.15am I was still trapped in Jalan P. Ramlee, where everywhere seemed to be completely clogged up in one enormous jam that stratched all the way down to Jalan Ampang.

Damn. Why there’s always something, somewhere: roadworks, a diversion, a wonky traffic in this maddening rush hour? Why? WHY?!!. Whatever it may be, I kept hoping it’d sort itself out in a moment and the next green would release lots and lots of cars and we’d all be rattling along, multiple lanes of happy motorists zoming out of the city.

No.

Still here

One hour ( I mean, seriously, one our) of heel-toeing-clutchwork-that-had-my-ankles-aching later, I was still on the same spot. Damn. I fiddled about with the radio to find a song, any song, but there’s only wittering, ‘slow moving on the........’. Oh come on, I mean, surely there must be some traffic moving somewhere. I thought, ‘If this goes on for much longer I’m going to start fretting’.

But then I reminded myself to not let the little things get to me. Not.Let.Them.Get.To.Me. And that was just about time too when I gazed out of the window and saw a sign - just a few meters from me. The sign from God.

KLCC parking. That’s it!

The wheel in my brain was immediately spinning. I talked to myself (I’ve done this a lot lately), ‘All I need to do is just escape to the parking, find my way to the exit to Ampang Elevated Highway and voila! I’ll be be home in no time’. Yes!

A-ha! Who would have thought of that? Pretty briliant idea, don’t you think? (Especially when it comes from the guy who once thought Toni Braxton was a guy) I was really pleased. So hurriedly I drove in, picked up the parking ticket and rushed to the other side of the exit. I was so happy about myself. I thought this got to be one of the smartest thing I’ve done, that no one ever thought about. I should get medal for this. Or patent the ‘secret route’. ‘I am such a genius’. Gosh, I simply couldn’t stop gushing about myself.

But as they say, good things never last. And the cruel reality will set in sooner than I thought.

F***! My ticket got rejected. Shock slammed me in the chest like a truck. (And now this is the part where I hate myself so much I wanted to die in a violent sex-gone-wrong accident). I forgot to pay the ticket at the autopay machine.

And by the time my puny brain realized this too, a dozen of impatient cars already lined up behind me, honking – increasingly irritated about the hold up.

I was breathing harder and harder till I was almost hyperventilating. I felt as though I’ve lurched into some evil parallel universe, where everyone would kill each other for sport. ‘I don’t deserve this, I am a good person, I pay my taxes and I love animals’. I chanted.

Apparently no sign from God this time for me.

Only after a few intense moment later, I managed to pull myself together in time and accepted the fact that there was only one right thing to do - get out of the car and face the consequences. So I turned off the engine, put my bravest front and stepped out of the car, causing a slight commotion at the back. I thought I would face a firing squad as they got their rifle f****** loaded and ready to go.

But alas, the best I could offer to these angry mobs as a rebuttal, was just a weak hand-waving like I was a second runner-up contestant in beauty pagent.

I felt slightly wobbly about the legs and slightly manic inside but I plodded through, passing all these cars looking calm while trying to ignore all the curses hurled at me. I headed to that damn autopay machine as quickly as possible just to get this tragic episode of my life over with.

Once paid for, I started the engine and sped off – running away from this excruciating, painful memory forever, far, far away. It should be a happy Friday afternoon for me. But it wasn't meant to be.

Damn!

Happy Birthday, Faizal!

A couple months ago, Faizal lent me this book, which he mistook it as “must read” and “classic”. Even though, my guts feeling extremely doubt any remote possibility of either of those strong words, I decided to accept the challenge and read the book anyway.

And boy! What a laborious two months of eye rolling it was.

It’s about Samantha, a London lawyer, who left her high-powered career to become a housekeeper in a remote countryside; only to find out later, she was used as a bait in one of the UK's biggest corporate scandals......and (gasp!) fall in love in the process.

Woa! Seriously, Oh Come On!

A lawyer with an IQ of 158, who accidently becomes a housekeeper, solves the mystery of her sudden termination of service and saves her old office GBP50 million AND along the way, wins the heart of a hunky gardener?!? Man, you have got to be kidding me!

Honestly, I think the book is trying too hard to be popular among its readers, it ends up being somewhat contrived and predictable; attempting the usual feel good chick flick and finally ended up somewhat middle-of-the-road.

The author not only seems to enjoy murdering precious old-school romance, but also seems to relish jumping up and down on their corpses. How else can you explain the way the central male character/hunky love interest behaves in it, which speaks and acts in such a fabulously affected manner that it would set off the gaydar of a coma patient? Erkk...

O Gosh! And that loads of moony-eyed swooning in between makes me want to punch someone in the mouth too.

Fortunately, today is Faizal’s Birthday and I don’t think it would be wise for me to go on and on into details for all the reasons why I am not a fan of the book so much. (Though by now, I get an eerie feeling there’s already a little voodoo doll of me in his desk, impaled by drawing pins)

So I think I just stop this madness and leap to my feet and cry out;

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FAIZAL!!!I WISH YOU FABULOUS YEARS AHEAD AND MANY MANY MANY HAPPY RETURNS.

And since I have already had this nagging suspicion abbout his weird taste in modern literature, this year, O yes, I know exactly what to get him– two really good books (with cover of a man holding a gun on it).

Now, where do I put that 'Sex In The City' book of mine?

King Din And His Fondness For Potato Chips

I have a housemate called Din. I’ve known him for a couple of years now and has been a very good friend of mine ever since. For as long as I know him, he’s always being helpful and extremely courteous; loves cats and intensely vocal against child pornography and same sex marriage. And it goes without saying he’s very well-liked and respected among his peers.....

....deep breath, well, as long as he’s not in a restaurant, hotel or any place with ‘Customer Is King’ plaque hanging on the wall. Things, sometimes, can be nasty.

And just not to let you miss out any crucial detail about him here - he has been working with one of the best and finest hotel in KL for 7 years! And Oh yes, he can spell EXCELLENCE SERVICE backward.

Understandably, he has a very high expectation of a la Burj-al-Arab service standard and a very clear vision of what he wants, that most people out there would mistake him for being ‘difficult’ or um,’ someone who thinks the world owes him a living’ and other 'colorful' adjectives that can’t possibly be printed here.

I, for one, still am adjusting seeing those poor unfortunate souls gets thrashed and mauled by him everytime we are eating out, but I know, deep deep, DEEP down, he means well.

Riight, anyway.....

Last Saturday evening we went for a dinner in one of the’good’ restaurants in KL Sentral. It was our first time there and given how fussy and nit-picky my housemate is, rightfully I was a little nervous.

After combing through the menu, I decided to give Chicken Tofu (with no sugar, no salt) a try (I am watching my figure!), while Your Highness Din ordered a simple Fish & Chips and French Fries. The waiter pulled out his little black book and seemed like jotted down dutifully all of our requests. Everything looked fine and dandy from the start so I rested my back and chatted casually.

A moment later the waiter came back, only this time he looked a little...jittery.

Waiter: Bang, we are out of fish. Would you like to try our Lamb Chop instead?

Din (his cheeks blushed with annoyance): No, I would not.

Waiter (astonished): I am sorry, sir?

Din: You heard me. I hate goats. And I am beginning to hate you, too.

Waiter: How about Chicken?

Din: Hate it too. Cancel my order.

His voice sharpened. My forehead was pressed hard against the heel of my hand. This could turn ugly.

Me (under my breath): For God's sake Din, we’re not in Vegas!!!

Waiter (after a pause): You’re right on both counts, sir. I’ll cancel your order.

Din: Wait! The chips and fries stay. I’ve always had rather a fondness for potatoes.

I've always had rather a fondness for potatoes? What was that all about?

Waiter (with new respect): You are hard to be waited on...but soo challenging.

OMIGOD! That was probably the bravest thing anyone in service industry has ever said about King Din. And I think he was just being mellowed.

I should record this. This will go down in history as ‘Din was served with potato chips for dinner and he doesn’t even mind!

I Am John Connor

Mondays isn’t the happiest word anyone would like to use. We dread Mondays. It’s the start of a working week and we’re either still hung over from the last weekends’s awesome party or just discontent about our menial existance.

Me? I just discontent about MY menial existence. I don’t feel like working today. I want a day off. Everytime I think about what happened to me last Friday, I’d sputter into tears and self-hating cries.

I still can’t get over the fact I “offended the authority” last Friday afternoon. I hate detailing the life and redemption of a squeaky-clean, boy-next-door self but this I think is absolutely necessary, at least for my own metal health -- I was served with this.



I imagine this was the work of a thuggish, amoral cop who totes a handgun and parking tickets to strike down his foes. I bet too he has a nasty drinking problem and has history of domestic violence.

I supposed these no-good doers take their orders from a mysterious loom that dictates who gets summoned and which innocent souls’ car would get towed.

My weekend was literally ruined because of them. Big mistake. I guess they just bring out the John Connor in me.

I am not gonna pay. I think.

My Block Is On Fire!

Sometimes horror announces itself in the smallest of ways - like when a bunch of people shouted, "Api! Api!” on your doorstep at the crack of dawn of Sunday morning.

It was 5.57am. I know it for sure cause I was wide awake. I had to pee. Little did I know, I won’t be heading to my warm bed anytime soon.

I hurried up outside to check out what the commotion was all about (please, people here in my block would yell anything to get on each other’s nerves) and to my horror I got the rudest shock of the lifetime. I saw fire. The smell of burning reached out to me and engulfed the building. The smoke had blotted out the light on the corridor.

I felt my breaths were getting shorter and felt the heavy weight of some nameless dread. I alerted Din and quickly grabbed whatever things I can get hold on to - my wallet, my car keys, my expensive handphone and a few CDs ( I’ll explain about that later).

I quickly ran to the stairs, unsure whether my feet would come into contact with the ground or if I would simply go on, right through it. My head was spinning; I thought I was going to faint.

Downstairs, a fleet of cars and fire trucks was parked around the building. They belonged to the police and fire department. The police car – blue and white with a light flashing on the roof.

Thick black smoke curling into the morning sky. I saw faces streaked with ashes and tears. The details are simply not that fascinating, it just that the sight of it tightened the knot in the pit of my stomach.

People say surprises have colorful mode of springing themselves but I could have never foreseen myself getting jolted like this - a bunch of feelings of edginess, drift, despair all meshed up together.

Thank God, no one was harms. The fire started right under the stairs. Four motocycles were burned down to charred. Twisted steel and rubbles were every where.



The cause of the casualty is still under investigation. But from the look of it, all things pointed out to arson.

Man, I feel like I am living in the Bronx.

Throw Me Right Under The Bus!

I don’t feel too good lately and this can’t be right.

After much of that so-called “chaos” in my office last week, I can’t afford to be sick, heck, I can’t even afford to “look “sick - definitely not in front of these over-the-top drama queens – they’ll banish me from this building like I am the source of the death of humanity. Or worse, take my car like they did to that MB’s Camry. Shudder.

I try to remain calm and collected. Powder my nose every hour so that it won’t get too reddish and drippy but sigh, who am I kidding?

He Was Removed From The Building And That Was The Last They Ever Heard Of Him

It was chaos. In a plotline right out of a B movie, everyone was panic. I was totally freaked out and was tempted to scribble off a note to my mother, "OMG! I am gonna die!”. (Though much later I admitted that such overdramatic behavior was uncalled for).

It happened totally unexpected. Two confirmed cases and another ten people diagnosed positive with TB (Tubercle bacillus or Tuberculosis). The whole floor had to be closed down. Everyone must undergo thorough check up that morning.

My office had come to a grinding halt.

Doctors who braved the elements to visit us had only three instructions:

1. To turn off all the air-conditioning units at the infected floors so that the air will turn unbearably hot and damp and fetid, like unexplored sections of of my room, so that the gems will be "baked out” and die. ( I am no doctor but this is what they said)

2. Everyone must take three tests; X-tray, blood and phlegm. No exception, even if you’re busting with health. The most important thing for the doctor to know is what color your phlegm is. Unless it is an offbeat shade, like magenta , this should tip him off. If it is swamp green, don’t bother to show him. There’s no point in upsetting him.

3. Wear mask at all time. Well, unless you are in the middle of ‘’sampling’’ your phlegm test, in which case, do NOT.

Many people are more afraid of the doctors than they are of sickness. They would rather quietly pack it in until they get obvious trouble signs – such as failing out of chair and die.

My tests hasn’t come out yet but I really hope it won’t start with, ‘You’d better sit down for this one’ or ‘I saw your X-trays. Looks like a goddamed junkyard in there’.

I guess for now, I shouldn’t be upset when my friends fail to throw their arms around me. Either way, I think I am gonna have a panic attack.

I Considered A Lobotomy....

I was getting my hair cut the other day, when my hairstylist (another fancy name for an RM8 barber in my own little world) looked at my skull and touched inappropriately on the top of my head.

Felt a little outraged, I sheepishly asked what he was doing,"Oh, it’s just that a little spot on the top here”

I thought I knew I’d lost a tiny bit of hair but certainly it couldn’t be that significant. Aw come on!

When he continued pawing my “crown” a good five minutes later, I became alarmed. “Is it really that bald up there? I asked in panic. “Well, I’ve seen worse”, he offered diplomatically. "..but this good for my fingers".

Of course being the obsessive person that I am, the minute I got home I rigged up an intricate system of mirrors in order to thoroughly view the back of my head.



Sure enough I was losing it (the hair!)

I considered a lobotomy in order to remove that gruesome, heartbreaking memory, but they probably won’t let me wear cap!